#THE FIRST ONE FORGOT HIS FRECKLES WHEEZE

[the-cabin-complex]

Art dump from the last month or so

Soooo we forgot to post art for a while, so here’s some various art we’ve done recently. This one’s gonna be long especially with image descriptions added, so I’m putting it all under a cut

Nausicaa and Sam’s hesitant Halloween costume ideas (Nauni has never seen Star Wars but knows the dynamic fits) (Sam has watched Star Wars but doesn’t remember it)

[ID: a drawing of Nausicaa and Sam standing next to each other, dressed as Luke Skywalker and Han Solo respectively. Nausicaa has one hand on her hip and leaning on Sam with one arm around his shoulders. She’s smiling and looks comfortable. Sam is standing awkwardly but also looks like he’s amused by the whole situation. /End ID]

The amount of bitchy-siblings-in-a-get-along-shirt energy these people have is astounding

[ID: a drawing of three of the Doctors in the Doctors subsystem talking. Doc (ninth incarnation) points backwards at a grumpy Elias (eleventh incarnation) and remarks, “bitch and moan, bitch and moan, seems like that’s all he ever does these days!” Elias glares at him. Jules is standing a few feet away filing his nails and adds on, “And kvetch, he looooves kvetching.” /End ID]

I think Tony might’ve posted this on his sideblog but it’s going here too. There’s been a couple times he’s ran into different versions of himself in different dreams, so he thought he might as well draw some of them

[ID: A lineup of three versions of Tony Stark. The first and last look like the Tony from the MCU, while the middle one is a young adult and doesn’t exactly look like any Tony from other Marvel stories.

The first one is labeled “Divorce Tony.” He looks nervous and is calling someone. He wears tinted glasses, a grey suit, and a teal stole with gold paisley patterning. Our Tony’s commentary about him reads “I’m fascinated by you. You’re bizarrely funny.”

The second one is labeled “Outlier Tony.” He a short, kind of stocky teen with choppy brown hair, light skin, and freckles. He has his hands in his pockets and looks stiff and uncomfortable. He’s wearing a white and red shirt with black athletic shorts. Our Tony’s commentary is “You. You’re doing great.”

The third is labeled “DT (Dickhead Tony).” He’s wearing a black suit and holds a hunting knife. His arms are crossed and his grinning smugly. His goatee has squared edges instead of pointed ones, which looks awkward on him. Our Tony’s commentary reads in all caps, “FUCK YOU.” /End ID]

Martin :)

[ID 1: The line art of a portrait of Martin from the shoulders up. He’s facing the left and his head is turned to the side, smiling softly and looking with half-lidded eyes downwards. He’s wearing a collared shirt that’s unbuttoned, and the background has a simple flower motif. /End ID]

[ID 2: The same art but fully rendered. Martin’s shirt is shiny gold and the background is yellow and burnt orange. /End ID]

Banner portrait, that is all (note from Tony: I love my partner so much. He’s so pretty)

[ID: A digital painting of Banner from the shoulders up. His shoulders are slightly scrunched but he looks relaxed, and he’s smiling as he looks downwards. He’s wearing a wide necked, muted purple shirt, and is in front of a textured dark green background. His dark curly hair is shoulder length and styled naturally. /End ID]

This was based on Esrah’s dad pulling up in our general direction a little fast, we were fine lol, Banner just has really funny dark humor because of his indestructibility

[ID: a drawing of Banner standing with his arms outstretched, saying “Go ahead!! Run me over!” He’s wearing plain pants and a shirt that says, “NSFV / not safe for vampires.” Behind him, Tony is wheeze-laughing and braces his hands on his knees. /End ID]

Fun Martin portrait :)

[ID: a cartoony portrait of Martin from the hips up with one hand on his hip and the other held up in a piece sign. He has his hair dyed red. He’s making a kissy face and winking. He wears jean booty shorts and a pink shirt with a unicorn and sparkles on it, which says “alpha male.” The background kind of resembles some patterns of the early 2000s, made of layered patterned squares. The main colors of the background are pastel green, blue, and orange. /End ID]

The actual art of this is taller but we couldn’t fit it reasonably lol. Anyway, Crowley can be intimidating when you bother her late at night

[ID: a drawing done in green tones of Crowley standing in a silk robe. She has one hand on her hip and the other lowers her glasses as she raises an eyebrow at the viewer. She has a stern look. Her hair is straight and slicked back. The head of her snake tattoo peeks out of her robe. /End ID]

We have no good caption for this lol, just funny times

[ID: a drawing done in blue of Tony and Banner from the waists up. Tony puts one arm around Banner and motions grandly, saying “The ambiguously gay duo..!” as if that’s their combined title. Banner replies skeptically, “Ambiguously?” and then says quieter, “Also I’m not really gay?” Tony replies at the same volume, “Doesn’t matter.” /End ID]

Based on that kind of godawful fallout boy song lol

[ID: a drawing of Tony facing the camera and putting two thumbs up. He’s wearing a shirt that says “newsworthy item from 1989-2023.” To the side is written, “wahoo.” This is referencing the parody of We Didn’t Start The Fire that Fallout Boy did, which at one point mentioned Iron Man. /End ID]

We tried to make another edited portrait of Jon through ArtBreeder, this time updated not to have a haunted stare directly at the viewer lmao (also to the best of our knowledge the specific tool we use in ArtBreeder has an ethically sourced data set that hasn’t changed since it was made years ago, and doesn’t scrape the internet/isn’t based on written prompts or stolen art. /End ID]

[ID: a realistic bust portrait of Jon. He is a young British-Indian man with a short but full beard and very short hair. Both a have premature greys scattered throughout. He’s smiling and looking to the side. He wears rectangular glasses and a blue collared shirt. /End ID]

“Don’t meet your heroes”? No, don’t look up your uncle/older brother’s partner on the internet

[ID: a drawing done in red of Tony with Ro-Ro and Seraph jumping and standing very close to him. Arrows pointing to them say “want to see cool pictures of Tony on the internet.” His hands are raised to make room for the kids and he worriedly says, “I would love to say yes to that, trust me-.” /End ID]

Phew! Goddamn. That’s it for now lol!

#cabin complex art #nausicaa’s tag #Beckett’s tag #doctors tag #Martin’s tag #banner’s tag #Tony’s tag #Crowley’s tag #Jon’s tag #ro-ro’s tag #seraph’s tag #oh my god. That’s a lot of descriptions

[iironwreath]

Neighbour [Ulysses]

Every so often, in their domestic bliss, Ulysses forgot where she and Dicentra lived and why they picked it to recoup in the first place. Port Zoon was a neighbour to Port Damali, and Port Damali was a place of criminality, where the Myriad made up its beating heart and connective tissue. Port Zoon couldn’t escape its influence.

She sat slumped against a damp brick wall, her vision spotty. Two armed men and a woman loomed above her as blocks of shadow against the pale, watery light of the alley. She knuckled at a thin stream of blood escaping her nose and bumping over her lips, her other hand pressed tight against a gash in her stomach. The cut was longer than it was deep, but longer than the length of her palm and fingers; blood squeezed past, straining her shirt and the beds of her nails.

They asked her something about their message being clear—or their employer’s message. She couldn’t make out their individual words over the ringing in her ears, and that was half an answer—no—but the pain painting a glaze over her was the remaining half—yes.

“Loud and clear,” she said, harsh sounds punctuated with wet as she spoke over the blood in her mouth. Remarkably, she masked the fear in her voice. “But if you want me to take a message back to Ellendri, it helps if I don’t bleed out. Can I leave now?”

“Can you even stand?” one of the men asked. 

“One way to find out,” Uly wheezed. 

“We could carry her back,” the woman suggested, ignoring her.

“It won’t go unnoticed if I die,” Ulysses said. She talked half to distract them, half to distract herself. “You have a job, and that job has rules, right? Won’t get paid if you don’t do it right. Why are they wasting money on you guys when they could just put it towards their business?”

“We don’t ask questions, we just accept the job. As far as Ellendri’s competitors are concerned, this is good for business.”

“Then they clearly don’t know Ellendri.”

“That’s not our problem.”

The three conferred in hushed tones, then gave staggered nods. One of the men crouched and reached for her coin pouch on her belt; a little extra or guarantee, depending on what they did next.

A whisper of movement came from behind the other two; someone dropped down from the rooftops.

Dicentra came into focus, glaring at the woman. The silent wings that carried her down were gone; she looked like any ordinary elf with her arms crossed in front of her, but her eyes seared with enough hatred to blind.

The standing two twisted to look at her. “Who the fuck are you?” They glanced around, searching for the opening she must have inserted herself through. “Where did you come from?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Her voice wasn’t even contained malice; it was malice. She continued to stare interminably at the woman. With magic buoying her voice, she gestured at the man on the right with a tiny quirk of her head. “Kill him, would you?”

The woman’s face went slack. She lunged for her target, drawing her sword as she thrust him into the wall beside Ulysses. Uly startled at the jolt, half-collapsing sideways attempting veer away. The third man pounced to his feet, dagger in hand, his stance bewildered but ready.

He jabbed at Dicentra, but she swerved aside. In retaliation, her arm snapped out and a spray of blood flew from his neck. He gurgled and clutched his throat, sinking to his knees, weapon dropping with a sharp, tinny clatter. He rolled onto his side facing Ulysses. Three gashes opened his neck wide, and she watched death creep over him as red pooled into the creases between the cobblestone.

Dicentra’s lower arm had given way to her succubus form, but her usually-elegant fingers were filed into dark, stake-like points. Some of the spray had freckled her right cheek, below her eye. She was bloody and beautiful, looking at ease in the midst of murder. Ulysses breathed hard.

The woman won in the struggle against the wall, sinking her sword into the man’s gut, once, twice. He shoved her off, staggered a half-dozen steps down the alley, then collapsed with a moan.

The woman turned to Dicentra, waiting longingly for her next instructions, haloed with success.

Dicentra smiled tightly. “Thank you.” She leaned in, caressed hair away from the woman’s temple, and brushed the skin with her lips. A gasp erupted from the woman’s throat, life whisking out of her like it had Aldous months ago. She crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. All three, dead. Ulysses, safe.

Dicentra’s arm returned to its regular shape and she fell into a crouch in front of Ulysses, concern replacing her fury. She pulled a thin corked bottle from the back of her dress, tugged the stopper out with her teeth, and tipped its contents into Uly’s mouth, holding her by the jaw. Uly drank gratefully, even at the pungent, herbal taste. Dicentra’s fingers, drenched but now rounded and soft, delicately traced her throat to follow the swallow, leaving thin, vibrant stripes. 

The bleeding stopped, but she was still covered in it, and ached. Her left eye throbbed in time with her heart and continued to swell, further obscuring her vision. She wanted to pass out then and there, adrenaline and shock waning in the presence of her partner. Dicentra plucked her hand off her stomach, checked the wound, then pressed Uly’s hand back into it, hands folded overtop.

“You killed them,” Uly rasped.

“Of course,” Dicentra said. “They hurt you. When your life is endangered, you fight for it, no matter the cost. And if you’re indisposed, I’ll fight for you.”

She shuffled to their side and helped them to their feet, taking most of Uly’s weight. The scent of something spicy and sweet—brown sugar, ginger, honeysuckle—managed to bypass the coppery reek of blood.

“You smell good,” Ulysses said, light-headed.

“Oh, honey.” They hobbled to the exit of the alley. Uly sniffed, and the blood reasserted itself as the dominant scent as it clogged up her nose.

“Should we call for guards?” they asked. Dicentra shook her head.

“It doesn’t look like we defended ourselves.” She glanced back at the corpses. “It looks like a monster killed them, not an elf.”

“They were monsters, too.”

“No,” Dicentra said. “They weren’t.”

Her wings unspooled behind her. She scooped Uly up proper—Uly didn’t resist—and ferried her to the rooftop. Di kept low, swooping over gaps when nobody was on the ground, avoiding the lanterns that dripped from the cascading chains enveloping the city. It was late, even for Port Zoon, so there weren’t many around.

The breeze tousled Uly’s hair, pasting some to the blood on her face and cooling the fire in her wounds, then digging deeper and leading her to shiver with a chill. Dicentra’s hands tightened, clutching them closer to her chest. Uly blinked, and the trip was over.

Di touched down in a different alleyway a block away from The Icy Anvil, and they half-walked, half-stumbled the last gap.

They snuck in through the rear door and ascended to their quarters above the tavern. Dicentra laid her recumbent on her bed and zipped out and in with their small chest of medical supplies, followed by a small wash basin of clear water.

“You’ve been playing doctor for me for months,” she said lightly. “I think it’s my turn.” She bent, flipped open the chest, and removed objects, laying them in a row on a bedside-table. Clean cloth. Bandages. A needle. Thread. Alcohol. Ulysses tried not to tense at what would come, but her body was all stinging bends and joints, so she was tense anyway. She had no energy to spare for getting her body to obey.

“I think our time in Port Zoon is coming to a close,” Di continued, wrapping some ice—when did she get that?—into a cloth and laying it over Uly’s black eye. She placed Ulysses’ hand over to keep it in place, then rolled up the bottom hem of her shirt, careful to make sure it didn’t stick. “We’ve been here long enough to make an impact. We’re starting to make other businesses feel threatened. That’s dangerous.”

“It’s not even our business. We just work here. Ellendri was the one who made the cooled drinks.”

“I know. But wouldn't a charming cellist and beautiful barmaid bring in gold? People aren’t concerned about reaching the top of the ladder fairly.”

Ulysses grunted. “Do you think they were paid to go after you, too?”

“They could’ve tried. It would’ve ended as well as it did for the ones who went after you.”

Di fell into a focused silence. That Dicentra knew how to stitch a wound as someone who healed naturally gave Ulysses pause. It didn’t surprise her that Di would know because humanoid biology fascinated her, but to care enough to put it into practise—it was the final piece she needed to be secure in the knowledge that she wasn’t another dalliance for Dicentra. She wasn’t disposable, or replaceable. Where she went, Di followed, and vice versa. 

“I’m ready to get out of here,” Uly agreed.

#writing tag #writing: crow #crow (oc) #dicentra #exandria #i think that's everything from the crow backlog not including smut #wildemount

[dragynkeep]

you’re just too good to be true ... can’t take my eyes off of you ❤

➤ ... wishbone [clover / marrow] from rwby. ➤ ... commissioned by @invincibleweasel! ➤ ... twitter version found here. ➤ ... do not edit, repost or redistribute without permission. ➤ ... commissions are open, dm for information.

#invincibleweasel #rwby #clover ebi #marrow amin #wishbone #clover x marrow #marrow x clover #ais.txt #ipart #ipcommissions #art : aisling #THE FIRST ONE FORGOT HIS FRECKLES WHEEZE #fixed now ❤

[bewaretheblackdog]

things from my road-trip through the midwest that just (don’t) make sense

within the frigid apathy of minnesota, a gas station parking lot, lined with rusty pumps and cars with windshields freckled by the greasy stains of splattered bugs. the cashier inside refused to meet your eyes, only looking up from the counter to glance at the empty space behind you. his hands shook. you asked if he was okay, but he only flinched. when he handed you your receipt, the print was blocked by thick, black sharpie. ‘WATCH YOUR BACK.’

amidst the forgotten cornfields of iowa, an old boat discarded in a garden, the cold steel overrun with weeds and wildflowers and other rooted, unwanted things. there was no water nearby, but you could’ve sworn it was swaying on gentle waves. if you were to roll down your window, you would have heard the sharp whirr of a fishing reel and the voice of your long-dead grandfather– foggy, distanced, and stuck between somewhere and nowhere. 

in a ghost town waiting to happen, crumbling apartment buildings, sagging against concrete stairs and fire escapes. their shadows shifted and spilled into each other out of the corner of your eye, piling and folding and swelling on the cobblestone until the darkness had a depth that took up physical space in the alleyways. with time, those bundles of black shade would grow difficult to differentiate from the dull husks of the residents.

in the vast nothing of wisconsin, decrepit barns collapsed at the spine, dotting the side of the highway like corpses. as you drove by them, you could’ve sworn the a/c began to smell like spoiled meat. you flipped on the recirculation and continued on, trying in vain to ignore the swarms of black flies eating away at the wood.

among the sunken eyes of illinois, an overcrowded intersection, cars upon cars piled on top of one another at high noon. the midday sun bore down on you all, heating the field of metal until your fans were useless against the stifling heat. somewhere in the fever, you were reminded of ants under a magnifying glass, the way their legs would spark and smoke and splinter. you blinked, then opened your eyes to empty streets and a black sky. not that it shocked you. time never seemed to tick right in illinois. you kept driving.

in the heart of chicago, sloppy red graffiti under a bridge reading ‘punish the evil.’ you wished you could agree, but as you mulled over your own wrongdoings, your knuckles went white. you thought about things shameful enough to be left out confessional, ugly enough to let rot in the deep caverns of your ribcage. were you evil? did you deserve to be punished?

in the dry monotony of indiana, long stretches of prairie flattened into the dirt as if someone suffocated the land under their boot, the hills like deflated lungs. the longer you drove, the more the rushing wind sounded like wheezing.

on the horizon, a fiery explosion that only you saw, the sound inaudible over the race of cars on the highway. the smoke thinned in the breeze so rapidly your first thought was not ‘what happened?’, it was ‘did that happen at all?’ you stared mindlessly at the blank space where screams should’ve been, frozen. yet, the radio continued to blare, your mother continued her phone call, and the corn stalks continued to sway. the world sped by in your periphery and you just sat there, silent, cradling a secret known solely by you and the horizon, teetering on the divide between imagination and reality.

under the damp mold of michigan, a stray shopping cart blocking your way on a backroad, thoroughly abandoned in a puddle. it was completely empty but appeared heavier than it should have, its wheels sinking into the graveled earth beneath. it took all your weight to leverage the rusting frame into a ditch. the crash was deafening. 

in the dead plains of ohio, two barns with the words ‘PRAISE GOD. LOVE JESUS.’ scarring their faces. they felt like eyes. you hadn’t seen another building for miles, and you wouldn’t see any others for miles more, but that building saw you. 

amidst the blurry familiarity of lake erie, the horrible irony of a highway cross adorned with rotten forget-me-nots. you realized you die twice, and the second death always hurts worse than the first. you grieved at the steering wheel for a woman you’ve never met, then forgot about her an hour down the road. 

at a stoplight in pennsylvania, an eagle digging into a deer carcass. the smell lingered, sticking to your chest and to your hair and to your hands before you managed to roll up the window. the doe’s eyes melted into you, its jaw twitching as a strange bleating noise poured from your radio. ‘what if i were you and you were me?’ it asked. ‘would you be content with this end? have you led a fulfilling life?’ you fled without waiting for the light to turn green.

#midwestern gothic #regional gothic #midwest gothic #Southern Gothic #gothic #Aesthetic #wisconsin gothic #minnesota gothic #iowa gothic #pennsylvania gothic #ohio gothic #michigan gothic #indiana gothic #illinois gothic #cryptidcore #oddcore #weirdcore #horror #i had to drive 16 hours through the rural midwest to get to my college and i Saw Some Things #this is a long one #obviously this is greatly exaggerated #roadkill did not actually ask me existential questions about death #also i do live in the midwest and ik its just Like This

[calehenituseappreciation]

Ive seen a lot of Dream (and usually Techno and Phil too) as gods au (i have one too dw) but all of you are sleeping on the funniest option.

Tommy is the god.

Tommy.

hes the only one in that galaxy (other than drista ofc)

Just imagine how fucking funny it is like 

it would be so fucking hilarious

and tommy just doesnt tell them

so techno is just there making all these blood god jokes and jokingly telling tommy to serve him and tommys just laughing

imagine a god in the form of a chaotic 16 year old racoon gremlin just walts into your land commits arson and gets banned, only to come back with another person who he helps start a nation for drugs?

imagine how fucking funny it is

just

imagine tubbo banning a literal god from his lands and he just doesnt come back? he just plays by the rules? then goes and like sits in the corner all sad because some humans/dreamons told him to leave

ranboo, just joining the server: hi-  a chaotic gremlin god: wanna commit arson with me?  ranboo, just trying to vibe and maybe not disturb this god: sure 

Phil and Ranboo recongnize Tommy as a god on sight.

Everyone else just refuses to believe it. hes Tommy. Tommyinnit. hes just weird lol

And Drista being a fucking chaotic blood god? 

drista is open about her godhood and does not hesitate to spawn blocks

Drista finds Dream and decides she likes this small human, and dream just has to deal with it lmao.

drista and tommy are both born at the same time.

Tommy is a god of music, chaos, war and theivery (the last one bc he is a BITCH)

Drista is the blood god, chaos, deception, and theatre

okay but imagine the sbi interactions... like ig in this au tommy joins at like 12/13 years of age (in their minds) so he doesnt really grow much 

and like tommy, a literal god, just claiming phil as his father???

phil, in his house making eggs, assuming one of his sons woke up and came to the kitchen, not looking: hey son  tommy, from their couch, already deciding hes phils son now: whats up dad? phil: looks up at tommy who are you tommy: idk dad, who am i  phil: *stares at tommy for a second* eh i made extra eggs you can stay 

ASJIDGASUIOG IMAGINE TOMMY TELLING THEM HES A GOD BUT THEY THINK HES JOKING AND IGNORE HIM

everyone on the server: tommy is the youngest! tommy, as old as the universe: no im not!!!! im not a child!!!! he doesnt pout because pouting is for children and hes not a child but hes pouting tubbo: lol im older than you by a month tommy dont try to hide it tommy: im not a child!!!! techno: laughs

tommy doesn't try to hide that hes a god just its tommy

thats all the evedince anyone needs to think tommy isnt a god or powerful its like mcc hes good but only when he doesnt throw for content

quackity: sees drista written in bedrock lmao drista visited? tommy: yeah! i wrote that for her!  quackity: snorts yeahhhh sureee tommy

imagine like how fucking funny it is jsut like 

a fucking chaotic god breaks into your house androbs you makes a room under your house and decides to live in your floorboards

imagine dream like trying to manipulate tommy, and tommy a fucking anchient diety immeditly recongnizes what hes doing

but decides to play along for the angst and giggles and then actually gets mad when no one fucking cares for his theatrics

tommy, storming off to technos base to rob and build under: >:///// cant believe none of them acknoledged my  deppression 

i love that tommy stills robs everyone, he doesnt need to he can spawn in anything he wants

he just does it for the sport of robbery

JAKOGFSDOH

THE HOLY LAND

dream: im god actually tommy: thats so fucking funny lets make a cult about that :)  dream: see! look! im god! and jesus!  tommy: wheezing

imagine tommy getting stressed and letting go of his mortal form

Tommy, his human form peeling away, showing his actual form a bit: WH̸͘A͠T̷ ̶̢T͞H͢E ̡͘F̴̵͘Ù̧C͜K҉ ̶T͘͜͞E͟CHǸ͏Ǫ  Techno: HAH?

tommy just saw tubbo and got emotionally attached

Tommy, a literal god: hello Tubbo: oh hi do you like my pet bee? Tommy: you’re mine now Tubbo: im okay with this

tommy, a bored god: gives techno shapeshifting powers  techno, not even caring: changes into more human to pig-ishg forms as he wishes this is my life now ig 

phil lets tommy do fuck all in exile bc he knows hes a god hes fine

phil: IDC IF YOURE A GOD! YOU WILL DO THE DISHES NOW YOUNG MAN! tommy: grumbles but does them

phil is the only one who can control tommy

god... tommy... with star freckles... on his human form... (as well as his god one)

tommy: f̷͛͠a̵̋t̵̒̑h̸̚e̶̓͝r̸͊ ̸̐̒i̴ ̸̅̿d̷̉͆o̵͂͋ ̵̛̆ñ̸̾ő̶́t̸̎́ w̶͆͘i̴͠s̵̓̈́h̸͗́ ̵̯͗f̶͋́ő̴͑r̷̐̌ ̶͝é̵̽g̸͊͂g̵̒s̷͂̃  phil: idc, eat your goddamn eggs tommy: pouts

tommy, despite being able to get supplies himself by fucking spawning them in: hey tubbo? we need supplies 

In this au ig like if a god claims you you get a mark on your skin showing that. Drista’s would be like a green crown, Tommys would be a red and white disk (white as the outer ring and red as the center) (its different enough that if you don’t realise tommy is a god you wouldnt realise whos it is) (schlatt is the only one who never had one which shoulda been a sign dude :/)

Dream has two from the beginning, everyone else has only one, well until they meet drista. (sbi have had one since they met tommy, though they dont remember the first time they met tommy)

wait what if tommy like found them all as children one by one and later kinda pulled some strings to get them all in one kingdom. (he still joined sbi through forcing phil to adopt him) 

OKAY BUT IMAGINE IF TOMMY MET TECHNO WHEN TECHNO WAS YOUNG ENOUGH TO NOT REMEMBER

tommy would hang out with baby techno and tell him stories

once he told him the story of a man named thesus

another time he told him the story of a blood god

like for example tommys first time meeting techno would be like

(for context techno lived in a shitty village and was an orphan and it was kinda a dog eat dog place, he learned how to be strong because of it)(he was young enough that he doesn’t remember this well, just like learning about the blood god and someone giving him gold)

baby techno: sighs tommy, appearing out of nowhere: oh heyyy whyre you sad? techno: jumps turning around with a knife up ready for a fight who are you tommy: im tommy! :) techno: what do you want from me! you dont scare me! tommy: whats your name! techno: i have a knife! i'll use it! tommy: of course, thats a given, but its rude not to tell people your name techno, confused: t-technoblade? tommy: smiles thats a nice name techno: so. tommy: hm? techno: why're you here tommy: i don't have a reason. im just a traveller! techno: then why hole to this terrible village! theres nothing nice here! everyone is terrible and so are you! tommy: hmmmm i dont agree techno: what are you? a child? i thought adults were supposed to know that everyone is mean tommy: mmhmm looks at the bruise on technos face where'd you get that? techno: fight. i won. i'll win against you too! so don't try anything. tommy: of course. i would never win in a fight against a blood god techno, putting down his knife a bit, stars in his eyes: blood god? tommy: grins blood. god. i think she'd like you. techno, muttering: maybe i can give the blood god some of your blood tommy: laughs yeah, she'd defenitly find you intresting tommy: here tosses techno a golden crown at techno, he spawned it in in the moment techno: whats this? tommy: a crown, thought it suit you screams in the distance tommy: huh. i need to go. have fun lil piglin. ruffles technos hair before running off towards the screaming unbeknownst to the pig the blood god was actually the one waiting for the god he met. techno: stares at the crown 

Techno found a pouch of gold in his ‘house’ later that day. he didnt know who left it but it helped him get food for that night. (he kept the crown)

okay but imagine tommy not taking the war seriously at all, and only seeing it as a squabble between mortals, Like toddlers fighting

dream: SURENDER BY TOMMOROW OR WE'LL DECLARE WAR! wilbur: FUCK YOU WE'LL NEVER SURENDER AND JOIN YOUR SMP! Tommy: how cute

tommy doesnt realise that theyre serious until wilbur dies

tommy would usually go apeshit against anyone who dares messes with his humans, but what is he supposed to do when his humans are fighting Eachother?

wilbur: fucking goes insane and dies  tommy: hey- hey can you guys let me talk to wil for a sec? everyone else leaves tommy, unsually somber: sorry i didnt help you i forgot how easily breakable mortals are tommy: this time you wont die, and i'll make it so that you dont break again, okay? tommy: brings wilburs soul out of its body and enters his mindscape ghostbur: wakes up what- where am i? tommy: hi there ghostbur: who are you tommy: i go by a lot of names all, one, you, the world, the universe, god, but you can just call me tommy ghostbur: oh okay. who am i? tommy: you're name was wilbur soot. you were the son of philza minecraft and brother to Technoblade, Tubbo and myself. ghostbur: was? tommy: well you see, you died. ghostbur: oh... well what am i then? tommy: a ghost! well actually its your choice. would you like to continue your existance or fade away with your body? ghostbur: i dont want to fade away! tommy: smiles thats what i thought you'd say stretches his hand to wilbur ghostbur: grabs tommy hand tommy: lets go home

ghostbur doesnt remember that though

he only remembers the good

tommy wont let him remember the bad, what if he breaks again? mortals are so fragile

phil realises what tommy did as soon as he sees ghostbur 

drista, painting tommys nails (there both in god form btw) (after wilburs death btw): tommy shouldn't you of all gods realise how fragile they are?  tommy: i know just... forgot  drista: sighs and nods i get what you mean, especially with the ones we found... they act a lot like gods sometimes i forgot they arent  tommy: ikr? wait- drista here gets drista's hair out of her face you were gonna get it on my nails, anyways, don't judge me. we all know if dream died you would turn him into a ghost too drista: smirks not if you do it first, we all know you would tommy: you say that as if you wouldn't fight me to do it first  drista: .... tommy: ... drista: both of us when he dies? tommy: nods tommy: anyways my turn to do your nails 

or like tommy with ghostbur like

ghostbur: i don't like this :( tommy, a worried brother and god: whats wrong? ghostbur: everyone is mad at me and i d-dont know why- why are they mad at me tommy: theyre mad at something alivebur did ghostbur: b-but im not alivebur sniffs it hurts. i dont like it. tommy: spawns in some blue here ghostbur: whats that? tommy: its some blue! it'll help you not hurt anymore! ghostbur: how does it work? tommy: see how its blue? ghostbur: nods tommy: well its blue because it sucks up all the bad feelings! it'll help ghostbur: !!!!! ghostbur: presses the blue into his chest ghostbur: !!!!its working!!!! :D tommy: smiles good

wilbur fucking died and tommy went from annoying little brother to caring older brother

tommy just wants to help his brother :) though he doesnt realise that not letting ghostbur remember bad memories isnt good

*at logsted shire btw* ghostbur: who are you? tommy, chuckling: did you forget me already ghostbur? ghostbur: i didnt forget you! i think! you're tommy! i just... you're different tommy, looks over at ghostbur: different how? ghostbur: you're not normal are you? tommy: grins whaaaaat? you think im weirdddd? how heartbreaking... my own brother thinks im weird, this is terrible ghostbur: giggles tommy: but really, don't worry about it bur. ghostbur: you sure? tommy: yeah, dont worry about me ghostbur: smiles okay! do you want some blue anyways? tommy: giggles sure! ghostbur: grins

ghostbur isnt worried about tommy

he knows hes strong

phil having to tell tommy that he cant just not let wilbur remember the bad memories

and tommys like "what if he breaks again!" and phil hugs him and tells him to at least ask ghostbur if he wants to remember and tommys like ‘fine’

tommy: hey bur? ghostbur: yeah? tommy: do you like you're memories? ghostbur: i mean, yeah its hard not to when you only remember the good tommy, quietly: would you want to remember the bad? ghostbur: w-what brought this question on tommy: answer the question ghostbur: no- alivebur was badi shouldn't want to- tommy: but what do you want bur? wilbur, silent for a moment: yeah- yeah i do. not that i like the bad memories! they hurt... but i wish i could remember tommy: ... ghostbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? ghostbur, with tears in his eyes: do you think they'd be less mad at me if i could remember, maybe then i could repair my relationships, what the hell am i supposed to do when i dont even remember hurting them? tommy: what if they dont? what if you break again? ghostbur, saltily: we'll maybe i'll be able at least be able to say i know why everyone hates me tommy: i know how to get all of your memories back ghostbur, looks towards tommy in shock: you do??? tommy: nods ghostbur, voice wavering: for how long tommy: since the beginning ghostbur: and you didnt tell me tommy: i did what i thought was best. i just didnt want you to hurt anymore. ghostbur, angrily: WELL THAT CLEARLY WORKED DIDNT IT? tommy: sorry wilbur, sometimes i forget how to handle humans ghostbur: what- tommy: sighs and taps ghostbur on the forehead and ghostbur does the ghost equivilent of passing out tommy: wont hide any memories this time

ghostbur doesnt wake up, instead wilbur wakes up weither thats good or bad we'll see

wilbur, waking up with all his memories: HOLY SHIT TOMMY WASN'T KIDDING phil, who was reading beside the bed tommy placed wilbur into, which was in technos house. yes he broke into technos house with a passed out wilbur. move on.: hm? wilbur: holy shit phil: huh? yeah. wilbur: wait you knew? phil: yeah i recongnized him as soon as i saw him about 5 years ago now? wilbur: excuse me while i freak out because my little brother is an actual god

it really hits wilbur that tommy is a god later

wilbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? wilbur: how fucking old are you? tommy: snorts of course thats the first thing you ask wilbur: well? tommy: i dont really know the exact years since years are kind of a human thing that were invented recently wilbur: they were invented thousands of years ago- tommy: but it was around the beginning of this galaxy wilbur, softly: what the fuck

tommy telling wilbur stories about different heros and villains and different humans he met during his life.

Adsjbffsg what if Tommy made himself blonde and blue eyed and white bc thats hyow the first human he met looked like asjfhsd

and just didnt change that, despite meeting new humans, its just his defult settings.

he would totally do this tho im crying.

drista just based her human form off dream because she is his sister now. he must deal with this. trying disowning me when i look like you BITCH.

thats my take anyways later might continue this

#tommyinnit #dsmp #dream smp #drista #god au #technoblade #wilbur soot #ghostbur #dreamwastaken #tubbo #philza minecraft #long post #just needed to say this

[oh-for-merlins-sake]

SLOW BURN | gw | golden

summary: y/n, a local florist, stops in weasleys’ wizard wheezes for the first time and finds more than she bargained for. soon, she’ll teach george that there are many reasons to stop and smell the roses.

pairing: george weasley x fem!reader

word count: 2.6k

warnings: alcohol

a/n: AAAAAH you guys i did not want to stop writing this!! i had so much fun, and i’m really happy with how it turned out! it was really challenging for me to write a “slow burn” relationship, but i hope i did it justice! as you’ll see, this is not a “song” fic, but a lyric (in bold and italics) was used. cheers to the first installment of the golden collection!!

taglist: @iliveiloveiwrite @andromedaa-tonks @pansydaisy @a-little-too-much @slytherinsunrise @marvelettesassemble @msmarklee1213 @letsgotothehop @finnishslytherin @starlightweasley @witch-and-a-half @darthwheezely @vogueweasley @gcdric @breadqueen95 (message/ask to be added/removed, loves!)

Blackbirds trilled overhead as you glided over the cobblestone path to work. The sun was finally reemerging from behind the dark, dreary clouds, which had just finished bathing the streets of Diagon Alley in a springtime shower. You admired the lingering smell of fresh rainwater that dripped from the eaves above you.

Today, you were taking a detour from your ordinary route. Your younger brother’s birthday was just around the corner, and you had yet to find a gift worthy of a teenage boy’s microscopic attention span and angst-ridden ennui. You smiled to yourself as you spotted the vibrant shop down the street with its mechanical mascot tipping his hat to you.

It was curious to you that this shop had a natural magnetism to people of all ages. If you hadn’t found a thing yet, this shop should surely hold something that would cater to your brother. You’d seen the troves of young wizards clamoring in a morning or two before.

As you approached the large front doors, you glanced at your watch: half an hour until the start of your shift. You strolled into the whimsical shop, dodging a Fanged Frisbee in the process. You slowly turned in place, eyeing the towering shelves of eccentric gadgets and vivid pyrotechnics. Truthfully, it was a little intimidating; where to start was beyond you.

“Can’t find what you’re looking for?”

Startled by the sudden voice, you spun to face its origin. You were met with a tall, redheaded man with freckles that practically danced across his cheeks as he chuckled at your expression. Suddenly, you felt sheepish. “Sorry?”

“You looked a little...” he pondered the right word, “overwhelmed.”

You laughed, “To be honest, I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.”

He nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Younger brother’s birthday?”

“How did you know?”

“Just a guess,” he shrugged.

You were quite impressed. As he motioned for you to follow him up the stairs to the next floor of the shop, you couldn’t help but notice how familiar he looked. Surely you’d seen him before — perhaps in line at Gringotts or sipping mead in the Leaky Cauldron. You couldn’t quite pin it.

You were relieved to leave the gargantuan fireworks below — on behalf of your mother mostly. You followed him to a wall of massive tubes that were filled to the brim with colorful candies.

“Our full collection of sweets,” he announced.

You eyed the assortment, noticing the words Puking Pastilles on a golden label. “Are these different flavors or...?”

“Yes, but more importantly, they serve different purposes. These, for example,” he pointed to the pastilles, “induce vomiting — perfect for skiving class!”

You chuckled. “Surely these aren’t allowed at Hogwarts?”

“‘Course not! But that’s what makes them so bloody popular — hot commodity,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “We’ve got a sweet for nearly every malady.”

“Who even thinks of this sort of thing?” you mused — again, thoroughly impressed.

“I guess we do,” he answered, leaning against the counter.

Your jaw dropped. “You made these?”

He shrugged, the faintest smirk on his lips, “I made everything.”

“Get out!” you laughed, pouring some candy into a purple plastic bag.

“Of my own shop?” he teased. “I don’t think so!”

You twist-tied the bag shut and turned to face him. “So you’re Weasley?”

“One of them, at least — George, to be exact.”

“That’s wicked!”

You noticed his freckled cheeks growing rosier by the second. “That’s awfully kind of you,” he said, waving dismissively.

“No, honestly! It’s incredible!”

As you reached for another plastic bag, George rushed over to interrupt. “Here,” he pointed to the display of Skiving Snackboxes. “Take one of these — they’ve got all our best-selling sweets in one box. Your brother’s sure to love it.” He led you over, plucking a box from the top and handing it to you. “On the house.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” you said, shaking your head.

“I insist! Consider it an incentive.”

“An incentive?”

He nodded. “To come again.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Thank you, George — really! I just know he’ll love it!” As you turned the box in your hands, you caught sight of the time on your wrist: five ‘til. “Merlin!”

George furrowed his brows.

“I’ve got to go!” If you hadn’t known any better, you could’ve sworn you’d seen a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “But, perhaps you’ll stop by sometime. I can return the favor — clip you a free dozen roses for your girlfriend or something,” you rushed out.

“I’d have to find one first,” he chuckled, following you as you skipped down the steps towards the doors.

A warm blush flooded your face as you laughed nervously. You spun to face George one last time as he landed at the foot of the stairs. “Well, maybe you’ll stop by anyways.”

“Florist down the road?” he asked, pointing in the general direction.

“That’s exactly the one!” you called, stepping backwards onto the street.

You rushed down the path towards the florist, your step feeling a touch lighter than it did earlier. You noticed the result of the sudden sun after the storm: a rainbow hanging above the grinning man attached to the storefront.

“Aha!” you exclaimed, finally realizing why George had looked so familiar.

When you arrived at work, you swung the screen door into the greenhouse open, announcing your presence, “Sorry I’m late!”

“Not to worry, dear,” Muriel remarked.

Muriel hired you a few months prior, admiring your proclivity to gardening and greenery. She taught you something new every day without ever realizing she was doing so. Her green thumb had a knack for nurturing every flower both under and out of the sun. And her extraordinary eye for piecing together various plants and flowers to create a stunning and elegant arrangement never ceased to amaze you.

“Be a dear, Y/N, won’t you?” Jasmine grunted as she attempted to haul a heavy-bottomed, ceramic pot.

You threw your things onto a nearby stool and rushed over to lift the side closest to you. The two of you managed to hoist the pot just above the dirt floor to carry it to its destination.

“Re-potting the Wiggentree,” Jasmine explained, dusting off her hands. “Pretty soon it’s going to be too big to stay, mum,” she called to Muriel.

“Yes, I know, dear,” Muriel muttered, “That does not change the fact that it must be re-potted.”

Jasmine was less fond of gardening than her mother was. But if something unfortunate were to happen, the shop would fall to Jasmine, so she figured it’d be best to at least try and learn a thing or two.

You walked through the door leading directly from the greenhouse into the shop. “Morning, Candace!”

“Morning, Y/N!” the cheery teenager chirped as she balanced a vase full of violets on the counter.

A set of hooks adorned with various dirt-stained aprons lined the wall just behind it. You reached for the one with your initial embroidered in the upper right corner, quickly throwing it over your head and down your body. You tied a bow behind your back before throwing your hair up and stepping back into the greenhouse. You grabbed a pair of gloves and began heaving soil into the planter with Jasmine.

Beads of sweat were already forming on your forehead as the humidity of the greenhouse settled into your skin.

Re-potting the Wiggentree proved to be a difficult and timely task, taking up most of the morning. By lunchtime, you’d moved on to trimming daisies and de-thorning roses, and come sunset, you were planting hyacinth seeds and watering Flutterby bushes in the garden.

“Y/N,” Jasmine announced, stepping out from the greenhouse. “Someone’s here to see you.”

You wound your way through the garden and the greenhouse, stepping into the shop in search of your guest. Candace giggled as she zipped her coat and nodded towards the front door. You stepped onto the patio, where the outdoor displays danced in the gentlest of breezes. You were shocked to spot George leaning over to smell the roses.

“George?” you laughed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Someone said something about roses,” he teased.

“Well,” you began, walking over and gesturing to the basket of pretty, pink roses, “What do you think?”

“Well worth the walk over here,” he answered, smiling brightly at you as he rocked on his heels with his hands in his coat pockets.

Jasmine rushed onto the patio with her jacket and purse draped over her shoulder and swiftly said, “Y/N, I completely forgot about my mother-in-law’s birthday dinner, and Candace just left! I’m so sorry — would you mind —”  

“Go on!” you hurried, waving her off of the patio, “I’ll close up!”

“Thank you, Y/N!” she called over her shoulder, “You’re an angel!”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes in amusement as she disappeared around the corner.

“I’ve got to tidy a few things but... the bar down the street doesn’t close for an hour,” you began, your heart fluttering as your stomach burst with butterflies, “We should take a walk and look at all the flowers down the alley.” You chuckled, feeling your face grow warm, “I planted half of them.”

George smiled, a light laugh gracing his lips, “All right, sounds good then.”

George busied himself with the outdoor displays while you prepared the shop for closing. He brushed his calloused fingers over the delicate flower petals, occasionally indulging in their sweet scents. He imagined how you likely smelled of flowers after a long day of work, and how that would be the perfect antidote to the lingering smell of gunpowder that constantly plagued his pillows.

“Ready?” you asked, stepping back onto the patio.

“More than ever,” he said.

As you walked down the alley together, you pointed out flowerbed after flowerbed resting on the windowsills of various shops and bakeries. Your favorites, he learned, were always the dahlias. He was surprised by the natural beauty that erupted from the brick and stone storefronts, and even more so by the fact that he never once paid attention to any of it. How could he have missed this?

“Merlin!” you gasped, rushing over to Mr. Reilly’s butcher shop. “Mr. Reilly has been doing an absolute lovely job tending to his poppies! You see, when I first popped in, he swore to Godric that he was incapable of keeping anything alive but himself, but look!”

George laughed, racing to keep up with you.

You led him to the pub that had just opened the month prior, Brenda’s Brews, whose owner agreed with your suggestion of keeping a few Fire Seed bushes out front to “really grab the people’s attention!”

Upon entering the pub, Brenda greeted you from behind the bar, “The usual, Y/N?”

“Two please!” you called, sliding a few sickles across the counter faster than George was able to dive into his pockets. “Don’t worry about it,” you winked.

“Okay, but next one’s on me, yeah?”

“No, no, consider it a thank you for earlier,” you said, raising your glass.

George clinked his glass with yours before sipping from the foamy ale. “Good choice,” he nodded.

“Can’t go wrong with a little Dragon Scale,” you remarked, savoring in its tangy, bitter taste.

“I’ve got to ask,” George began, setting his glass down on a coaster with The Weird Sisters plastered on it, “It seems like you know everyone in this bloody part of town. How come we haven’t met? Have you been here long?”

You laughed at his disbelief. “I’ve only been here a few months, so I haven’t quite gotten to everyone yet — for example, Number 93,” you muttered as you fidgeted with your diminishing glass.

“That’s wild,” he paused before snapping his fingers and saying, “Y/N?”

“Y/N,” you confirmed, taking a swig from your glass.

“And you’ve already made that big of an impact on everyone?” he continued.

You blushed, feeling flooded with a sudden warmth. You were quite flattered by the idea that you may mean something to this place; a place that was so new and intimidating not that long ago; somewhere you were certain a florist could never thrive: the middle of the city.

Perhaps the finger pricks from a thorn every now and then was worth it.

You shrugged bashfully, “I don’t know about all that.”

“Y/N,” a bartender called as he raced past, carrying two different mugs with different colored ales, “May loved the mayflowers! She said yes, by the way!”

You clapped, squealing in excitement, “Congratulations, Borden!”

George raised his eyebrows, as if to say, See?

Brenda bellowed, “Last call!”

You checked your watch: half an hour until close.

And despite the short burst of time remaining, it felt as though you’d been laughing and chatting away with George for hours. If someone insisted that they’d magically slowed time, you might have believed them. It felt so familiar to talk to George; it came so naturally. You wondered if he’d been talking since birth, given the way he animatedly told stories and produced witty comebacks within nanoseconds of the original comment.

At last, your glasses had been drained of their contents, and Brenda was shooing the last of the stragglers out the door. George followed behind you as you ducked out, calling goodbye to Brenda and Borden back inside.

Perhaps you’d been imagining it, but it certainly seemed that you and George were walking much closer together than you had been originally. One misstep and you might have brushed his hand.

You were suddenly distracted by the vibrant purple dahlias sitting outside of Rosa Lee’s. You raced over, carefully assessing exactly which flower to pick, explaining, “She won’t mind, I give her a new basket every week.”

George felt suddenly in awe of your natural grace and delight. It seemed so simple to please you: a dainty dahlia was all you needed to feel like the world was a good enough place to live. In a way, he envied your childlike wonder; it was different than the one exhibited in his shop by his products. It paid attention to the smaller things in life, rather than inciting big, booming bangs. It provided a sense of serenity.

You giggled and tucked the flower behind his right ear. He blushed as your hand gently grazed his skin. “How do I look?” he managed.

“Beautiful,” you said sincerely.

You continued walking as George fiddled with the dahlia. “Your favorite, right?” he asked, pointing to it.

“That is correct, sir,” you answered, impressed by his memory.

Once you reached Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, George leaned against the door and twiddled with the tiny flower between his fingers. He considered asking you inside, despite the lights clearly being off, indicating that the shop was clearly closed, and therefore, indicating that he meant inside his flat.

Likewise, you pondered the same prospect. You wondered if it’d be too forward: to suggest the idea of coming inside. Perhaps, tonight wasn’t the night.

And that was all right.

“Well, George,” you sighed, “I must say I’m really glad I stepped into this wacky shop of yours today.”

“I’d say the same,” he said earnestly.

You paused. “You’ll have to stop by again... you know, to finish off your bouquet,” you said, gesturing towards the dahlia.

He smiled. “You’ll be there tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” you echoed, a smile growing on your lips. You stepped onto the street and waved.

The sight of George waving back with a lopsided grin on his freckled face was enough to tide you over until next time. You spun in place and apparated home.

Honestly, George liked the idea of taking his time, carefully picking flowers — a few each day — until his bouquet was erupting from its vase.

Maybe then, you’d come in.

#george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley #hp fanfiction #george weasley x fem!reader #golden collection

[keijislove]

Bet: Fred and George Weasley X Reader (FT. Lee Jordan)

A/N: just a lot of platonic crack XD

Life with Fred and George Weasley as your best friends was quite chaotic.

From the endless teasing to the unexpected jokes to the best pranks ever, you adored both of them to the very last freckle.

You were sitting in your Potions class with your least favourite professor, the greasy haired git known as Severus Snape, when something caught your attention.

Your sleeve was getting tugged at.

You looked at your partner, George, as he slipped a piece of parchment towards you.

Lee, Fred and I have placed a bet, that you can’t skive off the first twenty minutes of Snape’s next class. He reckons you can, we think otherwise.

You scowled at him.                                

You scribbled hastily on another piece of parchment.

You’re gonna go down, Weasley. What are we betting for?

You threw it his way.

George smirked at you before shoving another note your way.

Loser writes that twelve-inch essay Flitwick’s set us.

You shuddered.

‘Poor losers.’ You mumbled.

After the ghastly hour was over, Fred, George and Lee approached you.

‘Up to the challenge, L/N?’ Fred snickered.

You smirked. ‘You bet.’

‘It’s still Snape though.’ Lee shuddered.

‘Yeah, bet he has wet dreams about torturing the students.’ George muttered.

‘Wet dreams, oh merlin.’ You rolled your eyes.

--------------------

Charms was as uneventful as any other day.

Professor Flitwick had given you silencing spells to practise.

‘Silenco.’ You lazily muttered, watching satisfied as your frog stopped mid-croak.

You were done with all your frogs and ravens, so you summoned some more.

‘Accio Frogs.’ You spoke, as several frogs whizzed your way, narrowly missing Lee.

One landed between the twins as you snickered at their shock.

‘Fancy warning us before you do that, mate?’ Fred yelled, nonplussed.

You ignored them, continuing the charms.

When you were done yet again, you set your wand aside.

‘Alright, listen here.’ You whispered as all three boys sat up.

‘I’m going to need the map, first thing.’ You explained. ‘And you two, bet or not, if I get into trouble, for merlin’s sake, help me!’

‘When have we not?!’ George asked, in mock anger.

You thought sarcastically. ‘Hmm... let’s see... when McGonagall caught us trying to sneak into Zonko’s in our second year... when Binns marked me zero because I forgot my essay when, in truth it was I who had written yours. And a couple of more times when you cheated off me!’

‘Alright, alright, we mocked you for being a swotty prat like Percy at times.’ Fred said.

‘Sometimes, huh?’ Lee sniggered.

-----------------------

Alas, you were not successful, but at least the objective that Potions would not remain uneventful was fulfilled.

You roamed around when you heard the bell, occasionally throwing stuff at Peeves who was threatening to rat you out.

‘Peeves, I’m asking nicely.’ You warned. ‘Do NOT rat me out!’

‘Ickle Y/N isn’t being such a good girl, now is she?’ Peeves mocked.

‘Peeves!’ you warned.

‘STUDENTS IN THE HALL! STUDENTS SKIVING CLASSES!’ Peeves roared.

‘PEEVES!’ you sneered, bolting.

Filch came, wheezing.

‘Where?’ he demanded. ‘Where, you ruddy poltergeist, WHERE?’

‘Ask nicely, or I won’t say nothing.’ Peeves said.

‘Oh merlin’s sake.’ Filch spat. ‘PLEASE Peeves. Where are they?’

‘Nothing.’ Peeves spoke.

Filch look confused.

‘Told you I wouldn’t say nothing if you don’t ask nicely.’ Peeves said. ‘There, I said it. Nothing!’

‘Peeves!’

‘Even his idiocy is improper.’ You muttered.

Ah.

Twenty minutes had passed.

You walked over to Potions and saw Fred and George getting scolded for something.

Fred made a desperate gesture for you to get in.

You nodded, creeping in.

When you sat down, a voice spoke.

‘Do not expect, Miss L/N.’ Snape softly said. ‘That I have not noticed you walking in to my lesson twenty minutes late.’

Mentally cursing, you turned around.

‘May I inquire your whereabouts?’ he asked.

‘I was...’ you began.

George made a coughing gesture behind Snape.

‘... sick.’ You finished. ‘At the, uh, infirmary.’

‘May I also know what happened to you?’ Snape sneered.

Fred made a fainting gesture, putting his hand on his forehead.

‘I had a fever.’ You spoke.

Fred continued making some gesture you couldn’t understand.

‘... and... sprouted some tentacles when someone hexed me?’ it came out more as a question than a statement.

George made an exasperated face.

Snape smiled triumphantly. ‘Detention, miss L/N.’

You sighed.

‘And you too, Weasley and Weasley.’ He continued. ‘Don’t think I didn’t see you helping her.’

#crack #harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter x you #fred weasley #george wealey #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #lee jordan #platonic #funny #prank #peeves #hp #yn

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.13 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Finally some answers! It's just a shame they aren't for the questions Stretch already had.

Read ‘Neverland’ on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

If he were asked, Stretch would be the first to admit he was probably not the greatest influence out there for anyone. When he was younger, he’d tried his best for Blue’s sake at least; he worked two jobs, he made sure the laundry was done so Blue could wear clean clothes for school and all that. But as Blue got older and more able to help out, a lot of that shit fell off to the wayside into apathy. Until they got to the surface, anyway, but whatever efforts he’d made to get his life on track in the Aboveground took a sad detour back to wallowing in misery a few months back.

That said, Stretch tried not to be a complete asshole at any given time, but damn if living in Backwater wasn’t putting his manners to the test, because the predominant phrase running through his mind right now as he stared at the older ‘Chara’ clone was, ‘what in the name of holy blue fuck?’.

At least he managed not to say it, but then, he also didn’t manage to say anything else. Instead of a ‘hi’ or a ‘how ya doin’ or even a ‘so, how about those dodgers’ for the smiling Human in front of him, all Stretch did was gape, his bike engine idling and his mouth hanging open in an invitation to any circling flies in search of a new home.

His luck was leaning towards good today, insect-wise, since none took the invite, and all the Human did was smile wider, their eyes crinkling as they held out their hand and said, with a certain slyness, “Don’t you know how to greet a new pal?”

Stretch knew before he even shook their hand what was coming. Mostly, anyway, turned out to be a whoopie cushion hidden in the palm rather than the joy buzzer Stretch was so fond of. But he knew, this was his gag, and still he hastily switched off the engine and reached over. He took their hand in a daze and the rubbery wheeze of a fake fart as their palms met made the Human laugh in delight.

“Still works,” they said gleefully. The Human held up the little whoopie cushion before tucking it into their pocket, leaving aside humor for sincerity. “I have so wanted to meet you.”

“me?” Stretch said blankly. Not exactly showcasing his brilliance, there, but he couldn’t seem to stop staring. That familiar, cherubic smile was so strange when it was on another face. Of all the things he’d seen so far in Backwater, this was, by far, the last he’d ever expected, and that was including the damn corn.

“Oh, yes, Edge has told me all about you,” they said, rocking on their heels. From the neck down, the resemblance took a little detour. No striped shirt here and instead of the green Chara favored, they wore blue. A subtle difference, but one that Stretch latched onto gratefully, along with what they said next. “My name is Frisk.”

“frisk,” Stretch repeated. He felt like a living echo, but that name seemed somehow familiar, niggling at the back of his mind. Eh, didn’t matter, the important thing was that it wasn’t ‘Chara’, ‘cause his mental capacity for accepting the weird was teetering on the brink of overload.

Their mouth twitched again into a smile. "You're wearing my old helmet."

"oh. oh!” Stretch slapped a hand on top of his head and nearly impaled it on a cat ear. Hastily, he started working on the buckle. “uh. sorry about that.”

"No, it's cute,” Frisk said cheerfully. “Red wouldn’t let me ride my bike without it, either.” Stretch could only blink at them, still waiting on an internal reboot, here, and the Human’s mouth twisted wryly. "It’s okay. The resemblance is uncanny, I know. We saw it all on television when it happened a few years ago. Chara, the human who brought Monsters back to the surface. Red thought it was all very funny, but his sense of humor is rather questionable on a good day."

On television? But…how…? Weakly, Stretch said, "i don't understand."

“I know," Frisk said. Their eyes darkened with sympathy. "And I doubt very much that Edge or Red explained." They sighed with fond irritation, "All these years living here, and Edge still loves his puzzles. Never a straight answer if he can twist it around for someone to solve. Red is just a shit. Come on,” they jerked their chin towards the cabin. “Edge is around back.”

Frisk turned and started back up the winding path, bare feet light on the flat stones. Stretch realized he was still straddling his bike and hastily put down the kickstand before following. Okay, so, no Red Riding Hood today, he was more like a Lost Boy and if Peter Pan swooped down right now with Tinkerbell sparkling at his feet, he was gonna swat them both down.

“wait!” he called. Frisk paused and turned around, their expression questioning as Stretch jogged to catch up, trying not to stumble over his untied shoelaces. “you…you’re edge’s roommate, right?”

Frisk considered that and nodded. “That’s as good a word as any.”

“right.” Okay, yeah, he would have felt pretty damn guilty about his frequent admiration of Edge’s hips if it weren’t for Red assuring him Edge wasn’t in a relationship. Roommates, not ‘roommates’, finger quote-slash-finger quote. He was losing the thread, though, and he wanted to pick it back up before it unraveled completely. “look, i’m supposed to be here to ask you about edgar allen.”

“I know,” Frisk smiled again and a pair of dimples peeked out. Now that he was past the initial shock, he could see a splash of freckles on their nose, another little difference distancing them from Chara that was a relief to see. “I’ll explain everything in due time. Come on.” They dashed away again, and all Stretch could do was follow.

In due time, right, he’d been waiting for anyone around here to pay their dues for days, give him some straightforward answers, and it seemed like the only thing he ever got was another winding road.

He’d been doing pretty good about cutting back on the cigarettes, but today Stretch would have maimed someone’s uncle for a full pack and a half an hour to work his way through ‘em, one after another.

Frisk led the way behind the house and as Stretch stepped around the corner, he stopped to stare at the view. It opened up into a clearing that was filled with huge garden spreading out in a chaotic sort of order; beds of bright flowers, rows of different veggies and berries, baskets hanging between them with leafy tendrils spilling out. Parts of it already looked like they were winding down for the summer, like the rows of truly enormous sunflowers skirting the garden, their bright petals already withering and their broad faces gone to seed, heralds to the upcoming change of season.

It was incredible, it was insane, how…?

“how does all this grow in the woods?" Stretch asked wonderingly, to no one in particular. “how do you grow sunflowers without sun?” Some light filtered in through the heavy canopy of branches overhead, sure, but the overwhelming appearance was one of shade. Stretch didn’t know shit about gardening, but this wasn’t exactly his idea of a great place to set one up.

Obviously, someone forgot to tell these plants, it sure wasn’t stopping them.

“They aren’t sunflowers. Not exactly.”

It wasn’t Frisk’s voice and Stretch startled, turning to see Edge kneeling close by in the dirt by another row, briskly picking handfuls from the low plants. There was a basket next to him half-filled with green pods, beans or peas, he wasn’t sure which, and that was where it stayed because it wasn’t the gardening that Stretch was interested in anyway. He promptly forgot about sunflowers, beans, peas, Peter Pan, everything, and stood mutely watching Edge work.

Somehow, he always managed to forget in between seeing him how damned attractive Edge was. Even in shabby working clothes, the underarms of his t-shirt damp with sweat and wearing a pair of dirty flower-patterned garden gloves, he was a hell of a snack pack. All those baggy clothes did was cloak what he knew they concealed, hinting at what lay beneath with a suggestion that unwrapping would reveal delightful surprises and—

Yeah, okay, he was gonna stop that line of thought right there. He was here for a reason and it wasn’t to ogle at Red’s little bro.

Then all his good intentions took a spin down the drain as Edge looked up at him and smiled. Not a scowl, which wouldn’t have surprised him, not a smirk, which was to be expected, but an honest-to-angel smile. Like he was actually glad to see him and the little throb in Stretch’s battered soul didn’t hurt nearly as much as it should.

“So, you’ve finally arrived,” Edge said. He went back to his picking, didn’t seem to notice the way Stretch’s eye lights kept trying to drift down to where his shirt was riding up at the back.

“looks that way.” Stretch tore his gaze from Edge and took the safer route of glancing around at the garden again. “took longer than i thought it would. this place could use a yellow brick road.”

"That seems like it would invite tornados,” Edge said dryly, “and we see enough trouble."

Trouble? That didn’t seem right. How much trouble could show up on their doorstep out here in the boonies. Then again, probably better to just roll with it, for all he knew there were bears out here or monsters with a lowercase ‘m’. Fuck it, could even be monster bears, who knew? It would sure explain why everyone said to keep on the path.

So, Stretch let that be and asked instead, “your bro didn’t give you a heads up that i was coming?”

“No.” And there was a touch of the sourpuss he knew and lo—liked. Edge slithered on down the row and attacked the pods on those plants, adding them in to his basket. “While I at least attempt to keep my brother apprised of any situations in town, he tends to side with the element of surprise.”

From out of nowhere, the Human appeared. They marched right up to Edge and smacked him lightly on the back of the skull and Stretch nearly jumped himself; he’d just about forgotten about them completely despite them being the entire reason behind his visit. Yep, that was the only reason he was here, to ask about Edgar Allen, and he damn well needed to remember that.

“Oh, stop it!” Frisk scolded, “You and your brother, and your petty squabbles! You were just as bad yourself when we were still Underground, always had to play up the puzzles.”

Edge made a show of rubbing his skull, as if that little smack even hurt. His mouth twitched in an almost-smile, and it wasn’t as nice as the one earlier, but it still made Stretch melt a little inside. “That is possible,” he allowed.

“Good. You behave. Now,” Frisk turned back to Stretch and said brightly, “Come inside, we’ll talk over dinner.”

Uh.

Frisk started towards the house and Edge got to his feet, basket in hand, to follow them. Stretch hung back, suddenly wary of going into the gingerbread house. He knew all the stories about spiders and flies, and what happened in their parlors, thanks, and before Frisk could disappear inside, Stretch called, weakly, "i really only came out here to ask about edgar allen."

They hesitated at the open door and from the glint in their eyes, they had an inkling of what Stretch was thinking about. “I know. And Edge set you on a quest to find me so you can ask,” they laughed delightedly, “The phone book was a nice touch.”

"you know about that?” Stretch blurted, “so you’ve known i wanted to talk to you?”

They nodded. “Of course, Edge tells me everything.”

“so why didn't you come into town to see me?!"

Their sudden mischievous smile only made them look even more like Chara. "And spoil his fun?"

Frisk went inside, the door swinging shut behind them. Edge stayed outside, his basket of beans-or-peas balanced on his hip. He arched a browbone and asked, “Are you coming or not?”

Stretch wavered, scuffing his feet against the stone path, both tempted and wary, and before he could make a choice, his magic decided for him. They didn’t have stomachs, actually, but it didn’t stop their magic from imitating one for him, letting out a growl that was a reminder that the lunch Red packed him was still stashed away in his bag uneaten.

That earned him a low chuckle and the melted chocolate of Edge’s voice didn’t help his growling not-belly one damn bit. Edge tilted his head towards the door in invitation, “Come on, it’s dinner time and I can’t bear to let moronic creatures starve. You can help me cook.”

“uh.” Leaving aside the whole moronic thing (he’d probably earned it at some point, anyway), now might be the time to bring up an important fact. “i should warn you ahead of time, i’m not much of a chef.”

Edge only nodded, sighing deeply, “Of course. I should have suspected that looks aside, you were my brother’s doppelgänger rather than mine.”

“what?” How was it this guy could be so unfairly hot and so damned confusing at the same time? “what does that even mean?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

Stretch only crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “ain’t gonna get easier if you don’t start.”

Edge made an impatient sound, “Come inside and we will. Stretch,” his voice went lower, gentle, “Backwater can be unnerving, I know this, but you’re safe here. I would never let anything hurt you in my home.”

Yeah, okay, that was seriously unfair, like Edge was speaking directly to his nerves, reassuring him with honeyed promises and damned if Stretch didn’t believe him. Worse, he wanted to believe him.

He still hung back uncertainly, and one corner of Edge’s mouth quirked up as he added, “Besides, my brother would never forgive me if I let anything happen to his best salesperson.”

That burst the tension hanging in the air and Stretch snorted loudly, “that ain’t saying much, I’ve seen firsthand how red runs the store.”

With a last nervous glance at the garden/woods behind him, Stretch finally followed. He hoped he at least lived to regret it.

~~*~~

An hour later, Stretch was feeling pretty stupid about his little moment of panic. For one, sitting in their kitchen peeling carrots was probably the most normal thing he’d done since he’d gotten here. No ghosts popping out from the walls, nothing coming alive that shouldn’t to say hi. The most complicated thing he had to do was make sure the peelings ended up in the trash bin rather than on the floor and even that he got right at least ninety percent of the time.

Stretch wasn’t entirely incapable of cooking. It was only that his bro enjoyed it so much more than him that he didn’t bother and when he did, the words ‘instant’ or ‘microwave’ were usually involved in some capacity.

He spent the rest of his focus on covertly watching his hosts. Frisk and Edge moved around the kitchen and each other easily, they’d obviously been roomies for some time. They laughed, they teased, made stupid in-jokes that Stretch longed to understand, and Stretch only sat back and watched them. To be honest, there was something a little unnerving about their homey domestication. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting, for sure.

Or maybe he was just a little homesick. In spite of Red’s mothering, he was starting to miss his brother’s care and concern, a little. Probably better to not think of that and Stretch swapped out his peeled carrots for the basket of what he was assured were definitely peas, working on shelling them into another bowl.

The outside of the house might be more wicked witch in the woods, but the inside was more traditional in an airy open floor plan. From his spot in the kitchen, he could see the living room with large, comfy sofas positioned in front of a pretty damn nice television.

There were also several crowded bookshelves and a few cabinets against the walls, each one filled with an impressive collection of action figures and the glass meticulously polished. Pictures on the wall, some of Edge and Frisk, a few more than included Red, along with artwork, pretty landscapes that might well be visible from their front door.

All it all it was simply…normal. Not a single cauldron or any eye of newt in sight, and Stretch could’ve been doing the same thing back in Ebott except for the fact that this Human wasn’t Chara and Edge wasn’t…yeah.

Once the prep was done, dinner didn’t take long to get on the table. Soon they were all sitting with a bowl and if Stretch was a little dubious about the unknown dish set in front of him, all his worries vanished with the first bite.

He was getting used to the tasty food that Edge brought to the shop a couple times a week; Red was always willing to share and now that he thought about it, either Edge always included extra for leftovers or he’d started packing more so that both of them could have enough tasty goodness. Stretch wasn’t sure which was true, but he knew which one he hoped it was.

This, though, this was something entirely else, so much more than simple, tasty nourishment. Cheesy grits with a vegetable medley and a poached egg on top, that’s what Frisk introduced the dish as, but that description couldn’t truly explain the taste. How the fresh peas were buttery sweet, the carrots sweet and crisp, the way the egg yolk burst open when his fork pierced it, the bright, rich yolk dripping down to coat everything in reach with deliciousness. Stretch had to resist the urge to shovel it into his mouth, forcing himself to chew it slowly and didn’t regret it, groaning aloud around his mouthful, it was so damned good. His brother wasn’t a bad cook, but it was like comparing a bowl of oatmeal to a full breakfast platter, there was no comparison.

Stretch took another huge bite, moaning again as he hit the creamy, cheesy goodness of the grits. He looked up and paused mid-chew, to see both Edge and Frisk staring at him.

“hrmmm?” Neither of them replied to his not-a-question and Stretch awkwardly swallowed down his too-large mouthful before trying again, “what?” He grabbed a napkin and wiped at his face, but it came away clean.

“Nothing,” Edge said finally. There was a faint flush of redness high on his cheekbones, for no good reason Stretch could figure, not with the way the air conditioning was blasting out. He cleared his throat and turned his attention to his own bowl. “It’s only nice to see someone enjoying my cooking so thoroughly.”

Frisk only offered a frustratingly Mona Lisa sort of smile and dug in, the three of them eating in silence, aside from Stretch’s occasional happy groans.

Once the bowls were scraped clean, Frisk pushed theirs aside and announced, “All right, then, if I’m going to explain, I think it’s best to start at the beginning.” Frisk slanted a questioning look at Edge. “If that’s all right?”

“Why are you asking me?” Edge stood to clear away the dishes, carrying the stack to the sink. “It’s your story.”

“Because you’re in it.”

Stretch could only sit there, trying not to squirm with impatience as Edge thought that over, rinsing the bowls before stacking them into the dishwasher. “Tell him,” he said. “Mysteries are one thing, but I don’t care for lies.”

Frisk smiled, their eyes gone memory-dark. “I know. All right, then!” They clapped their hands together lightly and Stretch settled in for what he hoped was a damned good story.

“I’m from Backwater originally,” Frisk began, “but I didn’t live here my entire life. When I was a child, my parents died. I ended up going to Ebott to live with relatives and it was—” They frowned, teeth grinding briefly as if they were chewing on the words, managing only a curt, “Unpleasant.” Frisk took a long, slow breath and went on, “One day I simply had enough and ran away. All the way up Mount Ebott and that is where I fell into the Underground.”

Stretch didn’t say anything, but his expression must’ve given him away, or maybe his hands, his joints nearly creaking as he clasped them tightly together. He knew this story, nearly this exact story, told to him by a child who right now should be safely living back in Ebott with their adopted father.

Frisk’s mouth twitched in an almost smile. “No, not your Underground. Theirs. Red and Edge’s.”

Stretch glanced at Edge. He was still washing the cooking pans, pink rubber gloves incongruous against the pale of his bones, but the tilt of his head indicated he was listening. Realization was dawning with glacial slowness; a pair of skeleton brothers in the Underground coming to the surface along with a Human child. He knew this story because it was his own, and more than that.

“you’re talking about the multiverse,” Stretch said slowly.

Of course. He could have slapped himself silly for his stupidity. He’d never even considered their situation might be similar; the age differences threw him off, far more than they should have. Sans was of an age with him, Papyrus a match to Blue. Red was so obviously much older than Stretch it hadn’t even clicked, seriously, was he that off his game? That should’ve been his first thought and instead, it never made it on his list.

But then, none of them really liked to talk about it much, either. Sans and Papyrus sure weren’t bringing up how they ended up here, didn’t take any kind of magic to see the shadows lurking in the depths of their eye lights even now. They’d just showed up one day in Snowdin right before Chara did, two skeletons from another world that seemed so hurt by their pasts that Stretch and Blue let them keep the names and took on nicknames of their own. Turned out it was easy to forget, somehow, that they hadn’t always been there, easy to let a sort of shroud fall over that knowledge. Not like Stretch wasn’t used to it when it came to his past.

Only now the veil was getting ripped away. Edge and Red weren’t only other Monsters, they were other Monsters, holy shit, and they’d been here for how long?

“Yes,” Frisk nodded as if reading his mind, and wasn’t that a terrifying thought. “And we’ve learned that time can flow differently beneath the mountain. It seems that I arrived in their Underground some years before your child fell.”

Their smile faltered, faded, the silence broken by the sound of running water and the soft clatter of dishes in the sink. “Their Underground was...well. It was a place of LV, not love. Their king was mad and when I came to the castle…well.” Frisk shuddered, looking away from Stretch’s numb gaze. A bony hand settled on their shoulder, sharpened fingertips cautious, and Frisk looked up at Edge with something like gratitude. “we were the only survivors. We took the Human souls that the King had collected and went past the barrier, the three of us. Only, we were afraid of the humans’ reactions, so we hid ourselves from the people in Ebott and I brought Edge and Red back here. Backwater has always been fairly openminded when it comes to unusual folk and I thought they might be accepted here. I was right.”

Frisk hesitated then, choosing their words with care, “Backwater is a town that attracts certain things. Good things and bad things. The people here weren’t surprised to meet us.” Their eyes took on a faraway look. “In fact, they were expecting us. As I said, the town attracts good and bad things, and it needs watching over. When we arrived, the current caretaker was old and weakening. They were calling for a suitable replacement and I suppose I was perfect for the job. Not only had I been touched by magic in the Underground, I was also once in the possession of six other Human souls, and that touched me. Changed me, in a way. And so, we took over as caretakers, Edge and I.” Frisk straightened their shoulders, lifting their chin as they said, firmly, “I am the keeper of the town’s soul.”

“And I am their protector,” Edge said. They were first words he’d spoken since Frisk began, each one resonating with strength far beyond the spoken, not a mere statement, he said it as something known. Then he offered a faint smile, almost sheepish, as he added, “I also make pies and pastries to sell in town.”

“And that’s my story,” Frisk finished. They seemed almost nervous, watching Stretch, perhaps waiting for a reaction.

Stretch didn’t know what was on his face, but he sure knew what was rattling around in his head and that was one simple, weak thought, I could really use a cigarette right about now.

He sagged back in his chair and let his head drop down into his hands. This was all…fuck. This wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting, well, mostly, anyway. He’d been more right than he knew about one thing; a witch did live here, sorta, cauldron or not.

“okay,” Stretch said, more to himself than the two people waiting on the other side of the table. “okay, that’s. yeah.”

A hand settled on his shoulder and Stretch yelped, nearly scrambling away from the unexpected touch. He fell off the other side of the chair with a painful thud, fighting to untangle his legs from the tablecloth. Still standing on the other side, Edge only held his hands up in a stick-‘em-up gesture and didn’t try to touch him again. “It’s a lot to take in, I know.”

“you think?” Stretch sputtered. He managed to get his feet loose but didn’t try to stand; the floor seemed a lot more secure right about now. “fuck, you guys should’ve put that in a damn book instead of all those addresses and gave me time to read the footnotes! wait,” Stretch rolled to his hands and knees, and crawled around the table to look at Frisk, “so what does that make red? why does red live in town and not out here?”

Edge answered him first, a touch sharply, “You’ll need to ask him that.”

Frisk only looked saddened, a shadow falling across their Chara-esque face. “Yes, that is his story to tell.”

Fair enough. Stretch sank back down, rubbing a knuckle between his aching sockets as he considered. “okay, hold up. what about edgar allen?”

“After all that, you’re still worried about the scarecrow?” Edge sounded torn between amusement and offense.

“yeah, i am!” Stretch retorted. He might be a moron on any given day, but he didn’t forget about pals in the face of earth-shattering revelations. “that explanation filled up a lot of the questions on the form, but how does any of it explain edgar allen?” He pointed a finger at Frisk. “edge said he’s gonna die in the fall and you’d know why!”

“Die?” Frisk considered that, nodding slowly, “I suppose that’s accurate, in a way, but it’s also not. Growing things have a power of their own, you know. The corn, the garden, they give life, and that is something the town needs.” Frisk spread their hands, their empty palms up. “But what they offer is without conscious. Townsfolk aren’t in any real danger, but strangers can be, and aside from the loss of life, which I don’t want, we also don’t need to draw the attention of outsiders. Since I came here, every year I call upon a harvest spirit to watch over the crops, to protect the corn and the people who might wander into it. Edgar Allen came to us in the spring and he’ll leave us in the fall, but he’ll return, next year, after a fashion. He always does.”

A harvest spirit. Right. Edge and Red were from another Universe, along with a kid who wasn’t Chara, the scarecrow was a harvest spirit, and Stretch was quietly going nuts inside his own head. Seriously, Stretch should’ve been taking notes, this info dump was gonna take a while to process.

He sat there a while on the floor, trying to gather up his scattered wits, and nope, it was not happening. This was a three-cigarette problem, and he was starting to get eager to get started on renewing his nicotine habit. A glance out the window confirmed that the light outside was going soft and golden, the sun low in the sky. “well. uh. thanks for dinner and all, but i better get going if i’m gonna get home before dark.” Not his best speech, but then, Stretch was definitely not at his best.

“Of course,” Frisk stood, and their smile was gentle. “Please, visit again, Stretch. It was lovely to meet you.”

Edge stepped up again and this time, Stretch didn’t flinch from him. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

He held out a hand and Stretch took it without thinking. It jolted him unexpectedly, a soft cry choked off before it could escape. That simple touch was strangely electric, warm, bare bones curling with such gentleness against his own. Absurdly, it settled him, helped eased the roiling confusion boiling in his mind.

It was in a near daze that he let Edge draw him silently to his feet, pulling him along like a puppet on a string. Stretch barely managed a vague wave in Frisk’s direction as he walked with Edge out the door, and if his gaze automatically fell downward to watch the sway of Edge’s hips as he walked, welp, it wasn’t like there was anyone else around to notice.

At least, Stretch didn’t think so, might be better not to ‘ass of u and me’ around this place, even if all he was doing was watching someone’s ass.

Better safe than sorry; going forward, that was gonna be his motto. Right after he got back to Red’s on his ramshackle motorized bike.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #welcome to backwater

[hatsukeii]

Sorry if this is becoming a Tsukki stan blog with all the requests you get for him lmao. All of your precious depressed!Tsukki asks got me thinking. How would he comfort his girlfriend who is having nightmares about him committing suicide after she found him cutting or maybe attempting? I had to break into a friend’s house a couple years ago to stop him from committing suicide and as much as I love him, the thought of that night still haunts me. Thank you for even reading this honestly. 🥺

Okay this was on my list for one of the requests I had to do asap bc it seems like a serious issue that needs attention so I’m putting off the matchups and hcs and doing this one first.

But like it’s still super late I’m sorry-

Plus there’s nothing to be sorry about lol this blog becoming a tsukki stan blog is 100% okay-

I sure as hell hope you’re doing alright, and that your friend is safe, you two seem like amazing people:)

Darling, I’m right here//Depressed!Tsukishima x Reader

Word count: 1600+ (A bit shorter than usual I’m sorry-)

Warnings: Depression, attempted suicide, mild swearing

Summary: You wake up to a reoccurring nightmare.

“Tsukishima?”

“Kei? What are you doing?”

Thank god you had to get to school extra early that day. There Tsukishima was, sitting on the train platform, his feet dangling off the edge. “Kei?” He stayed silent, ignoring you as a bright light headed towards his direction. You knew he was depressed, but you sure as hell didn’t think he would actually try to commit suicide. Your eyes widened as you watched his hands push himself off the platform, landing onto the train tracks. You lifted your leg, desperate to rush over and pull him back up, but it was as if your feet were bolted to the ground, refusing to move. “COME ON! MOVE!” The train was now nearing him, it was guaranteed that it would hit him if he didn’t get out in the next three seconds. You tried to scream, tears flowing freely down your face, but nothing came out. You felt your throat burning, however all that was produced from your mouth were inaudible wheezes and whimpers. Your legs wouldn’t cooperate with you however hard you tried, refusing to leave the cold ground. Your fists were clenched so tight crescent shaped marks etched themselves into your palm. Everything went into slow motion as the train came into sight. Tsukishima sent you one last glance, smiling softly, before everything was painted red and his body was gone. Time seemed to go straight back to normal right afterwards. At the same moment, your legs decided to detach themselves from the ground, and your voice came back almost instantly. “KEI? KEI NO!” You bolted to the platform, hoping to find something, anything, that could convince you this was fake. The air around you was thick, the smell of blood wafting into your nose as you stare at the train tracks in horror. “Why? Why couldn’t I save you just now?” Your heart was thumping furiously, blocking all foreign noise out as you squeezed your eyes shut. You don’t even know what happened, but the second you opened up your eyes, you were in the hall at school, students crowding around your locker. “Wait, you were there when he did it?” “Why didn’t you save him?” “How could you just let him jump off?” The questions never stopped coming. You slammed your hands over your ears, frantically trying to shut out the haunting voices. “No, nononononono stop, please! Please, I couldn’t do anything I couldn’t save him!”

“I COULDN’T SAVE YOU!”

You gasped, hitting your head on the coffee table as you bolted upwards, cold sweat dripping off your forehead as you panted. Tear stains were evident on your face, although you swear you didn’t know you were crying. Your hair was a disheveled mess, strands of baby hair sticking out of your head. Grabbing your sheets in one hand and your chest in the other, you continued to pant heavily, your mind racing in between your reoccurring nightmare and reality. Why was it that again? That was at least a year ago, and yet it still haunted you to this day. You were quick enough to grab Tsukishima from the platform during his attempt, but was that nightmare going to happen if you couldn’t pull him back to safety in time? Would he have died just like that, with no one knowing until a day later? Just the thought of the possibility made you shudder. Your hands made their way next to you, where your boyfriend was comfortably sleeping. Scrambling for his chest, you heaved a heavy sigh when you felt his steady heartbeat on your palm, breathing along to the beats on his chest. You gulped down your saliva, gripping his shirt tightly, as if you were too afraid to even let go for a second. You weren’t going to let him go ever again. Not when he obviously needed support and affection. You looked around Hinata’s living room. The movie from an hour ago was still on, however all the boys were already fast asleep. Kageyama was peacefully snoring away on the couch, Hinata was drooling all over his pillow, Nishinoya was grumbling in his sleep, Tanaka was making weird punching motions, and Yamaguchi stirred a little bit, his eyes squeezing shut. You pretended to lay down again, not wanting to concern the freckled boy with your sudden outburst. His body eventually went limp again as he continued to snore softly. Seeing that the coast was clear, you sat back up, trying to calm yourself down for the third time this week. Your hand was still grabbing onto the blond’s shirt, feeling the soft fabric in between your fingers.

“(Y...Y/N)?”

You froze.

Shit. You forgot that Tsukishima was a light sleeper.

Feeling him shift underneath your hand, you instantly let go of his shirt, gripping onto the mattress Hinata gave you two instead. The mattress dipped a bit, Tsukishima starting to carefully sit up. His hair was messier than usual, despite it being relatively short. Rubbing his eyes, he gave your hunched over figure a glance, completely confused. “(Y/N), what are you doing up so late?” Rapidly turning around, your hand landed on his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. Next, it went up to cup his cheeks, then his arms as your eyes took in his entire body frantically. Finally, your arms wrapped around his neck, burying yourself in his presence. Awkwardly, he returned the embrace by patting your back with one hand, the other arm wrapping around your waist. Your mind was on the verge of insanity. His attempt at suicide was still overwhelming to you, even if it’s already been an entire year. Most people would ask why you haven’t moved on, but truth be told, you couldn’t. Tsukishima was still depressed, he could very well try doing it again, maybe this time in an even more subtle way. In a way where not even you can stop him. You were scared. Anxious. Terrified. Just the thought of him leaving you forever was too much to bear, and brought you to tears. You would have frequent nightmares about him killing himself in various ways. Pills, hanging, jumping off a roof, and the worst of them all, jumping into the train tracks. His initial attempt. And every single time, you wouldn’t be able to save him. You would be stuck to the floor, hopelessly draining yourself of your energy as you try to scream. “I couldn’t save you, what? Why? How are you here? I thought you jumped in? This isn’t a dream right?” 

That was when it struck Tsukishima. Everything was clear as day now. The reason why you came to school sleep deprived every day. Why you constantly fell asleep in class. Why you were always last online at three in the morning. “Why did you never tell me about this?” He could feel the wetness of your tears as you forced your face into his neck more. “Didn’t want you t-to worry more than you already do. I’m gonna go crazy if I see another c-cut on that beautiful skin of yours.” His hand stopped, resting in the small of your back. “(Y/N)...” He didn’t think his self harming tendencies and his suicide attempt would affect you this much. He never thought anyone really cared. However when you hauled him home and screamed at him after catching him trying to jump into the train tracks, that ignited something in him. He now had someone he had to- no. Wanted to protect. One person cared enough to save him, and that was all it took for him to realise a bit of his self worth. He would do anything to keep you happy and safe. One of your first requests was for him to stop cutting. He had stopped scattering his skin with cuts, despite his crippling depression. He had done it just for you, and it felt amazing. You usually just waved him off with a casual “Insomnia’s a bitch” whenever he asked about the dark eye bags, or the questionable time you were last online. Never did the thought that you were still traumatised from events that happened over a year ago pass his mind. He should’ve known that this would affect you badly. How could he have been so selfish? Disregarding your emotions as he tried to end his life. He felt terrible. He was pissed at himself. For being so selfish and foolish.

He heaved a heavy sigh, mentally punching his nuts. Moving his hand from your back, he caressed your head tenderly, as if you were a glass statue that would break with the tiniest push. You sobbed even harder, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His eyes fluttered shut as he held onto your trembling figure, peppering your head with tiny kisses in an attempt to comfort you. You smelled like shampoo and roses. He couldn’t help but take a sniff. You were the sole reason he was still here, living and breathing as he plummeted through his hole called life. Without you, he would’ve been dead ages ago. You were the guiding light in his life, reminding him about everything he should live for. Everything he should be happy for. Taking your head off his neck, you look straight at him with teary eyes. “You’re here right? This is real?” His heart shattered at the sight. His beautiful, amazing, precious, perfect girlfriend, was crying because of him. He pushed your head back into his shoulder, giving you the biggest hug as he held his grip on you tightly.

“Darling, I’m right here. I’m always gonna be here.”

Ahhhh I hope you liked it even though it’s a lot shorter than what I usually write🥺👉👈💖💕

Tags: @ewfilthymundane @izzyphantomgamer @sunshines-and-tatertots @tiger1719 @trashcanweeb @inlwlevi @itmekisuu @just-another-bored-writer @justachillgirl @burnt-tomato @for-ests @bokutokoutarou @kaylacinderella @random-fandomlover @xonfusedsoul @estherwritess @macaronnv @talks-a-lot-of-stuff @agentvicinity @sakusasgarbage @tiredgr3mlin @emsvegetables @fullmetalfangirl21 @poppirocks @mariechan123 @tokyoghoose

Dm or comment if you wanna be included in the taglist or if I forgot to tag you!

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu tsukki #hq #hq x reader #hq scenario #hq images #hq tsukki #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #depressed tsukishima #tsukishima imagine #angst #lmao i wrote this in class #have fun reading it

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

Something to Uplift Us

Ao3,  MasterPost

Relationships:  Romantic DLAMPR (Roman-centric, kinda Remus-centric), platonic Creativitwins!!!

Do I like this??? Meh. Is it something that I wrote? Yes. I will heal myself from SVS-R with Fluff.

Warnings: Remus Typical Nonsense, swearing, mentions of being in Quarantine, all sympathetic sides, non-sexual Pole Dancing

Word Count: 2,667 

Roman was the essence of romance and it showed. For his entire existence, he'd been well acquainted with the hypothetical. If he were his own person, if he had a prince of his own, if he had the chance at a romantic relationship, he knew what he would do. Roman knew relationships, he always had, and it had tortured him to know that he'd never have one.

Which was why it frustrated him to no end that he hadn’t been the one to ask out his fellow sides. He’d honestly never thought that it would be an option. When he first developed his feelings for the others- Virgil, Patton, Logan, Janus, in that order- he had felt nothing more than excitement. He was giddy, he was light-headed, just to know that he could feel that way. He would spend hours daydreaming, just musing over the way they made his heart stop, but he never hoped for anything to come of it. He wasn’t sad, or mournful, or pining per se- just so caught up in the joy of feelings that he forgot that he could do something with them. 

So he thought about it a lot, suffice to say. And all he had now was time to think; it was nearly month three of quarantine. Roman had wrung his brain out like a sponge for anything new to think about- The Imagination was practically turning gray! He tried to tend to it, truly he did, but it was getting harder every day. Creativity's fellow sides had all busied themselves taking up new hobbies- Virgil was teaching Patton to draw, Janus had learnt embroidery, Logan took up knitting, Remus made trash sculptures… They all seemed to be having their own little renaissance (complete with plague), and what was Roman doing? Wasting valuable free time!

  In a fit of desperation, the artistic trait dived under his large canopy bed, rummaging around until his hand caught on the lip of a cardboard box. With no small amount of effort, he pulled the enormous container out from under his bed so that it could be properly examined. There, piled high in the box, were dozens of notebooks and sketchbooks- all of which filled to the brim with writing, drawings, and poetry. Having no clue what he was specifically looking for, Roman upended the box and watched the contents crash to the floor. Something in here would surely spark his mind! Perhaps some old work would catch his eye and inspire some redraws!

The side hadn't needed to search for long. Right at the top of the pile- bright pink, its cover dotted with puffy heart stickers- sat a large, spiral-bound sketchbook. You could almost see the light bulb pop up over Roman’s head as he squealed and snatched up the sketchbook. Flopping down onto his bed, he flipped it open in one hand and placed the other against his chest. 

“Ooh, some of my best,” he cooed to no one in particular, gaze turned to the dozens of love poems surrounded by little doodles of hearts that filled the pages. This was the journal he’d confided in before the sides had all officially begun their relationship, filled with flowery prose about anything from Janus’ scales to Patton’s smile; from Logan’s laugh to Virgil’s freckles (a rare sight, usually hidden by make-up). Roman was so lost in nostalgia that when the ideas hit him, he nearly fell out of bed in excitement at his own thoughts.

Of course! He could take all of these old writings and compose them together, into one eloquent amalgam that would illustrate perfectly all those things that he’d been unable to articulate in the beginning! And it seemed only fitting that such a soliloquy be delivered in The Imagination- in the most gorgeous scenario he could fabricate! Somewhere open to a starry sky, for his left-brained loves- but it had to have ornate architecture, of course, and it had to be cozy. Oh, it was all coming together now.

Roman leapt out of bed, posing with his hand above his head and sinking deeper into The Mindscape extravagantly. He didn’t waste time looking around at the depressing half-formed scenery, sweeping his arms up and erasing the entirety of his half of The Imagination. Time to get to work.

Remus was stretched across the Commons couch, his head in Janus’ lap and feet in Logan’s. The TV hummed with whatever show they’d thrown on as background noise, and a few feet away at the counter, Patton and Virgil were hovering over some sort of scrapbook.  Nobody had the energy for conversation; nobody had the energy for anything. 

It was magnificently boring. The Duke already filled up an entire sketchbook, written half a dozen shamelessly smutty self-insert fanfictions, constructed and subsequently destroyed eldritch beings in his room, and bothered his boyfriends. So, all that was left to do was doze.

It didn’t help Remus’ tired state that Janus was running his fingers through his hair. The monotonous waking world was finally slipping away. Maybe there was something buried in his dreams that could hold his attention.

But just before sleep took hold, a white-hot energy ran through the trait’s body, jolting him so suddenly that he tumbled off of the couch and onto the floor. His arms and legs were all pins-and-needles as he looked up at his very concerned partners.

“There’s fuckery afoot!” Remus announced, wide-eyed. He pulled himself up and grinned, “You guys stay here!” 

Without so much as a good-bye, Remus threw himself into the ground, saving himself the time of sinking out properly. After a moment’s silence, Janus resumed working on his embroidery. 

“Should we go see what that was about?” Patton asked tentatively. 

“Meh,” the three other sides responded in unison. After a moment, Janus added, “It is Remus, after all.”

Roman’s structure was coming together beautifully! Wide marble columns rose up and held aloft the glimmering silver ceiling, the middle of which was a sky-light open to thousands of stars and a brilliant full moon. Surrounding the opening was a spiral of stone roof- through the gaps of which even more astronomically accurate stars shone!

The inside of the building consisted of an immense mahogany stage, currently cloaked by thick velvet curtains and overlooking plenty of seats. Rather than traditional theater rows, Roman had arranged the seating like lovely cafe tables, all of which were given generous space from each other (Except for two at the very front, of course). Lanterns hung from the walls, casting the space in warm lighting. Creativity currently stood at the very back, thinking that it could use just a little more of something. With a smirk, the side snapped his fingers and the wall of the room was pushed backwards several yards. With a few more flicks of the wrist and dividing columns, a little lobby was formed. 

He’d given the theater room maroon carpeting and rich gray walls, but the new back section needed brighter lighting and a more cream-canary color scheme. Now he could just finish the decor!

Or he would have, if not for the fact that at that moment someone crashed into his ribs with all the grace of a flaming motorbike. 

“BRO!!!”

“ACK-!” was all Roman managed, as all the wind was knocked out of him. He glared up at his brother, who was sitting on his chest. 

“I knew you were up to something! You wiped half of the whole fucking Imagination! What is this!?” 

Roman wheezed, pushed Remus off of his chest, and finally pulled himself off the ground to catch his breath. His brother was spinning around the room already, eyes sparkling as he took in the building.

“I had to blank it, I needed my full focus,” Roman explained, back to work and filling the back wall with tall bookshelves, “and it’s a surprise, so don’t tell the others.”

“Oh, I won’t. Provided you let me in on whatever this is,” Remus had an ear-to-ear grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. After a moment’s consideration, Roman hummed.

“I’m doing something nice for our boyfriends. I think we all could use a little pick-me-up, so do not ruin this!”

“I wanna do something nice for them! Lemme help!” 

“You don’t even know what it’s for! Plus, it’s personal!”

“I already asked what it was for, Stupid.”

Roman huffed.

“I wrote them something. Hence the stage.”

“So, what, you’re gonna bring them all into your fancy library-opera for your poetry orgy and I sit in a corner somewhere and be quiet?”

“Ideally.”

“Not a chance, Whore!” Remus swung himself up onto the concession stand that Roman had just created, tearing into a box of candy (food made in The Imagination always tasted weirder than food or ingredients they conjured elsewhere in the Mindscape, but he didn’t particularly mind). 

“Fine. What do you want to do?” Roman challenged, hands on his hips.

“I. Want. To. Help.”

Roman raised his eyebrows doubtfully. Grumbling, his twin started gesturing around the room as he spoke.

“The stars are too bright, they take the focus away from the stage instead of accenting it. The color of the curtains are too similar to the carpet. You’ve got Corinthian shit in there and bookstore lobby vibes in here, which is garbage and inconsistent.”

Roman blinked, his eyes following along with Remus’ criticism. 

“Hm. You have a point.”

“I’m Creativity too, you know. I have some taste.” The Duke said, gnawing on the cardboard box that had contained Imagination Candy moments before. 

“You’re wearing crocs and jorts, simultaneously.”

Remus waved his hand dismissively, hopping off the counter and rushing across the room.

“Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea how I can accompany your performance, too.”

“Oh, goody.”

Hours had past and little had changed in the Mindscape living room- Virgil and Patton had finished up their scrapbooking and were curled up together in an armchair, so Logan was sitting at the counter space previously occupied by the two and clacking away on his laptop, and Janus hadn’t moved. The muddled energy of the room had remained pervasive.

That was, until the door to the imagination slammed open, the doorknob cracking against the wall. Four heads shot up to see Remus and Roman, standing side-by-side (quite looking the part of identical twins, matching smiles and all). 

“Oh god,” Janus groaned instinctively, carefully setting his embroidery on a side table, “What did you two do?”

“Yeah, I don’t trust that look,” Virgil said.

The twins scoffed in mock-offense, continuing their odd coordination.

“We try to do something nice,” exclaimed Remus.

“And not so much as a ‘thank you,’” added Roman solemnly. Eyes were rolled, but Patton perked up considerably (just as planned). 

“Ooo, what are you talking about?” 

“It’s a surprise!” Said The Duke, bouncing up and down. Creativity Prime gave a sweeping motion to indicate the still-open door to the Imagination, which had been steadily seeping into the common room with a bright new energy that it had been lacking for days. 

“Follow us,” he instructed, disappearing through the door once more with Remus at his back. Patton bounced after them immediately, grinning. 

The three left-brained sides exchanged glances, shrugged, and followed suit. 

The twins were backstage in an instant, trusting their partners to figure out where their seats were on their own. Roman began pacing around as soon as they finished warming up. 

“Are you sure you can do this? I’m still not sure if your performance is well-suited to acoustic guitar-”

He was cut off by Remus groaning exaggeratedly.

“I can work with anything, bitch.” 

“Right, right,” There was a beat. “You’re sure you’re ready?”

“I’ve been ready. What’s going on with you?”

Rather than responding, Roman did another lap around the stage. 

“C’mon! Stop pacing before I take a bonesaw to your legs!”

“Okay! Alright! I’m ready!”

Before Remus could come up with any more gruesome threats, Roman snapped his fingers and the curtains began to rise. He took his place half-sitting on a stool up front, a guitar in his arms. Behind him, Remus stood between two sturdy metal poles that rose from the stage and into the ceiling. You can already see where this is going.

When the stage was fully revealed, the lights above the audience dimmed. Figuring that the show would be rather awkward if said audience consisted of four people, the Creativities had The Imagination render dozens of prop-people. They moved and acted like a crowd of humans, but each individual was too vague to focus on for long. Thus it was made very clear where their fellow sides were, sitting right up front with a wide array of expressions from amazed to amused to bewildered.

Roman took a moment to steel himself and then began playing. Originally, he’d planned on spoken-word for his loves, but traditionally there is music involved in pole-dancing, so he’d made a few adjustments in order for Remus to be able to contribute. 

Roman started singing, melting as the gazes of the real audience members turned awestruck (and also very flushed, likely from whatever surprisingly impressive poses his brother was pulling behind him). He liked to think that he poured his heart out into every performance, but for this one it felt quite literal. 

Roman’s voice picked up gradually, and he could vaguely hear metal clanging behind him. It went on like that for a good few minutes- because if there was one thing the Twins weren’t, it was brief- before the show finally concluded. Roman stalled for a moment as both the imaginary and real components of the audience applauded uproariously. Remus swung down from the pole and hopped over to him.

“We bow now, Dumbass,” he hissed, noticeably out of breath.

“Oh- right.”

They took hands and took a couple bows as the clapping died down, standing back up with wide grins and red faces. 

As soon as the auditorium was relatively silent, Patton rushed the stage. He outstretched his arms and hopped up and down excitedly.

“Lemme up!” 

Roman grabbed his hands and pulled him on stage while Remus was still attempting to catch his breath. Morality leaned down to give The Prince a brief kiss, and then bounced over to the much more exhausted half of the act to give him the same treatment. He was grinning so wide that it looked painful, his face a bright pink. The Duke wore a matching expression, but the smile was much more unnatural in that preferred way of his.

“So you liked it?”

Rather than verbally responding, Patton grabbed the hands of both Creativities and made a cheerful ribbiting sound.

“It was wonderful,” Logan supplied, climbing the stairs on the side of the stage to meet them, Virgil and Janus right behind him. He was much less outwardly enthusiastic as the other spectacled side, but no less appreciative.

“Yeah, did you guys put all this together today?” Virgil asked, throwing an arm around Roman’s shoulders. 

“What else did we have to do?” Remus answered with a shrug. 

“Good point.”

Janus cleared his throat lightly, immediately drawing everyone’s attention. His eyes were noticeably rimmed with redness, a small smile on his face as he outstretched all of his arms.

“Here, all of you, now.”

Patton cooed.

“Group hug!” 

Fitting six people into one hug may seem awkward, but it always seemed to work out for the sides. At least, Roman thought so. Virgil would fake exasperation at the affection, but they could all tell he loved it. Logan would try to maintain his dignity and fail miserably. Patton was a ball of warmth and energy that seeped into the rest of them. Janus was by far the best at giving hugs, though it could be considered cheating to have extra limbs.

At that moment it hit Roman that, perhaps he hadn’t started this relationship, but he was still a part of it. And that was all he could ever want.

These    Performances    inspired Remus’. They are oddly calming to watch, and super impressive!

@shrimp-crockpot

#my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #sanders sides #ts #sanders sides fanfic #ts fanfiction #dlampr #prinxiety #dukexiety #roceit #demus #dukeceit #logince #intrulogical #intruality #royality #tw cursing #roman #remus #virgil #patton #janus #logan #ts logan #ts janus #ts patton #ts virgil #ts remus #ts roman

[gravelgirty]

Hi could you talk more about caves what you said on that post is really interesting

Sure thing!

First of all, it was an amazing cave I worked in. You never forget that. I'll pick one of my favorite topics,

the FALLOUT SHELTER AGGRAVATION TAX.

Clears throat.

Limestone caves are literally stone libraries in the geologic record of the world. Twice a year the airflow would change and then you'd smell smoke from decrepit old torches dating as far back as 1812. People made saltpeter in these caves, they were natural mines for things that went boom, and one of those 'requirements' meant airflow so you wouldn't suddenly and embarrassingly, drop dead of too much Underground. This is why the coal miners were eternally bemused and asking us questions like airflow. Sometimes you gotta canary. Sometimes you are the canary. This often led to predictable questions that was these old gents trying to be polite, but what they really wanted to know was,

'why the hell are you being paid $10 a trip plus tips to walk us 1.1 miles underground up to 3 times a day and no one has a mortgage gun aimed at your head?'

To which I would say, 'it wasn't quite that bad. If no one shows up at all we get paid $10.' ...Dear Saint Barbara, Chango, and the Gods of Deep Mystery, the things we tell ourselves. $10 a day. Crap. Thank goodness I had Granny's House, dad was paying the property tax, the water was on a well, and garbage was less that $20 a month. A shame we can't afford a TV, but hey, we can stay busy digging up that quarter-acre garden that will keep us fed plus the road kill Deer in the fall.

But the conditions that created saltpeter (I'll go into depth on that later if people are interested) also convinced some weird-ass people in Washington DC that caves were the perfect place to do a DR STRANGELOVE and people could go hide out in the caves, free of...well, nothing, really, because radiation = straight lines +caves, air, irradiated air and water, and everything goes down into the caves...

Look. It made people feel safe, ok? And it wasn't the worst decision the Pentagon ever made, considering they were telling the scientists working with HOT RADIOACTIVE MATTER to stay safe by sticking the stuff on a long pole so they wouldn't have to touch it.

Everybody knows about the bomb shelter President Kennedy was prepared to run to with his family in case of Cold War. It was in the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs (I prefer to think of it as the HIDDEN FIGURES birthplace). FYI everybody who lived here knew where it was. There are only so many power stations one measly little resort that cries that it can't afford to pay for its own water bill can keep.

[insert sniffle boohoo sobbing of the pro-confederates who run that place and while I can't be there for you, try to imagine the joy I am stockpiling for the day when we have another traitorous uprising and this time, the resort doesn't get a GO PASS GO by dangerous romantics and is finally burned to the ground.]

Anyway, the important people like the President, his family, his Secret Service, his staff, cook, maid-in-waiting, bootblack and et al got to go bunker down in the luxurious bomb shelter at the resort, which probably wouldn't be very resort-y after a certain point of Castro going, 'fuck you, you whippersnapper Irish Dog' or Khrushchev throwing a little more than his shoe around. I'm not convinced it was that great of a place to hide, really. I mean...they have lightning rods on the trees over there, and believe it or not, cavers in that country have been hit by lightning while underground. Because. Lightning. If it can bake entire acres of potatoes in the field, two subterranean surveyors with metal measuring tape haven't got a prayer.

I want you to know that I can't at this point go into detail (space restrictions) on the importance of all these caves to Union Sympathizers, slaves on the Underground Railroad, and the Far-Righter MAGAS called Confederates. Trust me when I say, if you didn't know where these caves were, you had absolutely no right to know.

In Appalachia, limestone caves were listed on properties and handed down because of their value. Thomas Jefferson made a point of making sure there were lots of caves to provide nitre for the Gunpowder Committee. I don't know if landowners had to pay taxes for having saltpeter caves (probably), but when the Cold War came around, they definitely and cheerfully sold the access rights to the government because...it was the government. I am not in the least bit joking when I tell you there are people over there who are still pissed off over George Washington's Whiskey Rebellion.

If you really want to get into the psyche of Appalachians, go read up every scene Terry Pratchett ever wrote about Lancre in his Discworld books. Just give them more libraries and a LOT of coffee stations.

Oh, dear. I forgot all about the owling and the Prohibition.

Owling = the practice of moving your herds of cattle from one ridge to the next to avoid a higher payment when the taxman came a-calling.

Prohibition = The Second Oldest Profession.

These days, many of the Fallout Shelter caves are being used for...modern needs. Meth labs, if you're a sensationalist, but if you aren't, bear in mind that hiding out stolen cattle and horses still requires big places out in the middle of nowhere. But when Mr. Gov't Man came around and offered cash for the access rights to grand-daddy's old saltpetre cave? Goodness gracious, we know we aren't supposed to take people's money from them because that's a sin, but...taxes...you know how it is... (most of the mountain folk had no real quarrel with Kennedy despite his heathen dog Catholicism because it wasn't his fault he was brought up Catholic, but when it came to the government...well, it was the principle of the thing).

In short order papers were drawn, and shelters were built and good god, they were ugly. Clapboard shantytowns, I swear. They were stockpiles whacked together with off-brand plank and tenpenny nails for where the selected few could bunker up in the cozy, damp, dripping, chilly, dusty, sneezy, probably-warm-from-stray-radiation environs. I have no idea who the Pentagon hated enough that they would send them to these caves. They had a bottleneck opening for easy defense, yes, but there was no defense against puking yourself to death or accidentally taking off your own skin with your uniform at the end of your shift.

YOU THINK I"M KIDDING?? YOU THINK IT IS A COINCIDENCE THAT CLASSIC DR WHO SHOWS DALEK HISTORY IN AN OLD STONE QUARRY? WELCOME ABOARD!

A fallout shelter's stockpile generally consisted of

*High-quality medical equipment, even though some of that stuff had a shelf life of three minutes.

*Radio Equipment. Which was probably a real belly laugh to the folks running the NARO satellite dishes up in Green Bank, because families in the most rural portion of WV (Pocahontas County) spent their evenings parsing Latin and teaching the young lads and lasses the wonders of shortwave and how to rig up your own crystals in case you needed to jackleg your own.

*Food. God. Awful. Food. It was designed to keep you alive, but you can't say anything more charitable about it. Honestly, I'm surprised nobody tried to corner a government contract on dehydrated water.

*Water. Potable water for drinking, but, I should say, I couldn't find any means with which you could make a potable distillery. Or, how much of this potable water was going to be used to rehydrate the ghastly awfulness of the dehydrated food, or the canned goods that included stuff the military couldn't wait to forget. Go ask your grandparents how much canned horse Circa WWII they ate while they served, m'kay?

*Candy. High energy, easily digestible candy. Flavor optional, at the discretion of the same government that made the WWII Chocolate Bar.

*The containers themselves. Yep, they counted. They were heavy metal barrels and tough buckets or small drums, plus the amazingly dense metal and plastic containers for medical kits, candy, and misc. I'm not sure if they had a requirement other than impervious, waterproof, and on sale. In fact, the smaller drums/buckets were supposed to be lined with the plastic used to wrap the other goods, and convert into a toilet.

Cold War comes and goes. I'm sure what happened next is shocking:

1) medical supplies goes missing in the dead of night.

2) Electronics follows. That probably makes the electricians feel good, because...what good would they have done in the wet, dust-filled atmosphere of the caves?

3) Candy. Candy, did you say? I don't remember seeing any candy..?

4) The gradual disappearance of the food rations is mysteriously in proportion to camping trips multitasking with double-dog-dares. Who needs a frat pledge if Freckles here has never been introduced to the joys of Dehydrated Ketchup?

5) If you think the backyard blacksmiths are making forges with tire rims, do you think metal containers stand a chance?

This leaves the barrels of water, but who would want to drink that stuff? It's been sitting around for how long? Ew. And the boards for those shelters...cripes.

This inadvertently makes up a tiny little side bonus for the hard-working tour guide. Because these shelters are usually ridiculously close to the entrance of the tour caves. You have to take your tour group in stages, see, and once they finish gasping and wheezing their way through the first 300 steps, you have to take their minds off how miserable they are and pause at the shelter with your flashlight, and describe this little chapter of history. By this time the bats are hanging off the boards (your chance to remind them of the exorbitant federal fines for hurting these little mosquito-hunters), the occasional lost salamander, and the beginnings of the Dreaded Cave Cricket (ten minutes with these little monsters and you'll never think pink is an effete color ever again).

And the mold. There are patches of mold the guides have been watching for YEARS. Some of them have even bothered to look them up, because...tourists. They love to stump the guides and use it as an excuse for not tipping you because you haven't taken a Master's in The Encompassing Topic of Karst Everything and are clearly a dumbass, hah-hah I'll spend my money in the overpriced gift shop, peasant.

But no, folks. If you ask them one more damn time if they're sure all the candy and drugs are gone...we're too tired to take your bleeping bleep bleep tip anyway.

[rosethesongbird]

Whump/Hospitalization Writing Exercise

Hi all.

Under the cut I have placed a short little ficlet type thing I wrote a while back, as a writing exercise. It’s not a fandom thing, just something I wrote. Very focused on hospitalization/medical procedures. Whump and hurt/comfort fans may enjoy it, but don’t expect a sequel or a continuation or anything (it kind of ends in the middle, because I didn't want to write any more.)

XO -R

Scott suddenly was aware of his body.

He was lying down. He could hear some muffled noises--maybe speech, maybe not--and felt the sensation of something in his mouth. His throat felt like it was on fire. There was a dull ache--like a bruise--in his belly, and it felt bloated and swollen. He was exhausted. Something was resting on his shoulder, and he couldn’t tell if it was soft and light or impossibly heavy. He felt the sensation of small things touching his body, all over his chest, and something was touching the top of his head, methodically and rhythmically. Slowly he was able to discern the noises. A constant beep-beep-beep noise, a sound like air rushing--maybe breathing?--and two voices--women--both saying his name. They sounded calm, but expectant of something. He struggled to open his eyes. His vision was blurry, and the light in the room was so bright. He didn’t have his glasses on. One of the women became distinguishable. One of her hands was resting on his shoulder, gently but firmly. Her other hand was stroking his hair.

“Hey, Scott,”

She was speaking so softly she was almost whispering. She had a young, calming voice.

“Can you hear me?”

He tried to respond but no sound came out. He slowly blinked his eyes. The other woman came into view. She was wearing a blue uniform.

“Can you squeeze your hands for me, sweetheart?”

Her voice was tender, but no-nonsense. This was her job. She placed something in the palm of both of his hands. He tried desperately to squeeze. He couldn’t tell if he had moved or not, but she must have been satisfied, as she affirmed him and moved on. The ache in his stomach was growing stronger, and things in the room were growing clearer. A cold sensation brushed across his feet as the woman in uniform--a nurse, he guessed--asked him to move his toes. His mind was still fuzzy, but he tried his best. The other woman had grown quiet, but was still stroking his hair.

“Alright, Scott, I’m gonna shine a bright light in your eyes, so just look at me for a minute, okay?”

The nurse’s face came into focus. He looked at her, but could barely keep his eyes open. She was pulling on his eyelids. The other woman said something, quietly, and the nurse responded, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. He felt like he was fading again.

“Sats dropped for just a little bit, there,” said the nurse, suddenly crystal clear.

“You back with us yet, hon?”

He blinked his eye open and looked out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. The woman by his bedside was looking at him, appearing like she was concerned, but trying not to show it. He knew her, but couldn’t remember who she was. The nurse suddenly came back into focus.

“Do you know where you are? Just nod or shake your head, honey. Don’t try to talk. Just a little movement is fine.”

He shook his head. If he could speak, he would have said his best guess was “Hospital” but which hospital, and where, he had no idea. The ache in his stomach had graduated to pain. He realized he wasn’t in control of his breathing.

“That’s alright, sweetheart. You’re in the ICU. You just had a liver transplant. Do you remember what happened?”

He shook his head again. 

“Well, maybe that’s good. It sounded like you were in pretty bad shape, if what your friend here says is any indication.”

He turned his focus to the other woman. She had long brown hair, and freckles. Lots of freckles. She looked tired. A moment of clarity came over him. Her name was Lily. He tried to speak, but only a moan escaped his chapped lips. He shushed him, and gently touched his face with the back of her fingers.

“It’s okay, I’m here. Don’t try to talk, you’re still very sick.”

The nurse was typing on a laptop, going back and forth between that and examining the many machines that were in the room. Her brow was furrowed in focus. Lily was still stroking his hair.

“Alright, Scott, one last thing before I leave you alone for a little while. On a scale of one to ten, one being no pain at all and ten being worst pain imaginable, what would you say your pain level is right now?”

He lifted two fingers on his right hand, and struggled to lift his left arm. It felt like a hundred pound weight.

“Seven?” He nodded his head. His hand dropped to the bed. “Okay, got it. I’m gonna turn your pain killers back up, then, so you might feel a little funny, but we’ll get that pain back down, okay?”

He shut his eyes. He was sure it was just for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again the light coming through the small window was different, the nurse was gone, and Lily was reading a book. He tried to get her attention, but all that came out was somewhere between a wheeze and a moan. She started shushing him again, and set down the book.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m right here,” she laid her hand on his chest, gently rubbing small circles, careful to avoid the leads on his chest and the large incision on his stomach. “You feeling okay? Your color’s starting to come back.” She reached forward and applied something to his lips. Chapstick.

“Do you remember anything yet?”

He shook his head. Memories were floating around--of her, his apartment, her car, pain, tears--but nothing he could knit together to figure out the story. He shut his eyes tightly. The beeping and breathing noises seemed deafening, and the light was hurting his eyes. When he opened his eyes, she had gotten up and closed the curtain.

“Is that better? Sorry, I forgot you’re like a little mole in your little burrow,” she said, smiling. “You’ll start feeling a lot better soon, but for now, just rest. I have to go, but I’ll be back first thing tomorrow. Be nice to the nurses.”

He closed his eyes again and surrendered to sleep.

-----

Lily arrived at the hospital the next morning, at eight o’clock sharp. The very beginning of visiting hours. She had been able to take a hot shower the night before, after leaving the hospital, but hadn’t slept very well. It had now been six days since this whole ordeal started, and although she was feeling optimistic, she was still concerned for her friend. She and Scott worked together, well, she was sort of his assistant. He was a professor at the local college, and she hung out with the entire science department, running errands, organizing papers, being a TA when she needed to. Essentially, a secretary on steroids. Although she was more than 10 years younger than anyone else in the department, they affectionately referred to her as “the department Mom.” She had grown to like everyone there--but especially Scott. They had a special friendship. They were very different, yet they “got” each other. She had been the one the others contacted when they realized they hadn’t heard from Scott in over a week.

She walked in to the nurse’s station, handbag in tow, visitor badge on, tucking her long straight hair behind her ears. By now, she knew the drill. One of the nurses at the station sprung into action as soon as they saw her.

“Hey, Lily,” said the taller blonde woman.

Of course, they knew her by name now. Before she could respond, the nurse continued speaking.

“Just wanted to let you know before you went in--the night girls said he got pretty agitated during the night. They’re weaning off the sedatives, so he woke up and was really confused and got upset when he realized you weren’t there.”

“Jeez, alright. Thanks for letting me know. Is it cool for me to go in?”

“Yeah, let me come with you, just to make sure.”

The nurse got up from the desk to escort her. She didn’t take offense to it, it was her job, after all. Lily pinched the bridge of her nose when she thought of Scott waking up in the night without her. He was getting pretty attached.

-----

Scott stirred in his bed. He was groggy, and his body had a weird fuzzy feeling. He opened his eyes slowly. Lily and the nurse were having a quiet conversation on the other end of the room. He could barely make out what they were saying.

“...so that’s when I…”

“...poor thing, no wonder he…”

“...touch starved...freaked me out, and…”

“...don’t blame you, it would have upset me too…”

“...going to...ventilator...today…”

“...you’re the expert, just...what to do”

Lily walked over to his bedside. He tried his best to focus on her, away from his growing anxiety and still aching stomach.

“Hey, hon.” She smoothed his hair. He needed a shower.

“I heard you woke up kind of upset last night.”

He nodded. He woke up and almost immediately had a panic attack. He hated hospitals, and it seemed that the combination of that, waking up nearly alone, and the right (or wrong) medication caused him to have an immediate freak-out upon being woken up by the nurse.

“You’re okay, I’m here now,” she said. He realized that he had teared up when thinking about last night.

“I’m going to go, just for a little bit. I’ll be back, I promise. It sounds like they’re going to try and let you breathe on your own, so as soon as they’re done with what they need to do, I’ll be back, okay? You’re going to be fine. You’re doing awesome so far.”

He nodded, trying to give her some reassurance--but mostly trying to reassure himself. Lily smiled and left the room. A number of nurses came in, and he could tell the medication flowing into his bloodstream was turned down. He quickly became more and more anxious. The pain in his belly grew sharper. He looked down at his hands and noticed how bony they were for the first time since he was here. The nurses were helping him sit up, away from the bed. It had been a while since he was upright. He wasn’t sure how long.

“Alright, Scott, can you feel that tube in your mouth?”

He nodded slowly. He could tell now that it wasn’t just in his mouth, but down his throat. It was very uncomfortable.

“Okay, so the doctor has given us the OK to go ahead and remove that, so we’re going to do that now. You might feel a little short of breath, but we’ll be watching your O2 closely so don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” The tall blonde nurse smiled. He was afraid.

-----

Lily sat in the waiting room, reading. I have to stay calm, for his sake, she thought. It seemed like the only thing that was keeping him from freaking out was the fact that she wasn’t--and, of course, plenty of medication. She suddenly was aware of the sound of Scott coughing, gagging, and wheezing. She wanted desperately to go in, to comfort him, but knew that she would just disrupt things. He was a grown adult, and would be fine in situations like this on his own. Plus, she wasn’t a nurse--and they knew what they were doing. After what seemed like the longest thirty minutes of Lily’s life, a nurse came in and smiled at her and said she was allowed to come in now. While walking down the hall, she explained that he was breathing on his own, although he seemed a little distressed, so they went ahead and put some anti-anxiety medication in his cart. He was still on some pretty heavy painkillers, but they intended to wean off of those next. Lily nodded. Sounds pretty normal, she thought. I think anyone would be anxious after what happened. The nurse knocked three times on Scott’s door, then entered.

Lily walked in and gently placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder. He was more propped up than he had been for the past few days, but he still looked completely asleep. “The extubation process is pretty tiring, so he’ll probably be pretty drowsy for a while. His throat will be really dry too, so we’ve got some water here that he can drink. Just let us know if you end up needing more.” “Sounds good,” said Lily. “Thanks for all of your help.” The nurse smiled and left the room. Lily looked down to see his eyes open. She smiled. He normally had the brightest blue eyes, but they had been sort of glassy and watery since this whole situation started.

“Hey,” she said. “Welcome back,”

“Mmh,” he groaned. “Lily,”

“I’m right here, it’s okay,” He took a shuddering breath.

“Water,” he whispered.

-----

The sensation of a straw brushing past Scott’s lips was one he never thought would be so comforting.

“Whoa, there, easy,” said Lily, moving the cup away, to his frustration.

“Don’t chug it, you’re gonna make yourself sick. Or, sicker, anyway.”

She brought the cup back to him, and he sipped this time, instead of gulping. He finally felt satiated, and laid back on the pillow. “What...happened?” he said. His voice was atrophied. His words barely came out, and he already felt out of breath.

“Do you remember anything at all?”

“Bits and pieces, but… not much.”

Lily sighed. He had never seen her look so concerned before. Then again, he didn’t know what he looked like, so maybe he shouldn’t blame her.

“I mean, where do I even start? Do you know what day it is?” He frowned. “I know it’s February, but…”

“No, Scott. It’s March. March 4th. This all started six days ago.” Six days? “What happened? I feel disgusting... everything hurts.” He started to tear up again. He was used to being alone. He wasn’t used to being this dependent on someone else.

“Well, it’s kind of… a long story, but I get the feeling we’ll be here a while, so I’ll start at the beginning.”

#whump #hurt/comfort #hospitalization #hospital whump #my writing

[romioneficfest]

Ring

Title: Rings Prompt: Bonus Day - Kisses Name: Rated: T Brief Summary: A row about payments turns bad real quick for Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Will they overcome it? Content Warning: harsh language, domestic rowing, lots of angst.

Set out in front of his seat at the dining room table are two past due payment notices. For whatever reason, their council tax wasn’t paid and they had a past-due notice from the Utility company. ‘Bloody Hell! How did I miss paying these? I swear I paid them the last time I was in Gringott’s,’ says the very annoyed redhead, as he proceeds to slam them down in front of him while running a hand through his shaggy hair. 'And I know I mailed off the utility bill the day after you left. I don’t know why that past due notice was sent.’

‘We shouldn’t have to pay these interest fees if you would’ve paid them on time when I told you to,’ said the bushy-haired witch.

‘Oi, it’s not my fault. I did pay them. I’m not the only one that has to pay the bills around-’ his words were cut short by the deadly glare his fiancee is giving him. 

‘I pay bills too, Ron, and might I just add that it was your turn to pay since I was away on a business trip, not some fancy holiday. I told you before you made the payment to make sure you're listed as a representative for the account.' 

'I did check ahead of time, why don’t you trust me, it's like you think I can't take care of it on my own’, he retorts. 

‘Don’t make this about trust, you know I trust you. Maybe you forgot to send the payment because you had other plans. 'Tell me what you were doing while I was gone?’ She puts her finger to her mouth and bites her pink lip, pretending to think for a moment. ‘Oh yes, you decided to go with Seamus to a Quidditch match and drink the weekend away! Then you got so bloody pissed that you went on a spending splurge and bought almost every piece of ridiculous Quidditch gear, memorabilia, and posters you can think of,’ Hermione fired back with so much bite that Ron thought she was going to hex him any minute. 

He rolls his eyes then looks at the table linen, just now noticing that it’s so torn and stained that you can barely call it a tablecloth. Shaking his head, he lets out a moan, ‘Come off it, why can’t you let it go? You already told me off for going in the first place. It was the Cannons vs Puddlemere, championship game, and guess what? After they got rid of that rubbish manager as I said, you know who won? The bloody Cannons won. I’ve waited my entire life to see that happen. I thought I’d never see it. And I don’t regret going with Seamus… well, maybe a little since we got pissed and he got sick on me but other than that I had an amazing fucking time and yes, I bought some things so what? I work two bloody jobs to afford a few fun things.' The Auror leans back on the uneven chair and glares back at the woman in front of him, basically challenging her to come up with something else to say. ‘Going to the championship match with him was a once in a lifetime opportunity.’

'Oh Merlin, I can’t even take a break here,' he tells himself. It’s not like she has actually been wanting to be near him for the past few months, well technically it’s been a few weeks but it feels like it’s a lot longer. She would find some sort of excuse to occupy her time, at first. ‘I didn’t think much of it, telling myself she’s been working longer hours.’ However, it didn’t stop there. She would bring so much work home with her that our flat felt more like an office rather than a home. He surveys the room, seeing all of the bright orange memorabilia clashing with the piles of books and parchment all over the place. He grumbles under his breath. The only thing left to get is one of those muggle paper dispensers that give you a number since it’s obvious that he has to arrange some sort of appointment for his petite curly-haired witch to even look his way, he tells himself bitterly.

‘If you had such an amazing time with Seamus, then why don’t you tell him that you’ll be having a blast bunking in his hotel room he’s renting, oh and also tell him next time you decide to go to a Quidditch Match with him that you might as well buy the whole stadium since you are not capable of being a man that remembers his responsibilities or common knowledge to be an adult!’ she explodes, not realizing she crossed a thin line.

As she gets up from the chair, she knocks it back into the wall with force and crosses her arms against her chest. She turns back to him while shaking her head and tries to discreetly wipe the moisture from her eyes, with a frown and despising the fact that every single time they’ve had a blazing row it always ends the same. No matter how many years she has known the piercing blue-eyed occasionally insufferable git, the outcome of a row is practically the same, with her crying like she was 11 and overheard a boy call her insufferable. She always believed that their rows hurt her worse than any curse thrown her way; even her torture at the hands of the most sadistic woman in the wizarding world hurt her heart less. Why couldn’t he follow-through without her supervision?

Only the ticking of the grandfather clock was the only noise in the entire flat. Seconds turned into minutes, he can’t believe she said that to him. Why can’t she see how her words stabbed him straight through his heart. It's like she transformed from his beautiful fiance to the taunting ghost-like figure he destroyed years ago. 

He realized right then that nothing is the same, not like it used to be. He reached up to rub his eyes and found his face wet with tears. She knew about his insecurities but for her to tell him he’s not man enough made him think back to the one nightmare memory. He was a failure. What he never could overcome is finally getting the better of him. He’s frozen to the chair, just staring at her back in utter silence. Noticing every minuscule detail of her, every single curve on her tiny body that he is immensely crazy for. To every chaotic chocolate curl on her head, the way her shoulders are hunched and shaking, making her look even smaller than she actually is. He sits there, soaking in every single detail, trying to memorize everything, fearing that if he blinks, the woman of his dreams would vanish.

Slowly getting up with tears streaming down his now bloodshot eyes making it hard to distinguish whether his eyes are blue or red. Wringing his hands together, he takes a deep breath and tries to not let out a choked sigh.

Why did the locket have to be right? All those nights when he wore it because he knew that the rhythm of the heartbeat emitting from that locket just there taunting him, night after night. It wasn’t there to protect her from that evil. It wasn’t to have her avoid wearing it for one moment because he felt she shouldn’t be mentally tortured by that bloody object. No. The reason he wore that damn thing more was that he knew, deep in the pit of his heart, he wasn’t man enough to be in her life, not good enough to even have a place to call home.

His voice failing repeatedly,  Ron finally finds his voice. ‘I n-never t-thought…,’ damn it, why when I decide to talk I’m failing to even say words correctly, he thinks to himself. Trying again and he wipes his eyes hard with his hands and takes a deep breath. ‘I never thought… you felt that way. I’m so… sorry to disappoint you,’ he tells her, trying his hardest to not break down. ‘I know I made the payment, but maybe I messed up when I sent it. I won’t tell Seamus anything but I’ll leave if that’s what you want. Everything is pointless if you’re not in my life and if you don’t think I’m man enough for you then… well, I’ll get a few of my things.’ He looked up, piercing her with a bereft expression. ‘Keep the ring I bought for you because from what I know… you need a man to stand up to you and for you and love you and I’m not the one for you since I don’t… know how to act like a… man… or an adult.' His voice leaves him practically wheezing out each word like it inflicted physical pain to him. He grabs onto the table almost as if it’s the only thing that is helping him stand up as he weeps. He didn’t notice the woman he loves had stopped shaking and had turned around and is now staring at him with so much anguish.  

It finally dawns on her that when she said he wasn’t man enough she never meant it. Once again, her anger got the best of her. She needed him and he was spending so much time with Seamus and didn’t have time for her. Since Seamus said he knew someone who could get them tickets to the championship tournament and back to catch up with her fiance, she’s barely had any alone time with him. She’s had no time, let alone any time in general with him because of all the work the ministry is pushing on her. 

She is shocked to the core of the way she sees his knuckles, white as snow as he grips the table for dear life. Tears are pouring down her eyes as she gives up holding them back, she wants to, no, she needs to show him she loves him and that she won’t give him back the ring he gave her when they went on a trip with her parents to Australia when he proposed to her. She has to make him understand that he means the world to her. Why is it so complicated when it could be simple? He is a man, she is fully aware of that aspect, but why did I say the opposite? Oh Merlin, why did I have to make him doubt himself. Finding her voice, she tells him in broken sobs, ‘I never meant to say those things to you, I love you so bloody much..' - whatever she was going to say next was cut short from the look he gave her.

It was the same look he gave her before he left the hunt on that rainy night - cold and emotionless, nothing else showing in those beautiful deep blue eyes that she loves almost more than his freckles. She then sees his guard go down and thinks that she might have broken down the barrier that was put up when she first began rowing with him.

‘It’s not that simple, you… you can’t act like things are fine if you apologize.  As the muggles say, ‘actions speak louder than words,’ he replies back and takes a moment to breathe then says, ‘I’m tired of this, Hermione, so tired. I don’t think I can do this anymore. Every time we row, you expect me to apologize, to say sorry when I’m not at fault. Why can’t you ever say, ‘I made a mistake,’ or ‘Let’s see what happened and sort it out,’ not yanking my bollocks for a mistake? If I want that, I’ll go back to work and hear it from them.’ He heaves a desperate sigh. ‘It’s not like I’ve not been a bastard too, saying shite when I’m upset, but you went too far this time. I won’t be your house-elf, kicking me when things go wrong.’ He sighs again, ‘I think it’s best if we go our separate- ‘

‘No!’ she interrupts. 

She lets go of her hand, the one fidgeting with her engagement ring that he spent quite a few galleons on for her and walks to stand under his chin, looking up at him. She had one chance to save everything they’d worked for, one risk to take to admit how much she cocked up and how she was going to fix things between them. 

She had to admit how painfully wrong she was.

He was worth it, wasn’t he? All of the times he backed down, swallowing his pride so she could feel right, all of the times he put aside his needs for her just so she could belittle him over a late council tax payment? She was going to blow apart everything over 5 galleons? Were 5 galleons all their relationship was worth?

How many times did he stay in with her, saving money to afford this flat, affording the occasional nice thing she asked for? How many months did he pull extra shifts with George to afford the ring on her finger, forgoing almost every bit of fun to afford their flat, a few holidays together? He did so much for their relationship because of the future they wanted together.

Why did she get so angry over something so petty, so trivial? What was it that made her explode over something so pointless and say terrible things to her fiance?

If they were to marry, she absolutely needed to work on herself, her temper, her sharp edges that hurt others. She had to quit lashing out at him, the one who supported her ambition completely.

He has done so much for us so why can’t I admit I’m wrong and do my part? 

She lets go of her hand and closes the distance that was made between them and grabs his face and brings her plump lips up to his soft ones and kisses him so hard that she thinks that her lips will bruise. If it does it wouldn’t matter. She can’t let him go even if he isn’t kissing back at first. He is still as a rock but when she lightly bites his lips he seems to come alive and kisses her with so much intensity he forgets all about the wizarding world they live in and only focused on how much he missed this. He almost forgot how amazing of a kisser she is, it's been too bloody long. Every time their lips meet it sends him teetering on the brink of insanity, he can’t get enough.

Wait, no, this won’t be fixed with snogging like any other row, he thinks. 'Hermione,' he gently pulls her face back from his, seeing the tear tracks on her face. 'Kissing me won’t make the problem go away, not this time.'

She stops, taking a very deep breath. 'Ron, I know we need to talk. I needed you to know that what I said was wrong and I made a terrible mistake. I said something that wasn’t true and said it out of anger and frustration when I shouldn’t have done so. You are the best thing in my life and I would be a right foul git to throw it away over 5 galleons. And you have every right to be hurt. I said things that I shouldn’t, especially when it wasn’t honest.’

Ron sits back down in the chair, almost eye height to her standing. She instead kneels down, looking up at him. 'I’ll do whatever it takes, including making an appointment tomorrow with a Healer. I never want to lose you. I did once and it was the worst time in my life. I don’t want a repeat of it again, especially when it’s my fault. I’m sorry.’ She drops her head down, not looking him in the eyes. ‘I need to learn to not hurt you when I’m frustrated. Taking my frustration out on you is wrong.’

He reaches out to her, lifting her chin. 'OK. I’m willing to do everything as well.’

An owl taps on the window, breaking the moment. ‘I’ll get it,’ Hermione gets up and goes to the window, collecting a bit of mail from the owl. Hermione tears it open, reading quickly. A sardonic laugh breaks the silence.. ‘It’s from the Utility company. It seems that it got lost in their mailroom for a fortnight. The post stamp on the envelope was the day I left.’ Hermione turned and her face was tomato red. ‘I was wrong to doubt you.’ 

#Romione FicFest 2020 #Fic Post #Romione #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Submission #Queue Up for the Dragon #Rated T #Ace Safe #Mod note: Editor for fic #Edited upon request by MA

[pikachunas]

Rand of the Lost

His name was Randall. She had met him online a month before, when he messaged her something both witty and charming, some reference to her profile; the type of message a good man sends you. It was immediate banter and mutual interest-- his topical jokes made her laugh, his music taste was effortlessly aligned with hers, and on top of it all, he even seemed to have money, or so he claimed. You see, in his profile, he had typed “I’m not very successful and I have no friends.” 

Confusing, or maybe just funny? She wasn’t sure how a modern man measured success, her older immigrant father equated success with money...and of course, her exes never had any. The promise of a dinner she wouldn’t have to throw a twen down for was alluring, plus, he had a sense of humor, and even a college degree.

In terms of appearances, confusion struck her once again, though. She poured over his photos on social media, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. They seemed to be from his adolescence-- the face of an older boy with the initial stages of pubescent facial hair, but round baby-faced cheeks and large childlike eyes. He only had three photos-- one just a headshot, seemingly against a pillow. Another, him in a bed again, surrounded by dogs, only his face was visible, the rest obscured by comforters. The third was him in a chair, small legs dangling, brushing the floor ever so lightly. Surely, this was an older photo too, the man in the picture was a wisp, with a child-sized body, and smallish sneakers. He had told her he was short, and of course, she paid this no heed. Her lovers and boyfriends alike were of varying shapes and sizes...height made no difference to her. Her weakness was glaring, though it had nothing to do with physical attributes...she was a sucker for a songwriter. So she forgot about the photos, because, well,

Randall wrote songs.

Perhaps this is why she overlooked his barrage of excuses every time she asked to meet him. First, he wasn’t feeling well. Then, a bad day, a crummy mood. Sometimes he had to bring his dogs to the vet, his sister to work, his grandmother to the doctor. It was always something new and just sensical enough to keep her from questioning him. 

One night, they were speaking on the phone (the most involved form of interaction they had experienced thus far), and the question came up again, “Let me just come over, yeah? You don’t have to worry about anything, we don’t even have to go anywhere...could we just watch a movie?”

    “Michelle, you’re like my O.S., it’s like that movie, ‘Her’, you know? If you’re real, it’ll ruin it. We have a cool time talking on the phone and online, can’t you just stay virtual?”

    He said all this with a glimmer of laugh in his feminine and nasal-driven voice, daring her to push harder.

    “What if you see how hideous I am and don’t want to be friends anymore?”

She snorted at this statement, tickled at the notion of a man feeling insecure in this manner. 

    “That’s not gonna happen, goof, I know what you look like” she said, all the while considering his photos...maybe she didn’t know? 

    The next day, he messaged her. 

        “Have you ever seen Brokeback Mountain?” it read.

        “No...that the gay cowboy movie?”

        “Yeah, dude. It’s one of my favorites. Come over tonight and watch it with me. I promise I won't flake”

Michelle was as nervous as she was excited. She couldn’t help but think Randall was hiding something about his appearance, or lifestyle, or something. There had to be a reason he was so reluctant to meet her. Her mutual friends with him talked about Randall as if he didn’t even exist in real life. Like he was just holed up in his room, the hermit of Cohoes-- who was charismatic and smart. It just didn’t make it any sense.

    She got dressed, and anxiously set off to meet him.

------------

Michelle entered the house, drawing her hands to her face in shock as she opened the door and processed what was before her. The house looked abandoned...white walls stood barren, lined with dust and dog hair, spiderwebs clung to every corner. She turned to her left and saw an unfurnished living room. To the right was a kitchen, looking equally unused and dusty, the only appliances- an old microwave and a milkshake machine. Bizarre. This was bizarre. 

The murmur of a television came from a door a few feet away, and she cautiously pushed it open.

From the large bed in the center of the room, she heard a wry “hey cute”, that sounded like it came from 100 feet away. Michelle stepped forward, and saw the smallest, roundest head peeking out from the folds of a blanket-- like a pea, in a much-too-large pod. 

Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, she saw a plastic dresser of sorts, literally exploding with bills of various sizes. She could see hundreds scattered on the floor, on the desk against his wall, wads of cash strewn about like candy wrappers. It was a hoard of money. 

    Randall lay on his back, arms by his sides, lily-white palms facing the ceiling like a corpse. His body was shockingly small, like those children in St. Jude commercials: muscles atrophied, trembling slightly, skin soft and pale from lack of movement and fresh air. His skinny white arm came out from beneath the covers, outstretched, asking for a hug, and a smile slowly spread across his small and spherical face.

“Woooow…” Michelle said haltingly, “it’s like...cool to finally meet you...finally…”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, rejecting his advance, a big black dog stirred and then settled. 

“Randall...are you like, sick?” she asked.

    “No, it’s just my body. It’s small and useless, my mom drank when she was pregnant,” he quipped, as if it were a joke.

It wasn’t a joke, Michelle thought, look at this guy.

She slowly lowered her body onto his bed, feeling a nervousness she had only felt in hospitals and special education classrooms. 

Her limbs were tense, terrified of crushing his body beneath her. His body that barely made an impression beneath the bedding, comically tiny amidst the queen size mattress. Michelle inched closer to him, forgetting her fears about Randall’s fragile form, succumbing to the advances of this lawn jockey she was so fascinated by. 

His palm caressed her leg, moving down from her foot to her ass, miniature fingers hooked into her leggings and began to pull them lower. 

Michelle raised her hips, allowing her pants to come down more, exposing her thick cafe au lait colored thighs, and a pair of what she considered were her “sexy” lace panties.

“Hah!” Those underwear are awful, they look like something my grandmother would wear.” He wheezed with laughter.

    “What the FUCK”, Michelle yelped, stunned that the intimate time they were having was interrupted by such a comment. Randall looked confused, but a grin still lingered on his lips. A self satisfied expression. She couldn’t handle it. 

Grabbing the tv remote from his Lilliputian hand, she threw it across the room, eyes welling with tears. 

    “Screw you, what the fuck kinda man says that to a girl?”

    Michelle began putting her coat on, not the type to be insulted by anybody; especially horrified that this infantile dwarf would try her.

Randall groaned a high-pitched sound of distress, like a creaking floorboard. “Dude! The Devils are playing in 15 minutes!” He peeled the covers off of his weak, pale body. Gripping the edge of his mattress, he dragged his useless skinny legs onto the floor with a thump, and began a demented army crawl across the room, like something from a horror film. 

Michelle zipped up her boot with one hand, bending down and snatching the remote off of the floor, before Randall could heave his pathetic body any closer. She put it atop the door jamb, unreachable to the invalid before her.

Randall slapped the hardwood with his soft small hand. Collapsing into a puddle of freckles and tattoos. He loosely gripped Michelle’s ankle as she started to leave, and looked up at her with those big blue eyes,

    “Hey...fuck...” he let out in an asthmatic whisper, “you...my man.”

                The end.

[aethelar]

All the world’s a game

And Izuku’s the main player. A My Hero Academia AU where Izuku has a gamer quirk.

-

Izuku Midoriya’s abilities started developing when he was three years old, marking him as one of the eighty percent majority that had a quirk. They didn’t give any sign that they’d started, of course; no small objects flying towards him, no fire hiccoughing out when he sneezed. Nothing obvious at all in fact, but quietly behind the scenes, his quirk developed.

“An invisible quirk,” the doctors called it, a year later, when Izuku’s x-rays came back free of extra toe joints. “It’s possible it has an obscure activation criteria, or an effect which hasn’t been noticed yet.” This particular doctor pulled a rusty but at least somewhat sincerely sympathetic face at Izuku and cautioned him, “You may never find out what your quirk is, I’m afraid.” He laughed, then added as though he couldn’t resist the pun, “Invisible quirks can be very hard to see.”

“Shows what he knows,” Kacchan scoffed when Izuku faithfully relayed the explanation. “If you were invisible you’d be impossible to see. Stupid old man.”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant,” Izuku said, pushing himself into a jog to keep up with the taller boy. He ran, as he always did, for precisely seven seconds, then walked for four, then ran for seven, then walked, and so on.

“Keep up,” Kacchan yelled from several paces ahead.

Izuku ran for another seven seconds at top speed before his feet slowed stubbornly to a four second walk.

-

“Maybe,” he theorised to Kacchan several months later, “maybe it’s a brain quirk.”

Kacchan wrinkled his nose. “What, like a super nerd? That’s lame.”

“Izuku’s super smart thought,” Tsubasa said thoughtfully from his other side. “He’s really good at homework.”

“That’s even lamer. How is homework going to help him be a hero?”

“I don’t think it’s homework.” Izuku frowned, trying to find the words to explain something he wasn’t even sure existed. “It’s like… I always know where I am if I’ve been somewhere, but I have to actually think about it first. And I don’t know how I know but I do, you know?”

“Oh, that’s a quirk?” Tsubasa asked, wings shifting in excitement. “I do that too! I thought I just recognised places. You think I have two quirks?”

“Yes, I mean, no, but - as in, I think I have a map? In my head? Of where I am now and where I’ve been before. But a moving map, not a paper one. And I fill it in when I go places.”

“A map?” Tsubasa’s wings drooped. “Oh. I can’t read maps. They don’t make sense.”

“Maps aren’t quirks and you’re both idiots,” Kacchan said. He pushed himself off from the wall and landed with a harsh thud on the ground, palms sparking with just enough force to slow his descent, and Tsubasa and Izuku scrambled to follow. Tsubasa opened his wings into a controlled fall with a graceless but effective flap, while Izuku turned around and began the lengthy process of climbing down hand over hand.

“Slow,” Kacchan complained. The fact that he couldn’t scale the same wall didn’t seem to occur to him, nor the fact that it was a smooth stone, entirely lacking in footholds or anything to grip.

“Sorry,” Izuku said, dropping the last step and waiting the required four seconds before he was ready to run. He was up to eleven seconds now before he needed a rest, but climbing was harder - he could manage six, and never on glass, under an overhang, or in the rain. Six seconds of going vertically up pretty much any non-smooth surface, but then his arms and legs would seize up and he’d go tumbling to the floor until his required four seconds of rest were up.

(He’d learnt the hard way.)

 -

“I’m hungry,” Izuku explained again.

“You want to be hungry and in trouble? Move, Deku!”

“Kacchan,” Izuku said, voice wobbling dangerously close to tears, “I’m hungry. I can’t run. It doesn’t work.” And, because Kacchan still looked mutinous, he sniffed and added: “It’s part of my quirk.”

Kacchan threw his hands up with far too much exasperation for any six year old to reasonably feel, then settled the issue by dragging Izuku into an uncomfortable piggy back. “Anything else I should know about you being hungry?” he asked, jabbing an elbow into Izuku’s side to make him stop squirming.

“Um. If I’m hungry for too long I get sick?”

“Your quirk is the most useless thing ever, I swear.”

 -

“Here,” Katsuki said, roughly shoving a packet of crisps, a juice box and an apple into Izuku’s bag. He knew better than to give them to Izuku to hold directly; he had two hands, and therefore could hold two things, and if given any more to hold had a bad habit of dropping them on the floor like an idiot.

Because he was. An idiot. One who couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself, which is why Katsuki was feeding him, so he wouldn’t go hungry and stop running again.

“Ah, Kacchan - wait -” And the second Katsuki let go of the last item, Izuku staggered to a halt and sat down hard.

“Deku,” he growled. “What.”

“It can only hold ten things! You put too many in there and now it’s full.” Izuku shrugged himself out of the straps and tugged forlornly on the top handle, but the backpack stayed resolutely on the floor as though Katsuki had tipped lead bricks into it instead of food.

Tsubasa took the opportunity to lean over and peer inside the bag. “There’s still space,” he said helpfully. “It’s only half full.”

“And anyway! I’ve seen you carrying things for Auntie, there’s no way you can’t lift that!” Katsuki had seen Izuku casually lift a table to move it around the living room. For a scrawny mess of big eyes and freckles, Izuku was sometimes freakishly strong.

The scrawny mess in question heaved at the drooping school bag, twig-muscles standing out on twig-arms as he failed to make it budge. “They weren’t eleven things, Kacchan! Quirk says ten max!”

“Your quirk is a pain. Tsubasa, carry Deku’s bag.”

“‘Kay,” the other boy said, lifting the backpack up with the tip of an outstretched wing. “Have you got any more juice boxes? I finished mine.”

“You can have mine,” Izuku offered. “Then I’ll be able to carry it again.”

Katsuki knocked Tsubasa’s hand away. “No,” he said. “It’s for Deku when he’s hungry. I’ll get you one after class.”

“‘Kay.”

 -

“Ten things,” Kacchan said later. Izuku turned towards him warily; he recognised the tone of voice. Kacchan was planning.

Kacchan’s plans only sometimes went right for others involved, but it was never a good idea to try and back out. Wariness was about the best Izuku could manage.

“Any ten things?”

“Um,” Izuku said. “I think so? I tested some of it, and it’s definitely ten. But if they’re in something they only count as one.” He got a somewhat blank look, so pulled his bag towards him to explain. “Like, here. My pencil case. It’s got ten pencils in it, right? But it’s only one thing because it’s a pencil case, so it counts as one. Even though it’s actually ten. Or, well, ten pencils plus one case so eleven. It’s eleven, but it goes in my bag as one thing.”

Kacchan turned the case over in his hands. “Huh,” he said, squinting at Izuku. “Could you put a hundred pencils in ten cases and put those ten in one big case and put that in your bag?”

“Yeah, I think so! So long as they fit. I did some testing when I discovered it, I think I have the notebook somewhere -”

“Nerd,” Kacchan interrupted with a roll of his eyes. “I believe you, I don’t need your diary.” He snapped the pencil case shut and handed it back - then doubled over laughing when it slammed Izuku’s hands to the floor as soon as he took it.

“Ow - Kacchan! What did you - you added something to it!”

“A sticker,” Kacchan wheezed. “I put a sticker in it and you actually can’t - oh my god Deku your quirk - a freakin’ sticker -”

“Ten of anything, Kacchan! Only ten!”

Anything, it turned out, really meant anything. The backpack wasn’t big enough for Kacchan’s liking so they retrieved Izuku’s mum’s suitcase from under her bed and filled it with the heaviest things in the house, including, at one point, Kacchan himself. Ten items or less, Izuku lifted it no problem. Add the sticker as an eleventh, and it crashed to the ground.

That part wasn’t so bad, but Izuku had two hands as well, and each hand could hold one of any item. Including Kacchan. And the sofa. But add the sticker, and, well, that’s how Izuku’s arm broke.

“Shit,” Kacchan swore, staring at it white-faced. In any other circumstances Izuku would’ve protested at the language, but he could be forgiven for being distracted.

“It’s going backwards,” he said with a morbid fascination that was probably the only thing keeping the pain at bay.

“Don’t touch it!” Kacchan slapped his good hand away. “And don’t tell Aunty! It’s not hurt that bad. I’ll get you a chocolate bar tomorrow if you stay upstairs and I’ll tell Aunty you’re sick and don’t say anything.”

“But it needs a plaster - ow!”

Izuku’s eyes filled with tears and Kacchan dropped his arm as though burned, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, don’t cry,” he flapped. “I’ll get a plaster, you’re fine, right? Plaster, bed, chocolate, don’t tell Aunty, stop crying. Right?”

“Two chocolate bars,” Izuku argued between sniffs. “And I want the All Might plasters, the normal ones aren’t as good.”

“Done,” Kacchan agreed, and hustled the shorter boy down to the bathroom. The All Might plaster was dutifully stuck on Izuku’s shoulder (they weren’t sure if it would work there, but seeing as his arm hurt when it was touched the shoulder seemed the safest place), Izuku himself was practically barricaded in his room, and Kacchan prepared his best innocent smile for lying through his teeth to every parent in the vicinity.

It was foolproof.

The fact that Izuku woke up in the morning with his arm completely healed only proved how flawless their planning really was. (That and the unmistakable power of All Might plasters).

 -

“Where’s Deku?”

“Here!”

“Shit, don’t do that! Make some noise or something, seriously.”

“Sorry, I forgot I was crouching.”

“Your damn quirk Deku, I swear to god.”

“Sorry, Kacchan.”

 -

“Again, Midoriya,” the gym teacher said. “And this time actually try to run the course without stopping.”

“But sensei, I can only manage thirty eight seconds of sprint and it takes two minutes and four seconds for each lap -”

“Midoriya!”

Izuku growled wordlessly and stomped back to the starting line. “Middle school is the worst.”

“You want me to hit him for you?” Tsubasa offered, standing ready with a stopwatch. He eyed the teacher, carefully comparing his wing strength to the man’s arm muscles in the way Katsuki had taught him. “I can hit him for you.”

“No hitting teachers, Tsubasa. No hitting anyone. We’ll get detention.”

“You and Katsuki will rescue me,” he said with easy conviction. “You’re heroes, it’s what you do.” It made Izuku smile at him, briefly lifting his mood. His old teachers had got used to the oddities and restrictions his quirk put on him, but even a month into middle school and his new teachers didn’t seem to have caught up. In a class full of visible quirks and Kacchan, Izuku was easy to overlook; it was an annoyance, but not one worth getting into trouble for.

At least, Izuku didn’t think so. Kacchan had practically exploded with protective fury when a teacher had tried to stop Izuku eating between classes, but Kacchan liked exploding so it probably wasn’t a good test.

“Heroes don’t hit people,” he told Tsubasa. “Unless they’re villains.”

“Yeah, but villains are people who disagree with heroes, and you ‘n Katsuki are heroes, so you can hit anyone who disagrees with you. It’s how it works.”

“It’s really not -”

“Midoriya! Less talking, more running!”

Izuku fought the urge to glare back at the teacher. Tsubasa, far too honest with his feelings and unused to fighting his urges, glared double.

“Let’s get this over with,” Izuku muttered, settling himself into ready position. “Count me down?”

When he was done, the time on Tsubasa’s stopwatch showed a clean six minutes, twelve seconds, with a precise time of two minutes four seconds per lap. Exactly the same as the previous two times Izuku had run the course.

He might not be the fastest of runners in a straight out sprint, but at least Izuku was consistent. If it wasn’t such a pain to stop and eat when sprinting made his hunger ran out he’d make a good long distance runner, but it was a pain, so he didn’t.

Also quirk use was forbidden in gym class.

“You need to push your boundaries,” the teacher said with a disappointed head shake. “I won’t tolerate slacking. Here, collect these and take them back to the equipment cupboard.” He pressed three stopwatches into Izuku’s hands, and Izuku could only watch in resignation as one of them tumbled to the ground.

“I’ll get it in a sec, sensei,” he said dully and trudged off to deposit the two in his hands before he could be accused of being disrespectful of school property.

Tsubasa jogged up, the fallen stopwatch carefully retrieved. “I can still hit him. You’re sure you don’t want me to hit him? Kacchan won’t mind.”

“No hitting people, Tsubasa.”

“Even villains?”

“Sensei’s not a villain.”

“Oh. Do you want me to hit him anyway?”

“Tsubasa.”

 -

By the time he was fourteen, Izuku thought he had most of his quirk nailed down. He wasn’t sure what the common theme was - he had suspicions and ideas, but seriously, a gamer quirk? Ridiculous - but he was pretty certain he’d got the features in place.

The map he’d started filling in as a four year old covered most of the city by now, with long spider legs arching out along the train lines. It didn’t include a compass, but he could usually tell which way was which just by tracking his position along the map as he moved. It was on the one hand less useful than the map his phone gave him as it didn’t show places he hadn’t been, but also more useful in that he could zoom it into buildings and bring up floor plans if he concentrated hard enough.

His phone didn’t give him as many headaches though.

The issue with only being able to hold one thing in each hand, or ten things in a bag, required some creative thinking. Packing for a trip anywhere was the worst, everything had to be grouped in stacks of ten and placed in other bags just to allow him to pick up a suitcase. His school bag was usually ok, but carrying shopping was a logistical nightmare. Thank god for multipacks, that’s all Izuku was saying.

On the other hand, there didn’t seem to be a weight limit on what those items were, as Kacchan had so spectacularly discovered when he dropped a sofa on Izuku’s head and broke his arm. Izuku hadn’t found much use in his life so far for being able to deadlift a bus (plus up to ten passengers, but the bus was the impressive thing), but he was pretty sure it would come in handy as a hero.

And the other discovery from that day with the sofa, although neither of them had realised it at the time - sleep was good for Izuku. None of this waiting around, lying awake in bed unable to drift off; if it was night, and Izuku was in a bed, then he slept the healing sleep of the dead right through to sunrise and woke up in perfect health. On the plus side, he never had a nightmare, and never had an illness or injury follow him through to the next morning.

On the downside, Izuku didn’t budge from bed until the sun was up. In summer, he woke early. In winter, he still woke kind of early because sunrise in Japan only ever got as late as around seven-ish. But if he needed to be up before then, well… No. Not physically possible. A villain could burn the house down and tango on the ashes, and Izuku wouldn’t stir until sunrise came.

He got surprisingly used to skipping sleep all together when he needed to be up early. That and apologising for being late, he got the apologies down to an art form.

(He hadn’t yet unlocked the feature that wouldn’t let him sleep when enemies were nearby for the simple fact that, at fourteen, Izuku didn’t have enemies. Nor had he discovered yet that he couldn’t sleep without a bed because why on earth would he try to sleep without a bed? He’d once mortally offended Kacchan by offering to take the floor when they were having a sleepover, and Kacchan had responded by drowning Izuku in blankets and smothering him with pillows until he apologised and promised never to do it again.)

And, of course, his stamina. By fourteen, Izuku could sprint for forty six seconds before his forced rest of four seconds. Climbing gave him twenty three seconds, which was usually enough to reach some kind of ledge or windowsill to recharge his energy. The rain was still deadly, as was the bucket of water he and Kacchan had experimented with that other one time Izuku broke his arm. He could hang stationary on to the side of a building practically endlessly, but if he reached his twenty three second limit of actively climbing, he just dropped.

Incidentally, Tsubasa had got surprisingly good at catching him.

So, that’s Izuku’s quirk: he navigates weird, he sleeps weird, he runs and climbs weird, he carries things weird, and if he ever gets too hungry then he just goes weird. He’s only once pushed his hunger long enough to make himself sick, which was more to find out his limits than anything else. They’ve probably changed in the past few years, but when he was twelve he had two hours, twenty six minutes between being unable to run and being so hungry that he threw up in a trash can. Thirty four minutes after that and he’d been shivering and sweating and unable to stand, and eight minutes after that he’d been found by Kacchan and yelled at and force fed corn soup from the closest vending machine.

Ah, fond memories.

All of which led, approximately seven months ago, to Izuku deciding: “Yuuei. I’m going to apply to Yuuei.”

“Well, duh,” Kacchan said, making a face at him over his spicy chilli noodles. “We’re going to be heroes. Where else would we go?”

“Doesn’t Shiketsu train heroes as well?” Tsubasa asked. Kacchan rolled his eyes and kicked him in the shin.

“We’re going to be number one hereos,” he amended. “All Might went to Yuuei. If I’m going to be number one and Deku’s going to be number two then we need to go to Yuuei too. It’s logic.”

And when Kacchan put his unique stamp of approval on one of Izuku’s plans, that was it. The plan was happening. He, of the green hair and the twiggy, bus-benching arms, would go to Yuuei and be the number two hero.

Off the edge of his mental map of Tokyo, in a part of the city that he hadn’t yet unlocked the map for, a small marker started flashing in his mind.

Main quest: Yuuei Entrance Exam. Achieve a passing grade in both the written and practical portions of the famous hero class entrance exam and begin your journey to becoming a pro hero...

#bnha #boku no hero academia #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo #au: izuku has a quirk #length: 3.3k #my writing #i had breath of the wild in mind as the gaming rules while i was writing this but hopefully it also works a general gamer!au #i just wanted him not to be too op you know? #he gets gamer benefits #he gets gamer drawbacks #life's a box of chocolates and sometimes they include fruit creams #you just gotta make do

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Defective.

This is a drabble based off of the “Box Boy whumpee” concept first thought up by @sweetwhumpandhellacomf and popularized in a series by @shameless-whumper, which first gave me the inspiration to write this. Cheers to you guys. And oof this has a long bit of exposition, but I promise it gets whumpy lol.

“Happy birthday!” X shouted, making dramatic jazz hands at her side when Y opened the door. He nearly dropped the washcloth he was holding in surprise, evidently interrupted while doing his dishes.

“X ! Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting you!” Y laughed through the sentence, pocketing the rag, and wrapped X in a tight hug.

“Well, duh,” she pulled back to look him in the eyes, a goofy grin plastered on her face, “I couldn’t miss my big brother’s birthday. Especially since it’s your big three-oh this year!”

“Oh, yes, can’t wait for the constant ‘old man’ taunts from you young, flippant thing still in your twenties.” He rolled his eyes, stepping back and holding the door open. “Come on in, it’s freezing out there.”

X took him up on that offer, grabbing a large wrapped box beside her and stepping into the house. She set it down again to take off her shoes and coat, and when she looked back, Y was crouched down by it with wide eyes.

“I didn’t even see this. Is it for me?”

“Hey, shoo,” she swatted his hand away from one of the air holes, “and of course it’s for you, genius. You’re the birthday boy, not me.” 

“Ah, right. What’s with the holes, anyway? You just that bad at wrapping?”

X lifted the box away from him with a soft chuckle and walked down the hall to Y’s basement stairs, kicking open the door with her foot.

“You’ll know why when you open it.” she called back to him as he trailed after her.

“And do you mind telling me why you’re taking it downstairs, or is that a secret too?”

“Just a safety precaution.” she smirked, knowing it would make no sense with the context of an average birthday present. X could almost hear her brother’s exasperated sigh behind her as he gave up and merely followed along. 

After walking through the floor into a smaller, mostly empty carpeted room, she finally set the box down and shut the door behind Y. 

“Alright, open it up!” she said, bouncing on her heels as he knelt down next to his present. There was a clear grimace on his face.

“Ugh, I’m just gonna pray you didn’t wrap up a pipe bomb again this year.”

“Come on, that wasn’t too bad! You only got, what, first degree burns on your hands last time? But all that aside, I promise you: this is way better than any bomb.” 

“If you say so…” And with that, Y ripped open the wrapping paper to reveal a wooden crate with wide slats, and something folded up inside. He started reading the note on the lid out loud.

“Dear customer, thank you for purchasing our wares… blah blah… we hope you enjoy your newly purchased-” He froze at the next words, his concerned expression shifting to one of hesitant joy, and then to one of exuberance as it sunk in. “-box boy? You got me a box boy? Seriously?! Oh- and from Whumpee Barn too? Shit, X, that’s expensive!”

“Expensive, but high quality, and fully customizable! Plus, Whumpee Barn always has the prettiest ones. Go on and open it up; I want to see if they found one with the right parameters.” She made a circle motion with her hand, hurrying him on. 

Y pried off the wooden lid, and grabbed the boy’s arm, hauling it to its feet. The boy’s long, dark hair was tied up behind the blindfold and its pale arms, dotted with freckles, were restrained securely behind its back. 

Reaching carefully, Y pulled the blindfold off of the boy, who was only a little shorter than him, and came face to face with dark blue eyes. 

“Oh, it’s perfect! You know just what I like, X.” Y fawned over the boy, who tensed at the excessive attention and went completely rigid when its new owner put a hand in its hair, removing the hair tie and combing it out to its full length. 

A scowl built on the poor thing’s face and, noticing the displeasure, Y put a comforting hand on its jaw, petting slowly.

“Hey, you’re alright, little pet. Don’t sour such a pretty face with an ugly expression like that.” When the boy didn’t relent, he slapped it hard across the face instead. “Listen to me. I am your master, and you will do what I say. Now turn that frown upside down before I do it for you.”

“Maybe it’s just uncomfortable,” X suggested, stepping forward with her pocket knife drawn. When Y didn’t object, she sawed through the rope keeping the boy’s wrists tied together, and carefully moved its shoulders forward, stiff from being tied up for hours on end. “That better, buddy?” she asked, patting him on the back lightly.

As soon as her touch left, the boy turned swiftly on its heels, glaring daggers at her. Before she could even think, it lunged forward, grabbing her by the neck and pinning her to the opposite wall.

“I’m nobody’s damn pet!” it yelled in a hoarse voice, grip tightening incrementally around her throat, “I’m not a fucking object, I’m not something you can just sell and claim ownership of, and stuff in a little box and call cutesy names-!”

It gasped as Y grabbed it, pulling it off of and far away from X to the opposite wall. She took a deep breath, straightening out her clothes with a tired glare.

“Agh, the stupid thing’s defective! And I thought I could trust that price to get something half decent for my brother’s birthday.”

“What the fuck do you mean, defective!” The boy, still struggling against Y’s grip, snarled, “I’m just as human as-mmmf!” 

Its voice was muffled as he shoved the dishrag from earlier into its mouth as a makeshift gag. A well placed knee to the groin sent it falling to the floor, struggling to breathe around the gag as Y pressed a foot on its chest.

“I’m sorry it’s such a disappointment, Y,” X sighed.

“You don’t need to be sorry at all, actually. I think training this thing is going to be a lot of fun. It’ll be fun to exploit the defects, at least. Could you hand me your knife really quick, and then hold his arms?”

“Gladly,” she remarked, tossing the closed blade to her brother. He flicked it open as she knelt and raised the boy’s arms, pinning them above his head. Below both of them, the boy flinched, wide eyes trained on the sharp pocket knife. At the fearful reaction, Y smiled and knelt closer to it. 

“Oh, I almost forgot! They don’t use things like this on you when you’re manufactured, huh? Only isolation, and fear, and threats… I’d take a wild guess and say you’ve never felt the pain of a knife carving through your skin, have you?” The heavy, wheezing breathing of the body below him told him everything he needed to know. “I guess today’s your lucky day then, huh?”

He looked at the clean canvas of its torso stretched out under him, and started on the left side with a clean downward slice. Blood beaded up quickly from the shallow cut, and the boy clamped down on its gag, whimpering with the flash of pain. 

Grinning in satisfaction, Y did it again. And again. And again. Each time, the cuts got deeper and the boy would tense up further, not realizing that was only making everything worse. It only whimpered at first, which morphed quickly into breathy keens and moans. Agony-driven tears leaked from its eyes, always screwed closed in anticipation of the next cut, but flying open in surprise when it came. Its clear blue eyes grew hazy and red from crying, but Y didn’t let up. He needed to hear this poor creature scream.

Finally, after a particularly deep slice, he put the knife aside. Blood soaked the tip and the rest of the boy’s chest. Belatedly, he realized that it was probably all over the plush carpet by now, too, but that was something future him would just have to deal with. For now, it was back to the boy’s marred chest.

Gently fingering the cut earned a sharp intake of breath, but it was only when he buried his forefinger into the deep wound that it produced any results. A shrill scream escaped the gag, cut off by a wheezing cough and loud sobs. They crescendoed to a wail as he dragged his nail up and down within the cut, twisting and digging deeper into the skin, blood now gushing up and over its torso.

The boy was begging incoherently behind its gag when Y finally removed his finger, much to the thing’s apparent relief as it gasped. 

“Is my message clear to you, little pet?” He asked the question in such a casual tone that, if not listening to the words, one might have assumed he’d simply asked about the weather.

  It nodded desperately, eyes unable to look away from his bloody finger. 

“Perfect. Now I’m sure you’re tired and, well, I’m not a cruel man.” A glint of white teeth showed in a grin. “I’ll let you rest in here--on the soft carpet even!--but I will not have you making a single sound,” he said it slowly, dragging the blood covered finger across the boy’s dry lips, “got it? Remember, if you distract me from spending quality time with my sister on my birthday, I have much, much, more painful ways to punish you.”

The compliant nod came quickly this time, and Y laughed. 

“Alright, that was fun then, wasn’t it, X?” he locked eyes with her and she smiled in return, letting go of the boy. “I’ll lock the door from the outside so this rascal doesn’t try anything nasty, like leaving.” He punctuated the word with a sneer, looking down at it and making his warning clear. 

“I’ll see you later! You had better be ready to behave, then, or you really won’t like what happens. I’d hate to have to ruin your pretty countenance, after all.”

He flicked off the light, locked the door and the boy was left in the darkness with only its own regret and misery to keep it company.

Continued here!

#whump #box boy whump #conditioning #knives #cuts #mild gore #if you could call it that #bomb mention #creepy captor #held captive #torture #basically #and a whole lot of happy sibling dynamic #because I figured that’s what I should include in my whumpy writing about giving humans as gifts to other humans #sweet siblings can be sadistic too #okay anyway these tags are probably inadequate but idk what else to say this is too long to comb through #oh and I guess this is my 100th post too #so yay for that