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tiaragqueen · 1 year

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The Sleeping Horror

Yandere! Izaya Orihara x Female! Reader

Hello! It’s been years, hasn’t it? Idk if you guys missed me, but I do miss writing for other fandom beside genshin and twst. I was planning to make a whole new account, but I was too lazy so here I am! Let’s start with something ‘soft’ and fantastical, shall we? Inspired by the line in the Wikipedia page of his relationship with Shizuo: “Izaya also holds the belief that only humans possess the ability to slay monsters.” And Sleeping Beauty story (would you believe me if I told you I rewrote this three times?).

Admittedly, marriage wasn’t something Izaya really had in mind.

Not because he was a player, but because he was still young. Still adventurous. Still mischievous. He wanted to see more people, more kingdoms, more chaos. His position as a prince allowed him that much, but it also came with many responsibilities. And one of them was an arranged marriage.

Until now, Izaya wasn’t sure how to react when he found out he was already betrothed since birth. On one hand, he was somewhat irritated with the fate his father had oh-so-kindly lay out in front of him. Even as a child, he should at least have some freedom to choose his own suitor, right? It wasn’t as if he was a particularly naïve kid who thought suitors were equal to playmates. He’d always been intelligent, albeit quieter and more distant.

But on the other hand, you sounded quite… interesting. Yes, sounded, because he’d never seen you. There wasn’t even a painting of you somewhere in your castle. It was either you vanished or you only existed in people’s imagination. Then, his father, Shirou, disproved of the latter because he recounted a story that happened during your christening. Apparently, your father had enraged a wicked fairy by excluding her from the event and she promptly avenged her wounded ego by cursing you to prick your finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel before the sun set on your sixteenth birthday and die. One of the pixie fairies whom your father did invite, used her blessing to weaken the curse so that instead of dying, you’d fall into a deep sleep, only broken by true love’s kiss. Because, apparently, her magic wasn’t strong enough to undo the curse. So, your father ordered all spinning wheels throughout the kingdom be burned and the remains were hidden in the dungeon.

It certainly explained why Izaya heard a few peasants grumbling about the lack of spinning wheels when he occasionally visited your kingdom. But, alas, Shirou didn’t seem to know about your whereabouts. It didn’t help that he forbade him from mentioning the incident to your own father too, despite the fact that Izaya had a right to know as your fiancé.

So, using the intelligence he’d built up after years of scheming and illicit dealings, Izaya managed to pinpoint your location. It was a humble cottage in the middle of the forest, secluded enough to avoid the wicked fairy’s eyes but not enough for his. Izaya smirked as if he’d won a high-staking gamble, and with the leverage he had on your father, it could be described as one. Shirou wasn’t a fool, but his job as a king did prevent him from knowing the full extent of Izaya’s secret occupation and hobby.

And thus, Izaya set out to find his cursed fiancée. As expected, you were every bit of a country bumpkin; naïve and improper. It was clear that you’d never seen a stranger beyond your three bumbling fairy ‘aunts’, judging by how you openly gaped at his sudden appearance when you were singing to your animal friends. And yet, Izaya allowed your curiosity shine through, anyway, if not because of how pathetically cute you looked right now. Like a dog, or a kitten, that he could easily pick up and bring somewhere else because you were just so defenseless.

Did your aunts even teach you not to trust a stranger, whoever it was?

Apparently, no. Because there was a limit to how ‘human’ they could pretend to be, and you wouldn’t have known any better because they were all you had growing up. Even now, a good parent shouldn’t let their daughter play too long in the forest where anything and everything could happen to her, especially when she didn’t possess any self-defense skills.

Especially when she was you, a princess in hiding.

Perhaps you were lucky that he was the one who met you. Izaya couldn’t imagine what would happen if it was that wicked fairy instead?

… Or he could! There was no limit for possibilities in his mind. That was how he could stay entertained despite so many of his plans veering off their tracks.

Truly, it’d be a shame if you were to get caught, right?

Well, it would, but he wouldn’t do that. He wanted to see what would happen if he didn’t intervene in the course of your life. Would it end happily ever after like Shirou hoped? Or would it become a nightmare for you and your kingdom instead? So far, you were the most interesting woman he’d ever met despite your obvious flaws, which some lessons in table manners and etiquette could rectify. And perhaps Izaya would bestow more of his ‘love for humanity’ in keeping you by his side regardless, even if the latter were to befall you.

Was this what the power of bias felt like? It wasn’t that bad, and it might’ve made him feel a bit closer to being a human, but Izaya wanted to know more about your feelings when you found out that he pitied you. Would you be offended? Touched? Upset?

Ah, the possibilities were truly endless, weren’t they?

Apparently, you’d fallen for him at first meeting, and were excited to tell your aunts about him when they revealed your true status as a betrothed princess. You could never meet ‘him’ again, they said. It was somewhat foolish of them to not allow you to tell them about him, but then again, Izaya doubted they’d known him let alone see his face. It was enough that they neglected you most of the time, albeit accidentally. How could he trust them to remember who he was?

Then, the fated thing happened.

The wicked fairy found out about you.

After the fairies brought you to your father’s castle in disguise, they let you grieve over your broken heart in your new room. But the wicked fairy used your sadness to entrance you and led you to an abandoned tower. All this time, Izaya watched from the shadows without anyone’s knowledge, not even your own father. His fingers twitched with an unexplainable urge to help you when you were forced to touch the conjured spinning wheel, while his brain – the more dominant part of him – convinced him to watch a little longer. It wasn’t as if he could challenge the fairy head-on, and he didn’t have any magic to do so despite his yearning heart.

Eventually, you succumbed to the curse, and the wicked fairy gloated over it to your belated aunts.

While waking you up with a kiss sounded ideal, it was more tempting to kill the wicked fairy first of all, if not to feel the rush of adrenaline and victory in his hands. Maybe you’d be grateful for it too, and thus, strengthening your love for him and salvaging your broken heart. But since he didn’t have the appropriate weapon to defeat her, Izaya was left to approach the pixies.

“Excuse me. You three look quite flustered. Is there something wrong?”

“Oh, my! You surprised me there, young man.” the pink one gasped, holding her tiny chest. “A-and no, we’re fine. Thank you for asking.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, still with the amiable smile that took him years of etiquette lessons and scheming to perfect. “You see, I have a fiancée, and I was told that I’d be seeing her today.”

They exchanged quizzical glances at each other.

“My name is Izaya Orihara.” He took a medal from his pocket as a proof of his own identity. “I’m betrothed to the princess of this kingdom. But, unfortunately, I was never able to see her. It upsets me terribly to postpone another meeting with her, when we should’ve been together since the very first start.”

Izaya languished at them through a sad friends as he clutched the medal desperately. Almost all too easily, the fairies fell to his trap with a sympathetic ‘aw’. They didn’t even question why he had the medal in his pocket rather than in his person as a prince should be. But, at least, he wasn’t lying.

“It is against our nature to be in the way of fate, especially a fated love.” said the green one. “A wicked fairy has cursed your fiancée to sleep forever unless awaken by a true love’s kiss, and she’s currently sleeping in this tower right now.”

“Ah, how terrible.” Izaya moaned sadly. “I wish I could do something to that fairy for daring to hurt my precious fiancée.”

Once again, they looked at each other.

“Let us help you with a bit of our magic, Child.” The blue one declared. “Hopefully, with these, you can end the wicked fairy’s reign of darkness once and for all.”

They armed him with the Sword of Truth and the Shield of Virtue, which they stated to be weapons of righteousness that would triumph over evil, and Izaya felt more powerful than ever. He wondered if he could even beat them with these, but they might prove their usefulness again in the future. That, and it’d be easier to manipulate you with them seeing as they were practically a ‘family’ to you.

And so, the group traveled to the mountain where the wicked fairy lived and began the most exhilarating battle he’d ever had. Cornered, the fairy transformed into a fire-breathing dragon. Another wrench to his plan, but Izaya wasn’t too worried because his agility saved their lives at the end of the day. He managed to stab her through her chest with great effort and watched her fall from the cliff.

Truly, only humans had the ability to slay monsters.

“That was wonderful, Child!” the blue fairy gushed, while the others clapped and nodded in agreement.

Izaya feigned a humble chuckle.

“I couldn’t possibly do that without your help, either, so please don’t give me all the credits.”

Flattered as they were, they hadn’t forgotten their second priority: waking you up with a true love’s kiss.

But, shockingly enough, Izaya’s kiss did nothing to your sleeping self.

“H-how could this be?!” the pink one shrieked. “Prince Izaya is supposed to be her fiancé, so why doesn’t it work?!”

While they proceeded to question each other, Izaya took the time to observe you. Your forehead was wrinkled as if suffering from a nightmare, your lips parted slightly as if wanting to say something, and your hands grasped the red roses as if trying to protect yourself with it.

It was far from the peaceful sight he’d expected to see, and the realization brought a mocking, almost humorless laugh from his throat.

“What’s wrong? Why are you laughing?’

“No, it’s nothing. Pardon my unseemly reaction.” said he, wiping his teary eye with his gloved hand. “May I ask you to bring her father here?”

“The King? What can you possibly need from him?”

“You said that only a true love’s kiss can wake her up, right? Well, he’s the one who asked you to protect her. Isn’t that what a ‘true love’ is? The feeling of wanting to protect someone?”

And such feeling wasn’t strong enough within him, or rather, he merely allowed it to wash over him. Otherwise, he would’ve stopped the wicked fairy from bewitching you earlier. Besides, Izaya was too logical to ever fall for someone at first meeting, no matter how interesting they were, and the curse said nothing about needing both parties to love each other for it to be broken.

While the fairies were occupied in bringing your father, Izaya approached one of the maids that happened to pass by.

“Bring me the dragon’s head from the cliff in the wicked fairy’s mountain.”

“Is it her own head?”

He merely smiled, and the spy nodded with a sigh. He wasn’t sure how you’d react once you woke up, but it didn’t hurt to have another ‘decoration’ inside his room. Then, he returned to the tower where your father was already standing at the bedside.

“P-Prince Izaya?!” he stammered. “Since when have you been here? Shouldn’t you notify me beforehand? Why are you dressing so... casually?”

“Now, now, that part isn’t as important as our dear princess is. And I must say, I’m quite hurt to know that you neglected to tell me that she’s been cursed all along.”

Your father flinched and looked down guiltily.

“I didn’t want it to become an international problem.”

“But there were many guests at that time, no? Don’t you think I deserve to know, as her fiancé?” Despite the feelings that Izaya didn’t quite absorb and understand, and your flaws that he mocked and used, a hint of bitterness managed to slip through his tongue. He waved his hand dismissively, both to your father and to his own emotions. “Regardless, you have the duty to save your daughter from the curse. So, go ahead. Don’t worry about the wicked fairy. I’ve slayed her, and her body is at the bottom of the cliff in her own abode. I’ll bring her head if you don’t believe me.”

The fairies gasped, while your father merely gaped, shocked at his callousness. The king glanced at the pixies, and they nodded hesitantly, confirming the part of the battle.

“I… I believe you.”

Slowly, he hovered over your face for a moment before he leaned down to press a deep kiss onto your forehead. Your troubled face relaxed little by little, and Izaya almost felt jealous when you fluttered your eyes open.

“She’s awake!” one of the pixies enthused.

Your father heaved a sigh of relief and smiled almost shakily. And yet, when your eyes landed on Izaya, they immediately widened in fear.

“No, I refuse to marry him!”

#yandere imagine #yandere scenario #yandere anime #anime yandere #yandere anime au #yandere durararara #yandere izaya orihara x reader #yandere izaya orihara #yandere izaya x reader #yandere izaya #izaya orihara x reader #izaya x reader #izaya orihara #durarara izaya

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thehypotensivegrad · 11 months

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The Adviser (25/45) | Bechloe Mafia AU

The Way of the Mafia (Chapter Preview - Read the rest at ao3)

The day for the seminar where Chicago was going to give a keynote address rolled in, with the days leading up to it going by relatively fast. Chloe and her friends have been hard at work in ensuring this was an afternoon to remember, and she was looking forward to how things would unfold.

She found a seat on the second level of the college auditorium where the seminar was going to be held, Aubrey right next to her. The two of them were mostly left alone on that seating level with only a scant few others scattered about in their level, and most of the audience sitting on the first level. Aubrey focused on her phone and coordinating with everyone else from the tower working with them on their "mission," leaving Chloe to her thoughts. She was a bit peeved that she didn't get the chance to see Beca earlier that day, as she claimed to be busy with a surprise, so she was looking forward to watching Chicago flail on stage when they enact their plan even more. She was, admittedly, also both curious and looking forward to the surprise Beca had promised her.

It was ridiculous. They see each other every day, but since she's moved back to her own place, she could feel the absence of Beca's presence grow intolerably more and more each day.

Chloe huffed when she saw Chicago walk in surrounded by her posse of the Kommissar, Pietro, and his bumbling brother, Theo. He was dressed in some chic business casual ensemble, a light gray coat looking suit paired with the same-colored pants, and a white shirt underneath matched with a pair of white sneakers. He was giving off a humble but wealthy aura, which was what he wanted his image to be in the first place.

Chloe sick to her stomach seeing him again in person now that the truth has become known to them. She's managed to avoid him for the last few weeks since he's been silent on his end from the moment Beca uncovered who he really was. She simply can't believe that she ever considered him a friend. Who would have thought he was someone so sinister underneath the charming and goofy persona he evoked.

It didn't help that his outfit looked so clean and pristine when she knows just how stained his hands were with the blood of the innocent people he had hurt. From RDU-90, to BLSD, and pretty much everything else Babel. It didn't sit well with her how easy he had washed his hands off of any responsibility for his actions and avoided – more like bought – his way through facing any semblance of justice as a consequence to his actions.

They were introducing Chicago when Beca arrived, dressed all suave in a blue suit and a black long-sleeved shirt underneath. She paired the suit with the pants, and shirt with her sneakers just like Chicago and Chloe couldn't help but think how they were such polar opposites of each other. Beca was a mafiosa who could rule the underworld if she wanted and Chicago a – wrongfully – celebrated CEO basking in the glory of living in the light, with a – false – reputation and image everyone would want to have. Yet here they were, the villain was fighting for the people, and the person one would think to be a white knight was the true evil master mind.

As Beca sat down, she offered Chloe some popcorn from a bucket she didn't realize Beca carried in one hand. Where she got the popcorn, Chloe wasn't so sure of. There weren't any outside.

"Is this your surprise?" Chloe asked and Beca quirked her eyebrow at her.

"This isn't even nowhere near it," Beca replied. "I'm hurt you think I'll disappoint you like this, Beale."

Aubrey cleared her throat before Chloe could even make any witty comebacks. "Am I invisible here or are you going to offer me some popcorn too?"

Beca chuckled and handed her the bucket. Aubrey grabbed a handful before passing it back to Chloe who did the same, all while Chicago started prattling on and on about leadership, innovation, and how Babel would like to save the world with its endeavors starting with their plans of developing new electric vehicles from renewable resources. He snapped his fingers at the projectionist in his own room a level above where Chloe, Beca, and Aubrey sat to start a recorded video promoting Babel Motors latest projects and showcasing their electric vehicles.

Beca smirked when the feed started rambling. Aubrey looked at a message on her phone and confirmed Chloe's suspicions on why.

It was showtime.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #Beca x Chloe #beca and chloe #Pitch Perfect #bechloe mafia au #bechloe lawyers au #bechloe vincenzo au

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justjams2003 · 2 years

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Little onesies

A/N: Hello:) I don't have much to say tbh. I am writing a very long Thor fic in the background. I'm not sure if anyone will read it tho👀 It doesn't seem like Tumblr's audience and I'm not sure if I should even post it. Also Thor love and thunder was amazing i loved it. This has nothing to do with Mando but anyways I am 100% sure I spelled a lot of things wrong. But I don't feel like spell checking. So plead say if you see something

Pairing: Din Djarin x nb!reader

Warnings: Age regression, daddy!Din, little!reader, fluff, diapers, clothing change, sfw(I think)

Summary: While on your way to Tatoine Din gets you ready

The planet of Tatoinne comes into view of the plane’s screen. Mando looks as if he is putting all his focus into the piloting. But he’s not. His mind is of course on his riduur and his newly adopted son in their lap. Seeing how excited the both on them are.

Grogu is entirely captured in the little ball that is the handle of one of the levers of the Razor Crest. Y/N is enthraled by the little green thing. So happy to finally have a friend on board the lonely spaceship. Someone to play with them when their Daddy is busy.

“Y/N, Child, we are going to be landing on Tatoinne in an hour. I think it’s time we get you ready, huh?” He turns his seat to be facing the both of them. If he didn’t have is helmet on, Y/N would see the kind, content smile on his face. He’s always been so humbled by your innocence.

Now he has this little green child to take care of too. Luckily he’s had practice with little Y/N. He holds out his hands to take the kid. Din gently picks him up and cradles the babe in his hand. As he stands he takes Y/N hand in his and three enter the lower deck.

The Mandolorian places Grogu in his little hammock. “Stay.” He holds his hands out, showing his what he means. The small green bean only coos up at him. His big green eyes reflecting the silver baskar. Mando is surprised by how easily he seem so cooperate.

Yet he realizes why when those eyes go glassy and a yawn escapes him. “Oh did Y/N make you tired?” He asks, turning to look at his spouse. Their pale cheeks flush red and those big shiny purple eyes are playful and slightly guilty. He can’t help himself but pinch those round cheeks of his beloved.

This only causes you to blush more. Pulling their hands up to cover their face in a shy gesture. By the time Mando turns back to his son, the green one is already sleeping away. “Alright, I suppose that’s for the best. Why don’t we get you dressed?”

The small horned creature holds up their arms, grasping their hands up to their caregiver. A smile glows behind the baskar helmet. With ease he picks you up under the arms and places you on his hip. “Why don’t we get you dressed?” He asks, the modulator hiding his joy.

The little nods, your thumb traveling up to your lips. Naturally you begin suckling. “Stop that.” As soon as your thumb enters your mouth he calls out. He gently takes your hand by the wrist and pulls it out. From his pocket he pulls out your favourite bumble bee paci.

With instinct the paci begins bobbing in your mouth. He walks over to your crate of clothes. Taking out a few onesies and laying them out. All one-handed. “Okay baby, choose one.” You were already wearing your favourite bee onesie. The little shake their head.

“No, daddy, I wear dis.” Their voice is soft and slurred by the paci, padding their hand on their chest, referring to what they are wearing. The mandolorian sighs and shakes his head. “No, these are dirty baby. Look, there are Meiloorun stains on it.” Mando’s leathered hand points out.

You huff, kicking your legs against the his. He hold you closer by your bum, making you calm. Though Din can feel a warmth. “I see, come, chose one so I can get you changed.” You huff, the scratch of the diaper does make you uncomfortable. Getting a fresh one would feel amazing.

The horned creature huffs then looks over the array of clothes. Of course, they chose the green frog onesie. “That’s good, little one, thank you.” He picks up the one you chose and placed you down on the bench. He takes a moment to look down at the little.

It's such a sweet feeling. Having this person trust him with their whole being. So much so that they are as vulnerable as humanly possible with him. It warms his heart and makes him swell with pride. Glad that they chose him. Even if he doesn't feel worth that trust, he will do everything he can to keep it.

"Little one, can you tell me how big you are?" He asks, trying to decide on the right supplies. You think for a moment, squirming a bit under his gaze. "Two." The litte holds out their hands, showing up two fingers. Mando laughs, barely heard over his modulator.

It does worry him a bit. Usually he would leave you in the Razor Crest while he went on his bounties. He'd either put you down for a nap, or leave some toys and colouring supplies. But now there is another being in his care. And he's worried something might happen if he's not there to watch.

"Do you want to go with me?" He asks, already regretting it. The thought of his babies being close to the people he hunts makes his skin crawl. All while he thinks this, he takes out a fresh diaper, wipes and some baby powder. The little thinks for a moment. "Otay." They shrug, not really thinking much of it. Besides being close to their daddy.

Mando unclips the onesie and pulls down the dirty diaper. He uses the wipe to clean you up. "Are you sure? You'd have to be a big girl then." He states, he's not sure if he'd be able to focus with them as a little. So cute, so caring, he'd want to shoot anyone who even dares look at them.

The little is silent for quite some time. Then they took a deep breathe and Din can see their eyes sharpen. That haze faltering. Their pale hand flies up, pulling the paci from their mouth. "Can I keep the diaper?" The slur in their words are very light. Their eyes avoiding the beskar gaze.

Din smiles and nods, leaning down and pressing his helmet covered forehead to his little's. "Of course, my riduur." Their cheeks flare up at the words, even if they've been together for more than 3 years now. Mando covers your bum in baby powder and places a diaper-pull-up on them. "Would you like to wear the onesie underneath your big clothes?" He asks, showing them the onesie again.

The horned creature thinks again then nods. "Would you like me to dress you or do you want to do it yourself?" He asks, helping them sit up. Again, they think, glancing between Mando and the clothes. "Please? Last little thing." They asks, showing Din their best doe eyes. The man melts and doesn't think to refuse.

He guides your arms up and pulls the onesie over your head. Then after pulling the new one on, he had you stand up to snap the clips closed on the bottom. Then he goes to the closet, taking a few things then coming back to you. He holds the pants by their legs, letting you lean on his shoulder in order to put your legs in.

It's long, to protect from the sun. Then a short sleeved shirt over your head. Then, of course, beskar chain-mail. Lastly, a light material poncho to cover your arms. And a hood, to hide your little black horns. His every touch his gentle and caring, his warm leather clad hands helping wherever he can.

"Alright, how do you feel?" He asks, making sure you're ready to go outside. You smile at him, your light fangs lightly showing. "Ready," you hold up your thumbs to affirm it. "Maker," He whispers under his breathe. "Is the child still asleep?" He asks, not wanting to look away from the sight for a moment.

The paled skin one glances over to see Grogu fast asleep. "Yes Sir," They smile back up at him again. Then they hear the hiss of Din's helmet. He pulls it off just above the nose. He leans down and places a kiss on your forehead. Then he pulls it back down again. "I love you, my dear." Din tells you. And within a heartbeat you reply, "I love you, Din."

#din djarin #din djarin x gender neutral reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandolorian x y/n #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolorian x you #sfw agere #age regressor #age regression #caregiver

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crxsh40 · 1 year

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“My Moobloom”

Genre: general prose

Fandom: Minecraft

Characters: Player, horse, moobloom

Audience: general, all ages

Words: 1211

Date Published: September 5, 2022

Summary: Sweet story about a player finding a Moobloom with their horse and keeping it safe.

AO3 Link

I live in the plains where colorful flowers grow. I have a humble house made out of birch and stone. I live from birch and stone; My tools are stone and sticks from birch trees. My armor is stone, and I feel tough as my walls. I have a white horse with brown spots which I have named Winter.

On this particular early morning, Winter was restless. I did not keep him on a lead, and he was free to roam the plains. He had gone near and far quickly that morning. He would push his nose between grass blades to sniff the ground. He dragged his nose across the ground, splitting the grass and exposing the dirt. To me, watching him sniff this way was irregular. He did not eat the grass, but he pushed it around with his nose. The pigs and sheep were not impressed. They acted unspectacular and clueless to Winter’s concern. I decided to step forward to him. Winter’s focus did not stray from the ground. He would walk and walk without eating, and he would sniff and sniff without stopping. I turned to face the direction in which Winter was slowly but surely headed. In this direction, I saw a beautiful oak forest and nothing peculiar. Winter turned with a jolt. I had not expected this.

With Winter at arm’s length I changed my perspective to the left of where we were once facing. Nothing unusual, once again. And again, Winter turned. No horse was this smart, this quick, this conscious of the world around him. I was always impressed with Winter. He led me behind our house of birch and stone. It was a slow walk around the corner, and Winter didn’t even seem to be looking where he was going. I, too, kept my eyes to the ground, in anticipation of something low or something underneath the surface. Around the corner, Winter perked up. Beside our birch, there was a hoof. Beside our stone, there were dandelions behind bovine eyes. To my surprise, in our plains and behind our home, my horse had found a Moobloom.

Mooblooms are special. They are kind of like folklore. Many people do not believe that they truly exist. I was once one of those people. On this day, I learned the truth about Mooblooms.

Timid and shy, the Moobloom did not approach us. When we took a step forward, she took a step back. We stopped for a second. I was thinking of what I could do when she approached us like molasses. Her snout gently brushed against my hand. Wet! It’s a cow nose. Her eyes were dark and drooped like those of a drowsy old woman. The sunlight fell into them like it was greeting the miracle of her presence. I turned back to Winter. Winter had been watching us with wide eyes. I did not see the Moobloom’s tired expression in equestrian alert eyes. I stood between a familiar friend and a new one. They were very different. They are about as different from each other as I am to each of them.

I was not sure of my next move, but I knew I could not leave my newest discovery weary about me. I decided to board Winter, to the Moobloom’s shock, and ride off into the forest that surrounded our plains. This creature was curious, or so it seemed, because she wanted to come along. She was new to the plains and to us, so maybe she had already had a home she wished to return to. Maybe she simply did not want to be left alone in such an unfamiliar environment. She turned after Winter and I as we rode away. Her hooves met the territory of the oak when we could not see her. We were on our way to the village.

Through the forest were wonderful sights of our natural world. Oak trees grew clustered together there and blocked out the sun with a tangle of branches that could stretch for miles. Further away from the plains lived the bees. Honey-filled hives high against hard oak housed fat bumbling bees. Here, Winter began to huff. He huffed heavy and held to his hooves. From then on, we kept a steady stroll. Luckily for us, this was the edge of the oak forest. We could see the desert village straight ahead.

Once in the village, Winter decided to rest. There, the villagers were nice enough to allow me to harvest some of their wheat. The wheat gave seeds for me to plant my own, but I knew I needed fresh fully grown wheat in order for my Moobloom to feel welcome at home. A food of her own would do the job. I mounted Winter, now full of stamina, and went on back to our plains.

Back at the plains, the Moobloom was gone. We knew, though, that she so loved the forest, and decided to go find her before nightfall.

Winter and I walked back toward the village with worry of the Moobloom in our heads. At night, there could be monsters. Zombies, spiders, and skeletons would surely frighten her more than a friendly horse and a humble impending farmer. When flowers began to dust Winter’s hooves, he realized that this must be where our Moobloom friend had wandered. A bee buzzed past us and it was this bee that led the way. Winter followed the bee, for surely it was because bees love flowers and the Moobloom grew them, that the bee had flown by. This was not the case. The bee entered a hive. Another bee flew by, and Winter grew conflicted. Just then, he sulked. His snout hit the ground. Winter now had a face full of dirt. The impact of the dirt must have rattled his brain, for his expression changed. He was alert again. Without my command, Winter snuck forward, dragging his nose through the grass. This was not the first time today that Winter took me in an unexpected direction. He turned. And turned again. He spun. The aroma of rose petals danced in his nose among lilac and dandelion.

Moo.

Winter and I had both heard her sweet cry.

Moo. Moo.

Winter raced toward the scent of dandelion while the Moobloom became louder.

Moo!

There she was. Moobloom in the forest before sunset soaked oak. She had befriended a bright yellow bee who we watched buzz between her beloved dandelions. The Moobloom’s eyes met mine from a distance. The same tired lovely magic eyes from before. The bee flew above her then, and bumped her on the nose before returning to the hive. Goodnight, bee!

The Moobloom found her way back to Winter and I, and we headed home to the birch and stone.

At home, I fed her the wheat that I harvested at the desert village. She mooed for more. I knew what the seeds I had collected would then be used for. The next day, I would plant them. That night, she stayed beside Winter right outside up against the stone walls of her home. Our Moobloom was safe here. As her eyelids fell, her soppy eyes drooped down to her cheeks as though she would weep. Goodnight, Moobloom!

#fanfic #fanfiction #minecraft #moobloom #minecraft bee #cute #i like this one #my post

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frost-queen · 7 months

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Hey Queen, oh my gods how have i not discovered you sooner your writing is so good?!. If its not too much trouble could I request the weird sisters x tomboy spellman fem!reader and the weird sisters are taken by her boyish looks and her sarcastic wit?

I think you dropped something, my jaw!!! Queen eeek omg and your compliment 🥰 it doesn't matter when you found me, I'm just glad you found my humbly bumbly blog now and get to enjoy it as much as you like.

Your compliment is so cute ❤❤ also yessss you may certainly req for the weird sisters certainly with spooky season upon us. Oh I just love Autumn and it's vibes (thank God I am an Autumn birthday girl 😄)

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builder051 · 2 years

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2 & 7?

2: Vampires or werewolves?

Hmmm. Since this game isn't directed as anything except "choose one," I suppose vampires. I make that choice because I have raynaud's disease and metabolic issues with maintaining body temperature (in short: I am always cold to the touch and need medical care if my body spends too much energy trying to stay warm instead of doing other executive functions.) Yes, I was the age of young-adult-book-consumer when Twilight was a thing. It kept me busy. Then I promptly moved onto the next thing, which I think was Hunger Games. (You know who is a total TwiHard-for-life, though?? My MOM.) I've listened to enough podcasts and watched enough PBS to understand the (Western) legends behind the vampire and tuberculosis and bubonic plague and the stages of body decomp...Cool history stuff.

7: Originals or remakes?

If we are talking about movies, I'm going to go with originals ~ 90% of the time.

Remakes, in this context, I will specifically define as "film covers" in which the exact story of an existing film is used as the plot in a new film with a new cast. This does NOT include made-for-TV live musicals, "based on" media presented in serial episodes, or spoof films. I'm only going to refer to remakes in the "film covers" way.

Since Halloween is an implied part of this game, I'm going to go ahead and say that Rocky Horror is Rocky Horror and will always be Rocky Horror, and it will forevermore be treated as the spectacle that Rocky Horror is. The film has completely earned its in/famous reputation. Rocky Horror is not harmful. Rocky Horror does not need censorship. Rocky Horror is for adults. Rocky Horror is optional.

The made-for-tv live version starring Laverne Cox singing some slightly more family friendly lyrics...um. Also happened.

Now, the only film (as of yet) for which I can say ,with confidence, has a notably better remake is A Star Is Born (2018), starring Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. I recommend getting a pirated download or finding it on a free streaming service and watching the first, oh, 30 or 40 minutes? It's very funny and quite emotional, and it's different from the original because the situations play off the actors' personalities, rather than having them just copy what was done in the original.

DO NOT under any circumstances watch the film to the end. It is disturbing and triggering. I understand how the film moves on to that ending, and it does go along with what's in the original, but it's just... not pleasant. If you are watching and you get to the award show scene where the female character is on stage getting her award and the male character bumbles across the stage and acts all drunk and stupid-- that's a good place to stop.

Oh, and if I'm allowed to twist the question a little bit and ask for a remake... or a cover, rather...

Greta Van Fleet, would you ever consider please covering some Humble Pie? My soul would be eternally lifted if I could hear my favorite Frampton from my favorite band....pls?

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an-asuryampasya · 2 years

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thing about getting to meet my closest friend in person for the first time in six years!!! putting a cut because i occasionally remember my manners about not clogging up people's dashes

i met my closest friend yesterday for the first time in six years. six years!! we've known each other since we were what. eight years old I think? I absolutely hated his guts back. i cannot stress enough how much i despised her with all the fury and hatred my tiny self could muster. it went on for YEARS. oh, the depths of playground politics i delved into and strings i pulled. i am, to date, mildly in awe at the power I managed to wield and how i did it. i don't think i've ever experienced that level of commitment to anything in my life ever since, really. i would have cackled evilly if i knew basic media tropes back then. the entire foundation of my approach rested on the other side, said friend and her friend, being power-hungry despots who cared little for others' choices on the playground while I, on the other hand, was a benevolent (non-)leader (because this was a democracy unlike them, excuse you) and we went by popular vote (yes i am aware the concept of leaders exist in democracies but my third-grade self got it a little mixed up, shush). it was magnificent and it worked. I had regular victories and I reveled in them. i was winning at life.

anyway turns out it was entirely one-sided and said friend barely registered a blip on their and figured I just liked playing different games askddhsfs learning (only last year, in fact) that I inadvertently played the role of that bumbling villain who does little more than cause minor annoyances and doesn't even count as an enemy was humbling xD

I kinda held this friend responsible for my then-bestie and i drifting apart and that hadn't helped, really. but man how times have changed. I don't even know where then-bestie is today, while my sworn enemy from then is someone i'd help bury a body for today.

i'm really glad i have this person in my life. :)

and the six years thing? yeah so here's the deal. we've lived in the same city for the better part of those six years. my city isn't even that huge and they live only about 10-15 minutes away from me. six years of living in the same city and not once did we meet skdfhs. tbh i'd even go so far as to say that while the current iteration of our relationship started off with us bonding over fandoms in ninth/tenth back in school, I think it was during those six years of being exclusively online that we got this close. this friend is a huge part of my life and i'm literally texting them about something dumb as i type this too. i've learnt so much from them, ya know? even how to be a good friend. i take the lessons i've learnt from her behaviour and directly apply it to other friends and they response by considering me such an understanding and nice fr- no you don't get it, i'm literally just hitting copy+paste on behaviour. i suck at being a good friend naturally, and that reflects when i encounter brand new situations and completely drop the ball. i just happen to have a good teacher for the other situations like 3 AM breakdowns because this friend has handled enough of my own 3 AM breakdowns. anyway i digress.

the point of this whole thing is that anxiety fucking sucks. so much. i'm meeting my bestie for the first time in ages and all i can think of is that i suck in-person. here's the thing. i am not very fun offline. i certainly think i can sometimes be fun online, but overall i firmly believe online-me >>> offline-me. (now pointedly ignoring the implications of online-me also being not-great-company based on how i act on the tumble because i cannot handle that tangent rn. fwiw, tumblr-me is experimental and fairly different from how i act over text i think. or at least, i'd like to think?idk anyway MOVING ON before i spiral-) plus like. said friend looks very cool. i... do not. i am still figuring out how i'd like to look etc (yeah if you've seen that ongoing thing about experimenting with my hair throughout May, it's a direct result of this insecurity. i'm pleasantly surprised that i've stuck to it till now and am still going strong! I might attempt a regency-based one soon too :D okay back to the point. i am very bad at staying on topic, sorry.) and i've changed a great deal physically since i last saw this friend. so amongst all of these insecurities bubbling up and stuff, i kinda didn't want to meet her at all? and that sucks because why!!! why would i not want to meet my closest friend!! this also holds for other friendships. if i don't meet in person very often, i don't want to. i did the exact same thing, except more intensely for another friend back on campus too and kept looking for excuses to put off meeting him. eventually i met him because i ran out of excuses and i was so freaked out, i had to get like five different people at various points to push me. and i ended up having a blast! i liked meeting that friend and had a great time and stuff. brain gremlins just suck. anyway so back to this friend. apologies if i'm getting confusing, i lost the thread of whatever this post was supposed to be ages ago. i'm glad I met this friend yesterday but i also now i'll freak out the next they propose meeting too

aaaaaah no, not ending this on a sour note. this friend means too much to me.

heh so we never met in six years despite living in the same city? thing is, we only met now because said friend is leaving the country soon. and i am!!! so happy for them!!! they got into a wonderful program in canada and heck, they deserve it! they're brilliant and have achieved SO MANY cool things in their undergrad and honestly, i am often struck by wonder that they're my friend. just. my friend is very cool and you, reader who doesn't know who i nor this friend are, should know that. and i finally got to meet them in person after so long :)

(and the odds are i won't be meeting them ever again asdshkff because they have no reason to return and i have no reason to head to canada)

#yeah i'll forever be amused that we didn't meet in person #despite living in the same city for SIX YEARS #and texting /every single day/ for at least four of those years #but just. did not meet.#also not editing this despite my penchant for skipping words while typing sometimes so welp #hope it's comprehensible #anxiety mention #and mention of insecurities in the context of friendships #placeholder tag

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nerdingz-obsessed · 3 years

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Okay listen here my Castlevania simps, I know the fandom has kinda died down since season 3 came to a close and Covid f'd with production. Perhaps I am not looking in the appropriate places, and it's definitely not loud mainstream tags, but even so I believe it's time to reiterate something very important. And no, this is not a character analysis, these are just my quick observations.

This man, this sorry, cast out, son of a gun, has not been getting the badass representation he deserves (in my humble opinion.)

And I know that many of you want to see him as some sweet, big tiddied, bumbling drunk. And others as a depressed former rich kid still reeling from a day in his own life. Or a puppy dog with Sypha. (Which you are completely entitled to, and don't get me wrong I love those stories v much)

But let me remind you that he can destroy me and you and monsters of all kinds and obviously himself. And no ! Not in a kinky or deranged way. (Which ya know... ig he could... ahem.) But in a literal snap your neck kinda way.

And recently, I have not seen enough badass Belmont representation and it makes me sad. I just want him to be appreciated for the excellent fighter and warrior mans he is.

I mean look at him:

A quick witted,

Decisive,

Skilled,

Mother trucking Badass

I could go on for hours about how much I love this man's badassery, but alas I digress.

Yes, I take intellectual criticism. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

(thank you all for the gifs that I am too lazy too make myself rn <3)

#castlevania #trevor belmont #castlevania s3 #can i get a here here for the dual whips #that scene is so badass omg #the cinematography is everything #i never post on this blog or in this fandom i know #but i just needed to rant alright #sypha belnades #alucard

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enigma-im · 3 years

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First Day of Christmas...

Trope: Childhood friends who remeet as adults Relationship: Orc x Human Word Count: 3,323

I wander around by the creek during a hot summer day. My mother has warned me against traveling here alone, but the chance of catching a frog to terrorize the other kids is far too tempting. With a stick in hand, pants legs rolled up, I waddle through the shallow. Little fish swim by my toes, frogs scurrying out from under the mud. The task is far more challenging than I thought. I poke the stick at every leaping creature, falling short every time.

"What are you doing," a boy asks from the other side of the creek. Startled, I snap to attention, looking at a small orc. He looks to be older than me, definitely taller, but how can I know?

"catching frogs," I answer.

"really? Why," he asks.

"I don't know," I grumble," because frogs are neat." I look to my feet, spotting a frog lazily swimming by. I ready my stick, slowing guiding it towards it's back. As fast as I can manage I push down. Crouching down I look to the stick, huffing in frustration as I'm left empty-handed.

"Why a stick," he interrupts my pity party.

I shrug," it's how Tommy Howser caught his frog."

"Well Tommy Howser is an idiot," he chuffs, bending down to roll up his pants.

"Oh yea," I snap," why is that?"

He trod through the water," because you're just stabbing the frog, so unless you want to eat them I suggest not poking them super hard with a stick."

The orc stops before me, snatching the stick from my hand with a huff. He tosses it aside before looking around. I watch him, observing his small tusks and short shaggy hair. I've never seen an orc with short hair. He catches my attention, pointing to the shore. I spot a frog resting on the bank, the water barely lapping at its body. The orc sneaks over, hands raised as he angles himself. Quickly, he strikes out, cupping his hands around the frog. He pinches the little creature by the legs, making it stretch out as he walks over all smug.

"See, Tommy Howser is an idiot," he grins. I ignore the jab, waddling over to look at the frog.

"Whoa," I reach out and pet it," you were so fast!"

"Of course I am," he puffs his chest," I am orc, orcs are meant to be quick and strong."

I don't pay him any mind, stretching out my hands," can I hold it?"

"Yea," he arranges his grip," pinch him around the legs and he can't hop away." I nod eagerly. I do as he says, pinching the legs, holding it with utter fascination. The little guy wiggles in my hand, it's legs trying to kick, but he can't get away. I admire it's dark green skin, comparing it to the orc's similar tint.

"I'm Lum, by the way," he says.

I smile up at him," I'm Thea. You think you can teach me how to catch a frog?"

"Of course I can," he thumps his chest," I can teach you anything."

We spend the afternoon waddling around the creek, catching and releasing frogs together.

The summer is spent similarly to that day. We upgrade from frogs to fish, from fish to birds. I learn a great deal about hunting from him, enjoying myself more than I ever have. I even get to teach him a few things, though nothing as useful as what he teaches me. The day I find out he doesn't know what tag is, is the day I begin my mission to play every child's game I know.

In the middle of fall, I sit down next to Lug eating lunch. He has been silent most of the day, barely saying anything even when I bait him into a conversation.

"What's wrong, Lug," I finally ask, setting my apple down. He sighs, dropping his head.

"I'm leaving next week," he pouts.

"Leaving," I ask," where?"

"I don't know, just south," he answers," my ma told me we have to follow the herd for winter."

I scoff," I don't even know what that means. Why would you follow a herd?"

He smiles, turning to me," we follow the herd so we don't starve. The land becomes barren in the winter and we need to eat a lot as orcs. So if we follow the herd, we can follow the food."

I huff, arms crossed," well I don't like it." Lug chuckles, scooching closer to give me a side hug.

"It's ok, Thea, we come back here every spring. So I'll be back, it will just be a while," he squeezes my shoulder," besides, it's not like I can teach you anything in the winter anyway. Everything is migrating or hibernating that hunting here would be difficult."

I push off his arm, pouting as I turn my back on him," I don't care, I want my friend here."

I hear him sigh, the leaves crunching as he walks around. His feet stop in front of me, crouching to catch my eye. I give in, looking at his stupid cocky face. He drops a hand onto my shoulder.

"I'll be back by the time the last snowfall melts, I swear it," he places his hand on his heart," I make an oath to always come back."

I snort back some snot," you better."

"I will. Now enough with this mushy stuff," he stands," I bet I can catch more frogs than you."

I hop up to my feet," you wish!"

The winter was sad, like many after that. As he promised he comes back every spring, meeting me by the creek with a cocky smile and slightly longer hair. He always has something new to teach me, happy to do so. My father doesn't much care for it once he found out, but I could hardly care.

My parents find out about Lug the first spring he came back. They noticed my dower mood during the winter then my grand smile in the spring. To my surprise they were alright with Lug, asking to meet him. We share a meal, my father asking way too many questions till mother shoos us off to play.

Every spring is started with a meal with my parents then a long recap on our winter. It's a lovely tradition that lasts a few years.

Lug and I are strong friends well into the years. Things hardly change between us, being close as ever. We play and fight, arguing and making up quickly. Growing into our own as we become teenagers. My father hovers around then, setting curfews and weird rules. The attitude change with my father and Lug is one I had to confront Lug about. He waved it off as nothing, distracting me easily.

It isn't till 15 that I understand why father was so uptight with Lug's and I's friendship. Weeks of build-up brings me to startling discoveries about new wants. I've been looking at Lug in a new light, noticing him doing the same. He is my first kiss, sharing an awkward chaste one near the creek. It's weird and right at the same time. That summer we learn very different things besides hunting and gathering. Kisses become way more enjoyable after a while.

My sixteenth year is the worst year of my life.

Fall approaches too fast, I've never had a reason to hate fall until Lug came into my life. The trees changing colors now puts me in a sour mood. The walk to the creek knowing that it may be the last time this year that I get to is troublesome. Though Lug has ways of distracting me from those thoughts until he has to wave goodbye that evening.

I meet Lug by the creek like usual, plopping down beside him with a huff. He seems far worse than I do today, the worry rising more and more the longer he stays silent. I grab his hand, threading my fingers between his.

"What's wrong," I bump his shoulder. He sighs, squeezing my hand in his.

"I have something to tell you that I know you won't like," he starts, his voice low and angry. It's rare to hear him angry, only truly seeing him mad once when his father forbade him from joining the hunting pack when he was a fresh teen.

"You can tell me anything, I can take it," I try to be courageous. It's easier to act strong when he needs it.

"I'm leaving for a little longer than before," he glances at me out the corner of his eye.

"W-well, that's ok," I try to be optimistic," I've waited months for you, what's a few more?"

He winces," it's not going to be just a few months."

I stutter on my attempt of cheer," a-a year? That's ok, I'll be fine. It's just one year, right?" he looks up to me, his eyes a bit red. My heart squeezes at the sight.

"It's a lot longer than a year, Thea," he answers. My throat tightens, threatening to choke me.

"H-How long," I ask, trying to fight back the stinging in my eyes.

"I don't know, I just know it's going to be a long time," he says, reaching out to cup my face," but I promise I'll be back. I will come back for you." he tugs my head down, resting his forehead against mine.

I sniffle," you better," I mimic the words I said that first time. He chuckles, lifting my hand and twisting it palm up. His hand covers mine, something cold sitting between our palms.

"I vow to you that I'll be back, and you know an orc never breaks their vows," he thumps his chest. I clench whatever's in my hand as I laugh.

"Yea, I know," a tear rolls down my cheek. He pets the drop away, pulling me in for a kiss. It's bittersweet, but sweet nonetheless.

We sit like this, holding one another for longer than necessary. He reluctantly lets me go, getting up off the ground. We part with a final kiss, neither one of us ready to let go knowing that we won't see one another tomorrow.

"I love you, Thea," he pecks my forehead.

I shut my eyes," I love you too, Lug."

He leaves me standing near the creek. I cry to myself, nearly falling back to the ground in my pain. I finally look to my hand, uncurling my fingers to see a thread with a wooden totem attached to it. I smile despite it all, admiring the little carving with care. I'll see him again, even if I have to wait a lifetime.

Fall becomes winter, winter becomes spring. It's hard to see the snow melt knowing that Lug won't be waiting for me. I still end up waiting by the creek, looking at the frogs as I remember the many failed attempts of snatching one. Every year I come back to the creek, hoping that this year would be the year. I always leave feeling a little more empty.

Time goes on as I grow into my own, no longer a bumbling teen but a grown woman. I get my first job at a bakery, working for a family friend until their son can take up the business. It's humbling work, though suitors take the chance to flirt while I cook in the back. My father is rather angry that I shoo off the young men trying to get a nibble of something more than pastries. I can't bring myself to argue with him.

I gain my second job at a bar, working as a waitress in my 20s. The lively people bring on a new level of enjoyment that the bakery didn't have. Fellows still take the chance to flirt but it's easier to cast aside as they are mostly drunk. Travelers come in, sharing tales of the adventures that make the time go by quicker. I like my job, though going home makes the emptiness inside louder.

I wipe up the bar, picking up empty glasses and litter as I go. The night is rather dull, only having the normal regulars in. it's to be expected as the winter comes to an end. Business should pick up as spring begins and the critters come out of their holes for mating season. The bell at the front door rings, catching my attention.

I look up to see an orc walking in.He is rather large, clearly strong, and proud of it. His hair is braided down his back, beads adorning a few smaller strands. He is very handsome like most orcs are. I don't pay him any mind, use to orcs quickly finding their spots and calling out their orders.

Polishing a glass I catch sight of the orc sitting in front of me at the bar. His large hands rest clasped on the bar top, a ring resting around his thumb.

"Hello," I smile sweetly at them," what can I get ya?"

He smirks, dropping his eyes to his hands," Fire Brandy, please."

"Please? Already the most polite customer I've had this month," I tease as I grab a tumbler, pouring his brandy.

"Is please such an unused word nowadays? Damn the discipline of mothers, not teaching their children manners," he jokes back. I snort, passing him his drink.

"well said," I knock on the bar," a please and a thank you can get you far these days."

"That right? The only thing it's gotten me is brandy and a word of praise from a cute barmaid," he smirks.

I fluster at his words, turning away to grab a dry rag," don't know about that last bit but I hope you know basic manners doesn't pay for your drink."

"Damn," he huffs," what's the point now, ain't getting anything out of it."

"Gets my respect," I offer.

He pretends to ponder," I'll take it."

I smile to myself, focusing on polishing the glasses. The orc watches me, drinking his brandy slowly. I pass him a few glances, blushing each time he offers me a smile. He really is cute, but I can't say that I'm too interested.

"Lovely necklace you have there, can't say that I've seen that totem too often," he says. My hand immediately grasps the little wood craving, my heart fluttering with the action.

"Yea, a friend made it for me," I answer casually.

"A friend? I don't think that's what that totem means," he leans forward on the bar, inspecting the carving.

"Well, friends is just an easier term. We weren't lovers, being too young for something like that," I blush at the idea.

"Yea? Don't mind telling me about this 'friend' while I waste some time," he asks. I can't help but jump at the offer, wanting to finally break the seal that's bound these memories away. Mother and Father didn't want to hear about Lug so often. Which is understandable.

"No, you don't wanna hear a story of lost love," I shuffle away, putting the freshly polished glasses away.

"Of course I do, what better story than one with young love," he rests his chin on his head," please, I'd love to hear it."

I watch him, nearly smiling at his devoted attention. With a sigh, I lounge against the bar.

"We met when we were like eight, at least I was eight. I was catching frogs by the creek when he just appeared across the way," I start.

"Why were you catching frogs? I thought little girls hated that kind of stuff," he asks.

I shrug," I wanted to show off to the boys that I could catch a frog too. One of them said he caught one using a stick to trap it against the dirt. I wanted to try it."

He scoffs," why would anyone use a stick to catch a frog?"

"I don't know," I laugh," he probably didn't want to get his hands dirty."

"Damn Tommy Howser," he shakes his head with a smile," such a wimpy boy."

"Yea, he was," I laugh with him," makes sense he moved out to the city then."

"He moved out to the city? Gods, his parents should have taken him there when he was a child," he scoffs. I can't help but smile, the words taking a bit longer to register. When it does, I startle.

"How did you know about Tommy Howser," I ask. He stiffens.

"Uh, I heard about him," he lies," from other people."

I cross my arms," what other people? Tommy hasn't lived here in three years." he flounders for another lie, falling short with a sigh of defeat.

"Hello, Thea," he nibbles on his cheek," I see you kept the necklace."

I freeze. It can't be, surely this large hulking orc couldn't possibly be him.

"Lug," I ask with a choked cry. He smiles wide, nodding. I can't speak, my eye stinging as I finally see the resemblance. He truly has grown into the man he always said he would be. As handsome as he was seven years ago.

Without much thought I jump over the bar, him helping me down before pulling me close. I hug him, my arms barely touching around his hulking frame. A sob rips from my throat as I cry tears of pure joy. He pets my back, nuzzling his head against mine.

"I'm sorry I took so long," he mumbles as he kisses my cheeks," I didn't expect to be gone so long. I apparently had a lot more to learn from the elders than I anticipated."

"You’re here now," I look up at him," that's all the matters."

Lug smiles like a fool before roughly pushes his lips against mine, his tusks way more prominent now than when we were kids. I cup his rough cheek, feeling the hairs prick at my palm. He is so different now, but still exactly the same. God, I've missed him.

We part, smiling like idiots in love. He wipes the tears off my face, I pet at his cheek. My heart feels ready to explode at the happiness coursing through my veins. Lug looks the same with his great toothy grin and wondering hands.

"I waited for you, I'm so glad I did," I look him over," you got hot."

He barks out a boisterous laugh," glad you think so, I got big and strong for you. And you…gods, you look amazing."

"oh stop," I blush.

"No," he tugs my hips to his," now that I finally have you I'm going to shower you with sweet praises and worship your body like a holy temple." I gulp, my insides turning to mush as he leans down to kiss at my neck.

"Whoa, let's slow down," I grab at his braid," I'm still at work."

He growls in frustration, pulling back," alright. How much longer?"

"Till close, which should be soon," I answer," you don't mind waiting around, right?"

"I've waited seven years, what's a few more hours to that," he says.

Lug keeps me company till the last patron leaves. The second I finish the last bit of cleaning he has me in his arms, kissing me breathless. He has half a mind to pull back, smiling down at my dazed face with glee.

I break out of his arms, grabbing his hand to tug him out the bar and into the cold night. I pull him down into a kiss, not able to hold off for another second.

"I love you, lug," I mumble against his lips.

"I love you too, Thea," he answers in kind.

"Are you going to take me home now," I ask with a wicked grin.

He growls, lifting me up and over his shoulder. I laugh, blushing as he palms my rear. I've missed him so much and we have a lot of time to make up.

#12 days of christmas #12 tropes for christmas #Enigma-IM #orc boyfriend #meet as children meet as adults #exophilia #monster boyfriend

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writebycandlelight · 3 years

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Bread Rolls

Prompt: Reader’s attempted act of kindness goes awry.

Word Count: 1.7k

Pairing: Erwin x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluffy, Mild

A/N: It’s been a whole year I think but I’m back for today after seeing some BEAUTIFUL art by @ thisuserisalive on Instagram. I heard people have been thirsting for some Erwin fic so I hope you enjoy this little cute fic.

By the Walls, there was nothing more demoralizing than having the scouts return in their terrible conditions time and time again. As you shoved past an unruly crowd, gathered to shout insults as the scouts returned in single file, you clutched your covered basket filled with warm bread rolls to your chest. Times were tough but you were sure the scouts were in need of something to lift their spirits. Bread was the most common military food but surely freshly baked would bring some comfort. Freshly baked bread was always something people liked. In your humble opinion, there was nothing better.

You scanned for a good spot to approach, unsure of whether you might cause too much of a disruption to the scouts. Your eyes fell on their commander, blonde and blue eyed, you were certain he’d look handsomer with his head held high. Perhaps a bread roll might make him smile a little. Determined to put a smile on at least one scout, you slowly pushed to the front of the crowds. You were just in range to approach when you tipped forward, jostled harshly into the incoming scouts. Your startle cry was interrupted by your face slamming into something hard and metallic. Your head throbbed with pain as your vision began to cloud. A startled voice came and went. Blue eyes stared at you. Two pairs, no, just one pair. So shimmery, they danced as the edges of your vision turned black.

Sunlight peeked through your lashes as you blinked awake. Groggily, you looked around. Nothing was remotely familiar. Where were you? What happened? Weren’t you just at the city gates? Blinking in recognition you looked around frantically. Your bread! You were supposed to give the Scouts some bread rolls!

“Bread rolls-” you said aloud. Startled, your hand reached for your throat. How was your voice so dry and hoarse? Looking around, you spotted a table to your left, and lo and behold, a pitcher of water!

You glanced around the room, taking in its neat and pristine appearance as you slowly made yourself stand. For a moment you felt your body sway, but reaching out you took a few unsteady steps to the table and steadied yourself upon it.

Your hands grabbed greedily at the cup and poured, downing the water in moments.

“You should have called for someone to assist you,” a deep voice said from the door.

You nearly dropped the cup as the man you knew to be commander entered the room.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said gently. “Are you feeling better?”

You raised the glass with a small smile, “A bit yes. The water helped.”

“Good, good. Please, sit. You should be resting,” the commander urged and motioned to the bed. You glanced at it and then back at him. He made the motion again and you slipped back onto the bed, cup in hand.

“I am Commander Erwin Smith,” he smiled, and then with a sheepish chuckle added, “I feel I owe you an apology. It was my ODM gear that you hit.”

You felt your face flush, he may not be able to see it, but your face felt as hot as the furnace you baked those rolls in!

“O-oh! Oh no, no! You don’t have to. If anything the idiot that shoved me owes me an apology. Not you...sir-” you stuttered, feebly tacking on ‘sir’ at the end. Despite using the word every day with customers and garrison soldiers, it felt strange to use it on such a man. His whole demeanor commanded a level of authority and respect that made your heart thud. Nerves? Most probably.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think we’ll be able to find them,” Erwin said with a sort of frown, or perhaps you thought, a rather neutral expression for his face.

“Either way, I hope that it is alright that we brought you here. The Scouts headquarters,” Erwin continued, “We have a fine doctor that said you should feel alright within a few days.”

“I guess I hit my head pretty hard,” you murmured, touching your forehead. Your fingers flinched when they touched the bandage around your head.

“Thank you for all this,” you murmured bringing your hand back to the cup, “I’m so sorry for all the trouble. I was just trying to bring out some hot bread rolls to your soldiers. I thought it might help boost morale a little. I hate when those crowds go out and bother you all. They have no idea what you all go through no doubt. I mean, you’re all so brave!”

Your eyes shone in a way that made Erwin pause, he hadn’t seen such a look in ages. Not since he first became commander.

His staring at you, with a look you couldn’t quite place, made you realize you were staring right back. You felt the heat to your face return and you glanced down at your cup.

“Thank you. That is very kind of you to say. However, have your bread,” Erwin said, “Captain Levi saw it fall from your arms and we brought it here. It is untouched-” “Untouched!” you exclaimed in exasperation. “Well I hope they like cold bread rolls. By the Walls! All that work to ensure they were warm and oh so lightly buttered and I still only get you cold rolls.”

Erwin chuckled at your sudden change of mood, “They may still be warm. You’ve only been here for about an hour. You did a wonderful job in wrapping them in that basket. I do believe only one fell out.”

“Only one. I guess I’ll take that one,” you joked awkwardly and felt your face flush again. What were you doing?! What kind of dumb joke was that? By the Walls, why were you telling them to the commander of the Scouts!?

Erwin laughed, deeply, he would have taken more time to be surprised if he hadn’t found your demeanor so endearing. For the briefest of moments, he felt wildly afraid by the sound he made, laughter. How long had it been since he’d laughed?

Your eyes widened as his features broke into laughter, the complete opposite of how it had looked like not so long ago. He really was handsome when he smiled like that.

It was gone in a moment though and he looked at you calmly. The silence was short and you stared at one another, but it was enough for you to want to stop it. You’d die if those water blue eyes stared at you like that for another second!

“If you would like to, you can tell the soldiers. To eat the rolls I mean, not that I’ll eat that one roll. The bread rolls, they’re for them of course. And for you! As you know..” you bumbled and had to actively force yourself to smile as your body fought to hunch over and bury your face in your hands in sheer embarrassment. You couldn’t even speak right anymore. Walls you hoped he thought it was because of your head injury.

Erwin felt himself smile, she was surprisingly shy and outspoken at the same time. It was refreshing and charming. He shook his head to focus for a moment and then stood.

“I’ll go tell them, if that’s what you’d like. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat and more water,” he said.

You nodded and watched him go. His shoulders were so much wider now that you saw them from behind. You watched mesmerized until he turned around. You almost squeaked, averting your eyes. You could NOT be caught staring.

“I’m going to apologize again. I didn’t ask your name,” Erwin said shaking his head, a disappointment to himself really.

“Oh, that. I’m (Y/N), it was nice to meet you Commander Smith” you replied, your heart beating a mile a minute from the startle he’d given you seconds ago.

“(Y/N),” Erwin said with a furrowed brow, “Stay resting,” then turned and left.

You sank into the bed and threw an arm over your face. You’d made a fool of yourself hadn’t you? Of all the people you could have talked to, it had to be the commander of the Scouts himself. Well it’s not like you knew meeting him would make you a whole fool, you thought bitterly. You settled into the bed at last and closed your eyes. Better not to think about it.

---

When you awoke the sun had set considerably. You rubbed your eyes and with a glance remembered where you were. You sighed and turned your head to the table. Your brows lifted in surprise and you sat up. Swinging your legs over the bed, you shuffled toward the table that now had water, soup, and a bread roll on a tray.

Taking a seat at the chair Erwin had used, you lifted the bread roll. It was one of yours. You had a distinct pan mark on your bread that made it easy to recognize. You pinched the bread and it tore softly, with an ever so slight shimmer to your fingers as the drop of butter at it’s top. It wasn’t warm but you were surprised at how soft they still were. Good on you. You were about to give yourself a pat on the back when you noticed a folded paper just beside the bread roll. You flicked the white note open and blinked at it dumbly before laughing aloud.

From the room next door, Erwin sat at his desk and lifted his head at the sound of your laughter. He looked to the far wall and smiled. You’d found the note. He felt rather proud and yet silly for having left it. He felt like he had as a young scout. Writing the note has been a very strange thing for him to do but he found himself writing it anyway. He didn’t think the note was particularly funny, but your laugh was worth it.

In your room you moved the note to stay unfolded on the tray, glancing at it as you ate. The neat block letters made you smile as you reread it out loud, “I can promise this is not the fallen bread roll.” Unaware, you and Erwin shared the same smile at the same silly note, and somewhere, a little pang of joy beat in both of you.

#Erwin Smith #erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #fan fic #snk x reader

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goldenchan-fx2thepeacock · 3 years

Text

Friendly Neighbourhood Phantom

rKay, y’all remember how I said I would write a fic for that one post I reblogged? Well, Wattpad still hates me, but here ya go.

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Danny was bored. He’d finally mastered the powers that decided to show up when he ‘died’ in the portal accident, but nothing was happening. Not that it was bad, just boring. He felt like he should do something. And when he overheard Sam talking about volenteering, he got an idea. “Sam, what was that thing you were talking about volenteering for?” He asked. “Oh, it’s a soup kitchen not far from here. You thinking about helping out?” she replied. “Well, yeah. I was thinking about using these powers for something useful,” “Danny, that’s genius. But volenteering is a big step. Maybe you could just help out people in ghost form?” “Huh, that’s not a bad idea. Thanks Sam!” He ran to class.

After school, he put his backpack down and changed. The first few times it was painful, but now it was a numb tingling sensation. He knew about the more sketchy areas in town and sped off.

He set down in a playground with a bunch of kids. There was one sitting off on her own. She was glumly playing with the sand. “Hey kid, want to play a game?” He asked. She stared at him. At first, she seemed startled, but she smiled. “Yeah! Let’s play hide and seek!” She giggled. He smiled. “Okay, I’ll count to ten and you go hide. Just don’t leave the playground,” He turned around and closed his eyes. She giggled and ran off. Once he finished counting to ten, he turned back around. He heard giggling from her, but decided to wander when looking for her. “Oh my gosh, you’re so good at hiding. I wonder where you could be,” He heard giggling behind him. After looking around a few trees, he acted like he’d just spotted the play structure. “Maybe you’re hiding in here?” He peeked under the structure. She giggled up at him. “You found me! Now it’s your turn to hide!” She ran off to the tree. He dashed into the slide and hid just in view. She spotted him immediately. “Ha! I found you!” “You did!” they played a few more rounds.

They were the only ones left when her dad showed up. “Iliana? Where are you?” He yelled. She dashed out from the play structure. “Right here daddy!” She yelled and ran over to Danny. He smiled at her and waved goodbye. “Iliana! That’s dangerous, don’t play with demons,” The dad snatched her away from Danny. “He’s not a demon!” Iliana said. “I’ve heard about things like you,” The dad narrowed his eyes at Danny. “Stay away from my daughter,” “We were just playing hide and seek!” Danny protested. “And I’m not a demon,” “Preying on children is wrong. Go back to hell,” Danny held back the tears and left. He knew the feeling. Transphobes liked to tell him to go to hell, but this was horrible.

Once he got home and finished his homework, he looked through his insta. Then he got a random idea. He went to the account blurb and clicked “make new account”. He took a selfie in his ghost form and set it as his profile pic. What to call it? He drummed his fingers on the desk and an idea came to him. He typed it in. Danny Phantom. He posted a bunch of anti bullying posts and selfies. He’d take pictures when volenteering as Phantom and put them up.

When he got to school in the morning, there was the usual buzz. Sam looked at him. Tucker was on vacation for a few more days. “So, how’d ‘volenteering’ go?” she asked. “Pretty good. I played hide and seek with a little girl. Is that a good start?” “Sounds good to me. But pretty good with you usually means that something happened,” She knew him too well. “I got called a demon,” He snapped. She grimaced. “Oh, Danny. I’m sorry. What was it?” “I think it’s just the whole ghost thing. I doubt he could tell I’m trans,” “Well, that’s gotta count for something!” “Maybe,” He sat down in Lancer’s class and pulled out a notebook. “Anything else happen?” “I started an account on Instagram for ghost me. I called it Danny Phantom. Should be easy enough to find,” “Don’t you think anyone’ll notice the parralels between that and Danny Fenton?” “The people here are too stupid to guess that. Besides, no one’s gonna connect the dots between me and a random ghost,” “Good point,” Lancer walked into the class. “Alright class, you know the drill,” Danny pulled out the novel they were reading this week.

Danny spent the rest of the week helping out in random ways and putting the pictures up on insta. Maybe it was kinda cheap, but unlike some accounts he’s seen, he was doing it solely for the purpose of raising awareness, not to make a good face. There were a few other derogatory terms thrown his way, but it wasn’t horrible. Today, he was going to start volenteering for real. He set down in front of the soup kitchen. “Listen, we don’t have soup till later. Come back then,” A guy wearing a big apron said. “Actually, I was going to volenteer to help out,” Danny said. The guy turned around. “You got a bit of a look going on there. Why do you wanna volenteer?” “To help out the community. And I can’t help looking this way,” “Huh. Well, get an apron on and help me make this soup,” The guy turned around. Danny obliged. “Uh, you never told me your name,” Danny said meekly. “Milton’s the name. And since I gave you mine, I’m gonna need yours,” “Danny,” “That all? No last name?” “You didn’t give me yours,” “Nah, but the kids like you usually boast about it. For a teen, you’re pretty humble,” “Thanks?” “Okay, enough small talk. Help me stir this while I get the other ingredients,” Milton thrust a long wooden spoon into Danny’s hands and walked off. Danny started stirring the big pot on the stove. He smiled and hummed a little tune to keep his attention. Milton walked back in. “No picture taking? You really are humble,” “I guess it just didn’t occur to me. I mostly made my account to tell people to be nicer to the less fortunate,” (Yes, the first part is a Toph line, but less condesending in this case) He kept stirring but didn’t pull his phone out. “You kids these days. Always an ulterior motive,” “I mean, I’m a ghost, so I could’ve been dead for hundreds of years for all you know,” Milton stared at him. “A ghost?” “Jeez, don’t panic or anything. Not all ghosts are malevolent. And I’ve only been ‘dead’, per se, for about a month,” “I thought it was just dumb hair dye and contacts,” Milton gaped. “Yeah, teenager just casually floats and nothing’s weird about that. Got the ingredients?” “Wha- oh yeah. Here,” Milton dumps the vegetable in the pot. “Sorry to scare you like that. I just didn’t want you calling me a demon or something when you found out,” “Why would anyone do that? Seems cruel,” “People don’t often care about anything but their prejudices,” “Generalization or stereotype there?” “Stereotype. I guess. Let’s just make soup,” He wasn’t about to spill his troubles onto a random stranger.

He stood in the window giving out soup. Sam was standing not far off taking pictures. He wasn’t completely sure if he should keep posting. But it was kinda late to do that now. Danny Phantom had started to gain attention Danny Fenton never would. “What the hell? I didn’t know Milton was the type to let freaks help out,” One skinny teenager in ripped clothes said. “I didn’t know there was a reason to not let a person help the less fortunate,” Danny handed him a bowl of soup. “Sorry man. I guess the stress of having to come here everyday is starting to get to me,” “It’s okay. When Milton takes his turn, wanna talk about it?” “Thanks dude,” The skinny guy sat down at one of the many tables set up. “No problem. It’s the least I can do,” Danny smiled at him. Milton walked up behind him. “I’ll take it for fifteen minutes. Ghost probably don’t need breaks, but I’d feel bad if I made you do all the work,” Danny nodded and ditched the apron. He phased through the wall and floated over to the skinny guy.

The guy looked startled. “You’re floating,” He stared at Danny’s feet. “Ya know, probably could’ve told you that myself,” Danny smirked. “Danny! Is your shift done or something?” Sam ran over. “Nah, I just was gonna let this guy talk about his problems to someone,” “You’re a ghost,” The guy looked lost. “Yes and no. Semantics. Listen, I’m not here to tell you about my weird life. I’m here so you don’t completely lose it from having to support yourself,” “Thanks again for that. So your name is Danny?” “Yeah. This is Sam. What’s your name?” “Jack,” Danny held back the snort that came with thinking of his bumbling father. Bumbling couldn’t have been more accurate. Jack Fenton gave Danny bumblebee vibes. “Nice to meet you Jack. What did you need to talk about?” Sam snorted behind Danny. “Shutup,” Danny slid into the seat across from Jack. “What’s funny?” Jack said. “Nothing. My dad’s name is Jack and you look absoloutely nothing like him. Sam is drawing certain parralels that don’t need to be there,” “Your dad? Do ghosts have dads?” “Half ones do,” Sam said. “We’re not talking about that. Why do you have to come here. You don’t look much older than 15,” “If it weren’t for the glowy hair and eyes, I’d say you don’t look older than 12,” “I’m fourteen,” “Close enough,” “Whatever. Why do you come here?”

Danny became a hit with the soup kitchen users. He’d talk to people about they’re issues with an air of concern. He didn’t shut anyone down no matter how small the issue. Soon, he wasn’t a freaky prospect, he was the ghost who listened to people’s issues. “I think we should get Jazz to help you out at the soup kitchen,” Tucker said one day at lunch. “I mean, she knows, so it can’t be that weird. It’ll give her some field experience with helping people out too. Yeah, that’ll work,” Danny took a bite out of the glowing sandwich. “Are you sure that’s safe?” Sam poked it. “Eating ectoplasm won’t kill me anymore than I already am,” “Touche,” Tucker said. “That’s not how touche works, at least I don’t think so,” Danny replied. “And you’re in academic english,” Sam laughed. “You are too! And english is like, my worst class,” “Fair enough. But yeah, getting Jazz to help out is a good idea,” She forked her veggy lasagna. “Okay! I’ll tell her tonight,”

The soup kitchen wasn’t the only place Danny volenteered. He kept up the random helping and stopped a few crimes when he came across them. It wasn’t like he went looking for crimes, but it came with the territory. He stopped a car crash one time. Danny Phantom slowly became a hit on Instagram. Danny had to turn off notifcations at night. He opened it and gaped. “500 followers overnight! And it’s going up?! Holy shit,” He turned the notifications back off and did his morning routine. It was break day, so he glared at the sports bra he knew he’d have to wear. “If I find that ghost boy, I’ll tear him apart molecule by molecule!” Jack Fenton said. Danny winced. It was normal at this point, but he didn’t like it very much. “Oh Jack. You know we should study it,” He head his mom say. Danny didn’t know what was worse, his dad’s threats of death or his mother’s dissociation. “Dann-o! We’re going looking for the ghost boy today!” Jack said excitedly. “What did he do wrong?” “Nothing, but he probably has an ulterior motive to all this helping stuff!” Jack replied. Danny sighed and pulled out the cereal. “That’s the ecto contaminated cereal Danny,” Maddie said. Mom, that’s what he meant. “Oh, whoops,” He put it back and grabbed a new box. “Why’re we keeping it anyways?” “It’s an experiment!” Mom replied. “You guys and all your ridiculous ghost stuff need to stop it,” Jazz huffed as she walked down the stairs. “But we have proof of ghosts now! And some of them can get they’re hands on human tech,” Jack- er Dad, said. “You mean social media? People could just taken random picture of a random guy doing that and made something out of it,” “He’s floating Jazzibear, that means something!” J- Dad said loudly. “Photo editting,” Jazz knew it was hopeless, but she did it for Danny. “Believe what you want,” Dad grabbed some fudge from the fridge.

Jazz and Danny walked to the soup kitchen. Well, Jazz walked and Danny floated. It was Saturday, so they were taking an all day shift. “500 followers Jazz! That’s crazy for one night!” “That’s great!” “I know. Oh look, we’re here,” Danny sped over to the kitchen while Jazz sat at one of the tables. “Hey, it’s my favourite ghost,” Milton said. “More like the only ghost you know,” “Yeah, let’s stir this pot and make soup,” Milton laughed. Maybe everything wasn’t great, but Danny was okay with that. He smiled and stirred the pot of soup.

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And, la fin. Maybe it sucks, but I felt like writing something for this. My first oneshot actually. Let me know if you want more of this! The idea came from a post I read by @redrobin-detective. I reblogged it for those who want to see the original concept. Sorry if my grammar is a little strange to you. I’m from Canada, and grammar here is different than the States.

#danny phantom #sam manson #tucker foley #fic #oneshot #jazz fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #mr lancer #trans!danny #tumblr accidentally made me post this so now it at least has tags #phandom #au

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mighty-ant · 3 years

Text

Launchpad 2.0, Part One

Happy holidays and happy New Year @solemn-vow, I was your Secret Santa for @ducktalessecretsanta2020!

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Part Two

Double-O-Duck never thought he would find himself back in a F.O.W.L. holding cell.

Then again, he never thought he would be back at all.

The cell is the same as the ones he and Dewey were trapped in so many months ago, cinder block walls and a protect-o glass shield, only this time he doesn’t have any rubber bands at his disposal or a convenient troupe of hyper-intelligent lab experiments to free him. Best case scenario, they somehow find a way to jerry rig the control panel from over fifteen feet away. Worst case, they wait for an Egghead to collect them and overwhelm the poor devil.

Of course, that’s not the only thing that is markedly different this time around.

“What happened to Launchpad?”

Double-O-Duck sighs agitatedly, running a hand through his coiffed hair. “I’ve already explained. I am Launchpad.”

Darkwing Duck watches him from the opposite end of their shared cell, the distrust behind the eyes of his mask burning and unfamiliar. “Explain it to me again,” he demands.

Double-O-Duck both is and is not Launchpad McQuack. In some respects, they’re one and the same. Their memories are a singular set, Dewford is his best friend, little brother and charge all rolled into one, and he’ll do anything to protect his family. What the Intelliray granted Double-O-Duck (aside from his existence) was perspective and a straightforward intelligence that three decades worth of crashes had otherwise nullified.

Simply put, Double-O-Duck is an improved version of Launchpad McQuack, a version people can count on for something other than bumbling ineptitude and the occasional happy accident.

However, his existence is fleeting. Double-O-Duck is created and destroyed amid chaos; a brief, brilliant supernova that could have changed everyone’s opinion of him for the better and allowed him to be an asset to his family. But Steelbeak’s a fool who doesn’t comprehend the magnitude of what he’s unleashing, and Double-O-Duck does what Launchpad always does best—throw himself headfirst into certain danger.

It’s with a heavy heart that he makes peace with his necessary sacrifice for Dewey, for Duckburg, and puts himself in the path of a blast that scours away his newfound existence like flame to flash paper. Reduced to an observer, locked behind the eyes of the blind and deaf Launchpad McQuack who once held the knowledge and skills to protect his family and reveal the true face of F.O.W.L. Instead, he does neither. Instead, he lives his life as though nothing has changed.

For half a year, Double-O-Duck lives a silent and solitary existence as he bears witness to the incessant blundering of the man he used to be.

Unfocused while facing Jormungandr, despite the fate of the world hanging in the balance and Uncle Scrooge badly injured. Lost to delusion and fear on Halloween, tormenting children and monsters alike. Those crucial nights in St. Canard, Darkwing fitting perfectly in the circle of his arms and Gosalyn looking to him for answers and reassurance as a crimson portal crackled and sparked, all too similar to the blinding light that locked Double-O-Duck away.

Falling in love with Drake Mallard was as easy falling on him in a dead faint.

His sheer reserve of strength and steely-eyed determination, the refusal to fail, to give up and stay down, practically take Launchpad’s breath away. He’s humble in the face of his ego, hesitant to don the cape and cowl of their mutual hero until Launchpad encourages him. Launchpad knows that Drake can become something beyond the Darkwing Duck they grew up with, if he just put his mind to it.

Of course, Launchpad doesn’t have the words for this. He could never properly describe the way DW entrances him when he gesticulates, his hands fluid and alive in the air, or how he’s distracted by the breadth of Drake’s shoulders. He can’t put to words the unworthiness that burns through him whenever Drake looks up at him with trust, gratitude, and dare he say it, love, as though Launchpad isn’t the one lucky enough to be caught in his orbit.

Instead, Launchpad’s clumsiness paves the way. Clumsy bearhugs, clumsy advice, a clumsy confession in the gloom of early morning. Even Drake’s smile, brilliant and blinding in the dark, and Drake’s hands cradling his face, carding through his hair, do little to temper the certainty that Launchpad and Double-O-Duck share, because at the end of the day they are one and the same—he’s still not good enough.

Rediscovering the F.O.W.L. base beneath Funzo’s is practically a fluke.

Launchpad hasn’t been here since he played that video game with Dewey, though the events of that day remain hazy and uncertain in his mind, almost dreamlike. Fittingly, that same night is the first occurrence of the Dream. Though perhaps nightmare would be a more apt descriptor.

It’s the same every time, on and off for the last six months: a beam of red light so blinding he thinks the back of his eyelids will never be rid of the stain and the sensation of a fall, perilous and plummeting, that jolts him to consciousness in a cold sweat. His memory of the nightmare fades until the next night it tears him from sleep.

He can’t say what brings him to ask Drake to stop the Ratcatcher, can’t explain why the darkened silhouette of a children’s arcade brings him so much dread. They’ve just dropped Gosalyn off the mansion for a sleepover and are meant to be well on their way back to St. Canard for patrol. But even if he wanted to, Launchpad can’t stop himself from gripping Drake’s arm and saying, “Let me check something out, DW.”

Drake humors him; whether because he actually trusts his judgement or because he just wants to try out his new set of lock picks is debatable, but in the back of his mind Launchpad is grateful. The bulk of his focus is devoted to the déjà vu that increasingly overwhelms him as they slip in through the side door.

The feathers on the back of his neck stand on end as they cross the sticky floor, their footsteps almost soundless in the otherwise empty, expansive building. Aside from Drake’s flashlight, their only source of illumination are the screens of the arcade games a ways off, flickering noiselessly. But Launchpad can’t fight the sensation of being watched that grows in intensity when he makes a beeline for the ballpit.

“Launchpad?” Drake whispers behind him, as confused as Launchpad has ever heard him. But he has no words to explain the compulsion that’s driving him so he doesn’t try to conjure any. Instead, he climbs into the ballpit.

He immediately sinks up to his waist, the balls rustling hollowly around him. Launchpad doesn’t hesitate before wading forward, prodding at the uneven foam flooring with the toe of his boots. He still isn’t sure what he’s searching for when he hears Drake climb in after him.

“Okay,” he says to Launchpad’s back in a tone that demands an answer. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?”

The pet name kindles a new and welcome affection beneath his sternum, stoking the fire that has been burning and steadily building for months. Whereas Launchpad often speaks without thinking, Drake hyper analyzes every syllable before it leaves his mouth. While it can result in his anxiety taking over and making him second guess himself, other times, most times, it gives every stutter and hesitation greater meaning because he chooses his words so carefully. Launchpad knows how much thought is put into every ‘sweetheart’ Drake utters.

Before he can figure out a response that makes even the barest lick of sense, the secret entrance Launchpad belatedly realizes he was searching for slides open beneath their feet. Both of them fall through with a yelp, and a rainbow cascade of plastic follows them down.

“LP,” Drake hisses, minutes later as they peer around a corner into a gray stoned hallway nearly identical to all the ones they’ve passed. “How did you know there was a secret base down here?”

The déjà vu buzzing in Launchpad’s ears has worsened, adding to the sense of unreality that’s plagued him all night. It’s as though he’s dreaming while at the same time never feeling more awake. All Launchpad knows for certain is that he’s been here before, but he can’t remember how or why he’s so certain.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” he says truthfully, and wishes he had the answers Drake needs.

They creep down the hall, peering through the windows of the few doors they cross and find unlit laboratories and storage rooms on the other side. Launchpad is grateful they’re taking a stealthier approach, though he isn’t certain why he feels that way. Not until they hear the crackle of a radio from around the next corner and the pound of marching footsteps.

“Squadron 87, report to Sector C. We have reports of an unauthorized P.I.T. entry.”

Launchpad freezes at the same time Drake swings into action. He grabs Launchpad by the front of his coat and pushes the nearest door open with his other hand. Drake dives through the opening, dragging Launchpad with him.

Launchpad has the presence of mind to close the door behind them, as quietly as he’s able, and both he and Drake press up against it to catch a glimpse of whoever’s coming around the corner. Their caution is rewarded as a squad of Eggheads file past the window, all of them armed, their faces uniformly blank. Drake is practically vibrating beside him.

“A secret F.O.W.L. base,” he whispers as loudly as he dares. “We’ve uncovered a secret F.O.W.L. base underneath Funzo’s. LP, do you have any idea what this means?”

“Uh, no more two for one pizzas?” Launchpad answers uncertainly.

“It means,” Drake gushes, clutching Launchpad’s shoulders and shaking him a little, a manic grin lighting up his face, “you and I are going to be goshdarn heroes.”

Drake doesn’t swear often, and the pointed non-expletives he’s taken to using because of Gosalyn usually get a long laugh out of Launchpad. But the sickening sense of familiarity continues to weigh him down, and he’s barely able to let out a chuckle.

Luckily, Drake doesn’t notice as he spins away to examine the room they’re hiding in. it’s presumably some sort of storage space, and there are shelves lined with everything from bizarre weapons to spare Egghead helmets. Launchpad follows him without thought, scanning the room as Drake fiddles with his burner phone, muttering about the lack of signal.

“If I can get ahold of McDuck or Fenton or, eugh, Gizmoduck….”

Drake’s voice fades away as something draws Launchpad to one weapon in particular.

It’s a gun unlike any he’s ever seen, even with all the adventures under his belt. It’s sleek and geometric, like a ray gun out of a cartoon. There’s a crystal of some kind embedded where the barrel should be, but something tells him that this isn’t the sort of gun that fires bullets.

The déjà vu that’s been sending his senses into overload finally and abruptly quiets as he picks up the weapon. He should put it down, walk away, because nothing good ever comes out of a F.O.W.L. invention. But a whisper in the back of his mind tells him he should be happy to hold it. That same voice tells him to look at its buttstock, where a dial is pointed to a negative sign. He turns the dial the opposite way, toward the positive sign, and the weapon comes to life, humming in his hands.

It feels like he’s doing the right thing when he turns it on himself and pulls the trigger. Blue light floods his vision before darkness overtakes it.

An unknowable amount of time later, he wakes up on the cold concrete floor, looking up at Darkwing’s panic stricken face.

“Launchpad,” he breathes, relief making his features slacken, but Double-O-Duck barely hears him.

Memory rushes to the forefront of his mind with almost overwhelming speed, deafening him to all else as he finally recalls his and Steelbeak’s first confrontation, the accidental discovery F.O.W.L., the satellitehouse, his fall. All at once, he’s aware of the half-year he spent trapped, silenced, practically useless to his family against the forces lurking in the dark. That his patchwork memories were enough to spur his return is nothing short of miraculous.

“Launchpad,” Darkwing says again, when his silence grows too long. Concern has his voice wavering, and his small, strong hands smooth over Double-O-Duck’s chest in an unnecessary, if pleasant, search for an injury that isn’t there. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Double-O-Duck sits up gingerly. Unfortunately, his collapse apparently garnered him a nasty bump on the back on the head.

“I’m fine,” he responds, tamping down the accent that naturally arises. No sense in worrying Drake any more than he already has. “But I’m...not sure what that was.” The sting of guilt over his lie is assuaged by the elation he struggles not to let show on his face. Finally, he can be the partner Darkwing deserves, a man worthy of Scrooge’s trust, a proper guardian for Gosalyn.

He pushes himself back to his feet, and though his movements are smooth, Darkwing hovers over him in a way that makes him smile and feel terribly cared for. When he shows no sign of keeling over, Darkwing briefly stoops to recover the intelligence enhancement ray that Double-O-Duck dropped.

“Well, I guess it must be some sort of stun gun,” Darkwing says slowly, examining the gun with a wary eye, as though it might fire again at the slightest provocation. Double-O-Duck is abruptly struck with the mad desire to take the ray from Darkwing’s hands and smash it on the ground. It would all but guarantee that he’d never be locked away again and reduced to his old foolish, bumbling self.

Before he can act on this impulse, they hear voices coming from the other side of the door once again. Darkwing sets the ray down with exaggerated care on the nearest shelf and hurries over to peer through the window.

“Another patrol,” he says grimly. “We’ve been here too long. We have to let the others know what we’ve found, but I can’t call anyone until we’re topside; something’s blocking the signal.”

“Lead the way,” Double-O-Duck replies.

Darkwing fixes him with a worried look. The stern vigilante mask that’s started coming so much more naturally to him slips in favor of his true feelings. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he insists.

Alright? It’s too small a word to describe the depth of his relief and eagerness to leap back into the fray. With his intelligence and skill returned to him, he’s more alright than ever. Confident in a way he hasn’t felt in half a year, he takes Darkwing’s hand and raises it to his beak so he might drop a kiss on his knuckles.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, delighting in the startled blush staining Darkwing’s cheeks. He watches Darkwing make a few attempts to swallow, feeling terribly pleased.

“Okay then,” he answers weakly, before immediately clearing his throat. “Let’s uh, let’s get dangerous.”

Checking again that the coast is clear, Darkwing opens the door to the supply closet. They slip out into a quiet, gray hallway, heading back the way they came. Double-O-Duck knows they’re walking blind, and his ineffectualness grates at him. But there’s nothing for it; he hasn’t been here in half a year and his enhanced memory might be good, but it isn’t good enough to recall each twist and turn he made in this labyrinthine base.

The stomp of footsteps around the upcoming corner has them faltering in their tracks. There’s no convenient closet at hand, the nearby walls blank and utilitarian. Unease has Double-O-Duck’s heart rabbiting at the base of his throat, but he ignores it as he grabs hold of Darkwing’s arm, tugging him in the opposite direction of the approaching patrol. A confrontation may be inevitable at this rate, but the longer they go undiscovered the better.

Darkwing follows him without question, which is heartening, but ultimately for naught.

Around the next corner, they find no less than a dozen Eggheads waiting for them, each of them armed with blasters. The technology is familiar to him, almost Moonlander in origin. Reverse-engineered copies, perhaps.

“Well, well, well! It looks to me like we’ve got a couple of trespassers.”

And just their luck, the Eggheads aren’t alone.

Agent Steelbeak is exactly as Double-O-Duck remembers him: impeccably dressed, his cruel beak curled into a shining smirk. He carries no weapon on his person, or at least none that are visible; there’s no need, when his bite alone is enough to draw blood. And just like before, his arrogance falters in the face of the unexpected.

“What—you again?” Steelbeak squawks.

Darkwing darts forward, dropping into a fighting stance. His proud voice fills the hallway. “Thought you’d seen the last of Darkwing Duck, eh, metal mouth?”

Steelbeak blinks hard, rearing back as if startled by Darkwing’s presence. “Huh? Aren’t you the twerp I beat up for that circuit thingy?”

Darkwing’s shoulders droop in dismay, only to rise again with his mounting confusion. He follows Steelbeak’s line of sight, turning to look at Double-O-Duck over his shoulder, eyes alight with realization if not understanding.

While he takes the insult nearly as personally as Darkwing surely does, a small part of Double-O-Duck is thrilled at being recognized, if only to properly demonstrate his reclaimed prowess to his partner. After all, up until fifteen minutes ago, as far as either of them knew Darkwing was the only one to have faced Steelbeak before.

“LP?” he says quietly, uncertain and seeking answers. Double-O-Duck is heartened by his ability to finally provide them.

But this isn’t the time, so for now he just reaches out and briefly clasps Darkwing’s shoulder in reassurance. “It’s been a while, Steelbeak,” Double-O-Duck says loudly, letting more of his accent bleed into his words. “Not that I picture this meeting going any differently than our first.”

Steelbeak sputters indignantly as the Eggheads around him murmur amongst themselves. “It is you!” he accuses, yellow eyes narrowing. “You smug sonova...Wait...how is it you? Last time you got hit with…” Steelbeak cuts himself off with a long, nasal laugh. “Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me! Did you bust in here just to get smart again?”

“Launchpad,” Darkwing hisses out of the corner of his mouth, more insistent than before. “What is he talking about?”

Double-O-Duck smoothes his long bangs back into the coiffed hairstyle he hadn’t realized he’d missed. “I promise I’ll explain everything once Steelbeak is dealt with,” he begins to say, when the F.O.W.L. agent in question yawns theatrically.

“Bo-ring!” he says in singsong. “You two can continue this snoozefest with Director Buzzard. Eggheads, scramble ‘em!”

The Eggheads need no further prompting as all dozen of them launch forward with blasters at the ready. Like a thrown switch, Double-O-Duck blocks out all distractions save for the threat headed his way. The focus that the intelligence enchantment ray grants him is greatly appreciated as he fells the first two Eggheads to approach him with swift blows to the head and flips a third over his shoulder.

While he’s not one to ever gun for a fight, Double-O-Duck would be lying if he said he hasn’t looked forward to partnering with Darkwing now that they’re more evenly matched in skill. He’s no slouch without the ray’s enhancement, and Darkwing hasn’t voiced any complaints when they spar, but he’s undeniably better this way. A better fighter, a better partner, nevermind Dewey’s long-ago promises that he was enough just as he was. Enough to be a child’s best friend, perhaps, but nothing more.

Now spared even the possibility of a bumbling mistake, he leaps eagerly into the fray.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Darkwing surrounded by a trio of Eggheads, and immediately moves to rectify that. Knocking the blaster out of the hand of the next Egghead that rushes at him, he grabs them by the arm and swings them at the group Darkwing is fighting. Double-O-Duck doesn’t bother with a shout of warning, not for a move they’ve executed half a hundred times before.

But Darkwing isn’t where Double-O-Duck expects him to be.

He somehow moved without Double-O-Duck’s notice, the three Eggheads he was facing off against lying in a pile at his feet. Now he’s standing directly in the path of the careening Egghead Double-O-Duck just launched his way, and they collide forcefully.

He watches with no small amount of horror as Darkwing collapses under the weight of the thrown body. His hat goes flying as he knocks his head against the floor, and while Darkwing looks dazed it doesn’t prevent him from knocking out the Egghead with a swift jab of his elbow. “What gives, LP?” he barks, clutching the side of his head.

“I-I didn’t see you there, Darkwing,” Double-O-Duck blurts, neatly sidestepping the Egghead running at him with a war cry. While Darkwing might not be badly hurt by his own stubborn standards, the slipup rattles Double-O-Duck in a way he never thought possible.

Though he shows no outward sign of it as he trips up another Egghead and slams them into the wall, his mind spins like a globe off its axis. They’ve never made a mistake like that before. He’s never made a mistake like that. Even during their brief tussle in Darkwing’s trailer a year ago they were in sync, aware of each other’s movements and reacting accordingly. Double-O-Duck shouldn’t be making mistakes that not even regular old Launchpad would.

There’s a moment of pause once Darkwing punches one of the remaining Eggheads in the solar plexus and drives their face into his knee, shattering their visor. Double-O-Duck starts to go to him, guilt tightening a stony fist in the pit of his stomach when he sees the blossoming bruise at the edge of Darkwing’s temple.

“Darkwing, I’m sorry,” he starts to say. “Are you alright?”

Movement in the corner of his eye, and Double-O-Duck’s instincts are all that spare him from the broad yellow fist plowing through the air scant inches from his face. He bends over backward, nearly tripping over an unconscious Egghead to avoid what would have been a crippling blow.

“Trouble in paradise?” Steelbeak chortles, unperturbed by his near-miss. His eyes are alight with a sickening combination of malice and glee, fists tightly coiled and shoulders hanging loose. Double-O-Duck hasn’t forgotten the power behind those fists, Steelbeak’s casual, confident violence that allowed him to be ceaseless in his assault. Double-O-Duck was able to best him last time by getting into his head, but he doesn’t have that luxury when his own thoughts drag him down the sinkhole in his mind.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got a cozy, quiet cell for you two to talk things out,” Steelbeak continues leisurely.

Double-O-Duck lunges at him, coming in low at the last second to take him out at the knee. Experience tells him that aiming for Steelbeak’s face straight away will turn out worse for him than Steelbeak.

Still, he fails.

Steelbeak steps out of his reach and comes back in close to deliver a kick to the underside of Double-O-Duck’s chin. He goes sprawling onto his back, immediately diving out of the way when Steelbeak jabs at him with his jagged beak. It’s a move most birds wouldn’t attempt in a fight out of fear of chipping, or worse, cracking their beak. Having seen Steelbeak once splinter stone, Double-O-Duck knows he has no such compunctions.

“You’re off your game, smarty-pants,” Steelbeak taunts as Double-O-Duck rolls back onto his feet and blocks his punches. “Maybe Heron’s Intelliray isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Double-O-Duck glowers, ducking back to avoid a hammerfist punch. His control is fraying, and he speaks without thinking. “It’s enough to stop you,” he snaps, a quick jab making Steelbeak clutch at his ribs with a grunt. When he lifts his head, he glances over Double-O-Duck’s shoulder and his grimace morphs into a smile.

“What about your little friend?”

Turning around would be a mistake. A stupid, rookie mistake that Launchpad would make, not Double-O-Duck. But what if, his traitorous mind hisses, tying up in knots. What if it’s not a trick. When it comes to Drake Mallard, Launchpad McQuack will always be a fool.

So Double-O-Duck turns and sees Darkwing dangling limp in the grip of two Eggheads. His head hangs forward in unconsciousness and his eyes are closed and his hat’s still missing and Double-O-Duck’s stomach freezes in painful piercing cold before dropping past his feet altogether.

“I think it’s about time you joined him,” he distantly hears Steelbeak say, before there’s a pain in the side of his head and the floor is rushing up to meet him.

#ant writes #ducktales secret santa 2020 #drakepad #double o duck #related to the finale funnily enough #but no spoilers!#launchpad mcquack #darkwing duck #steelbeak #what if dod came back??#drama is the result ofc

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improvidence318 · 4 years

Text

i said screw it so here it is

howdy howdy, this is the anon with the 20’s lingo sheet. i don’t have a tumblr (though i wish i do tbh) and realized that i don’t know how to work shit on tumblr, so i’m just sending in the sheet through a text post. i am highly aware of the amount of power i’m bestowing upon you and honestly couldn’t give a damn

ab-so-lute-ly: affirmative all wet: incorrect And how!: I strongly agree! ankle: to walk, i.e.. “Let’s ankle!” apple sauce: flattery, nonsense, i.e.. “Aw, applesauce!” Attaboy!: well done!; also, Attagirl!

baby: sweetheart. Also denotes something of high value or respect. baby grand: heavily built man baby vamp: an attractive or popular female, student. balled up: confused, messed up. baloney: Nonsense! Bank’s closed.: no kissing or making out ie. “Sorry, mac, bank’s closed.” bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl beat it: scram, get lost. beat one’s gums: idle chatter bee’s knee’s: terrific; a fad expression. Dozens of “animal anatomy” variations existed: elephant’s eyebrows, gnat’s whistle, eel’s hips, etc. beef: a complaint or to complain. beeswax: business, i.e. “None of your beeswax.” Student. bell bottom: a sailor bent: drunk berries: (1) perfect (2) money big cheese: important person big six: a strong man; from auto advertising, for the new and powerful six cylinder engines. bimbo: a tough guy bird: general term for a man or woman, sometimes meaning “odd,” i.e. “What a funny old bird.” blotto (1930 at the latest): drunk, especially to an extreme bootleg: illeagal liquor breezer (1925): a convertable car bug-eyed Betty (1927): an unattractive girl, student. bull: (1) a policeman or law-enforcement official, including FBI. (2) nonesense (3) to chat idly, to exaggerate bump off: to kill bum’s rush, the: ejection by force from an establishment bunny (1925): a term of endearment applied to the lost, confused, etc. Often coupled with “poor little.” bus: any old or worn out car.

cake-eater: a lady’s man caper: a criminal act or robbery. cat’s meow: great, also “cat’s pajamas” and “cat’s whiskers” cash: a kiss Cash or check?: Do we kiss now or later? cast a kitten: to have a fit. Used in both humorous and serious situations. i.e. “Stop tickling me or I’ll cast a kitten!” Also, “have kittens.” cheaters: eye glasses check: Kiss me later. chewing gum: double-speak, or ambiguous talk. choice bit of calico: attractive female, student. chopper: a Thompson Sub-Machine Gun, due to the damage its heavy .45 caliber rounds did to the human body. chunk of lead: an unnattractive female, student. clam: a dollar coffin varnish: bootleg liquor, often poisonous. copacetic: excellent crasher: a person who attends a party uninvited crush: infatuation cuddler: one who likes to make out

daddy: a young woman’s boyfriend or lover, especially if he’s rich. daddy-o: a term of address dame: a female. Did not gain widespread use until the 1930’s. dapper: a Flapper’s dad darb: a great person or thing. “That movie was darb.” dead soldier: an empty beer bottle. deb: a debutant. dewdropper: a young man who sleeps all day and doesn’t have a job. dogs: feet doll: an attractive woman. dolled up: dressed up don’t know from nothing: doesn’t have any information don’t take any wooden nickels: don’t do anything stupid. doublecross: to cheat, stab in the back. dough: money drugstore cowboy: A well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women. dry up: shut up, get lost ducky: very good dumb Dora: an absolute idiot, a dumbbell, especially a woman; flapper.

earful: enough egg: a person who lives the big life

face stretcher: an old woman trying to look young fella: fellow. As common in its day as “man,” “dude,” or “guy” is today. “That John sure is a swell fella.” fire extinguisher: a chaperone fish: (1) a college freshman (2) a first timer in prison flat tire: a bore flivver: a Model T; after 1928, also could mean any broken down car. floorflusher: an insatiable dancer flour lover: a girl with too much face powder fly boy: a glamorous term for an aviator For crying out loud!: same usage as today four-flusher: a person who feigns wealth while mooching off others.

gams (1930): legs gatecrasher: see “crasher” get-up (1930): an outfit. get a wiggle on: get a move on, get going get in a lather: get worked up, angry giggle water: booze gimp: cripple; one who walks with a limp. Gangster Dion O’Bannion was called Gimpy due to his noticeable limp. gin mill: a seller of hard liquor; a cheap speakeasy glad rags: “going out on the town” clothes go chase yourself: get lost, scram. gold-digger (1925): a woman who pursues men for their money. goods, the: (1) the right material, or a person who has it (2) the facts, the truth, i.e. “Make sure the cops don’t get the goods on you.” goof: (1) a stupid or bumbling person, (2) a boyfriend, flapper. goofy: in love grummy: depressed grungy: envious

handcuff: engagement ring hard-boiled: tough, as in, a tough guy, ie: “he sure is hard-boiled!” hayburner: (1) a gas guzzling car (2) a horse one loses money on heavy sugar (1929): a lot of money heebie-jeebies (1926): “the shakes,” named after a hit song. heeler: a poor dancer high hat: a snob. hip to the jive: cool, trendy hit on all sixes: to perform 100 per cent; as “hitting on all six cylinders”; perhaps a more common variation in these days of four cylinder engines was “hit on all fours”. See “big six”. hood (late 20s): hoodlum hooey: nonsense. Very popular from 1925 to 1930, used somewhat thereafter. hop: a teen party or dance Hot dawg!: Great!; also: “Hot socks!" Rarely spelled as shown outside of flapper circles until popularized by 1940s comic strips. hot sketch: a card or cut-up

"I have to go see a man about a dog.”: “I’ve got to leave now,” often meaning to go buy whiskey. icy mitt: rejection insured: engaged iron (1925): a motorcycle, among motorcycle enthusiasts iron one’s shoelaces: to go to the restroom ish kabibble (1925): a retort meaning “I should care." Was the name of a musician in the Kay Kayser Orchestra of the 1930s.

jack: money Jake: great, ie. "Everything’s Jake.” Jalopy: a dumpy old car Jane: any female java: coffee jeepers creepers: a term of exclamation jitney: a car employed as a private bus. Fare was usually five-cents; also called a “nickel.” joe: coffee Joe Brooks: a perfectly dressed person; student. john: a toilet joint: establishment juice joint: a speakeasy

kale: money keen: appealing killjoy: a solemn person knock up: to make pregnant know one’s onions: to know one’s business or what one is talking about

lay off: cut the crap left holding the bag: (1) to be cheated out of one’s fair share (2) to be blamed for something let George do it: a work evading phrase level with me: be honest limey: a British soldier or citizen, from World War I line: a false story, as in “to feed one a line.” live wire: a lively person lollapalooza (1930): a humdinger lollygagger: (1) a young man who enjoys making out (2) an idle person

manacle: wedding ring mazuma: money milquetoast (1924): a very timid person; from the comic book character Casper mind your potatoes: mind your own business. mooch: to leave moonshine: homemade whiskey mop: a handkerchief munitions: face powder

neck: to kiss passionately necker: a girl who wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. nifty: great, excellent noodle juice: tea Not so good!: I personally disapprove. “Now you’re on the trolley!”: Now you’ve got it, now you’re right.

off one’s nuts: crazy Oh yeah!: I doubt it! old boy: a male term of address, used in conversation with other males. Denoted acceptance in a social environment. Also “old man” “old fruit.” “How’s everything old boy?” Oliver Twist: a skilled dancer on a toot: a drinking binge on the lam: fleeing from police on the level: legitimate, honest on the up and up: on the level orchid: an expensive item ossified: drunk owl: a person who’s out late

palooka: (1) a below-average or average boxer (2) a social outsider, from the comic strip character Joe Palooka, who came from humble ethnic roots panic: to produce a big reaction from one’s audience percolate: (1) to boil over (2) As of 1925, to run smoothly; “perk” pet: necking, only more; making out petting pantry: movie theater piffle: baloney piker: (1) a cheapskate (2) a coward pill: (1) a teacher (2) an unlikable person pinch: to arrest. Pinched: to be arrested. pinko: liberal pipe down: stop talking prom-trotter: a student who attends all school social functions pos-i-lute-ly: affirmative, also “pos-i-tive-ly” punch the bag: small talk putting on the ritz: after the Ritz Hotel in Paris (and its namesake Caesar Ritz); doing something in high style. Also “ritzy.”

rag-a-muffin: a dirty or disheveled individual rain pitchforks: a downpour razz: to make fun of Real McCoy: a genuine item regular: normal, typical, average; “Regular fella.” Reuben: an unsophisticated country bumpkin. Also “rube” Rhatz!: How disappointing! rub: a student dance party rubes: money or dollars rummy: a drunken bum

sap: a fool, an idiot. Very common term in the 20s. says you: a reaction of disbelief scratch: money screaming meemies: the shakes screw: get lost, get out, etc. Occasionally, in pre 1930 talkies (such as The Broadway Melody) screw is used to tell a character to leave. One film features the line “Go on, go on – screw!" screwy: crazy; "You’re screwy!” sheba: one’s girlfriend sheik: one’s boyfriend simolean: a dollar sinker: a doughnut sitting pretty: in a prime position skirt: an attractive female smarty: a cute flapper smudger: a close dancer sockdollager: an action having a great impact so’s your old man: a reply of irritation speakeasy: a bar selling illeagal liquor spill: to talk spoon: to neck, or at least talk of love static: (1) empty talk (2) conflicting opinion stilts: legs struggle: modern dance stuck on: in love, student. sugar daddy: older boyfriend who showers girlfriend with gifts swanky: (1) good (2) elegant swell: (1) good (2) a high class person

take someone for a ride: to take someone to a deserted location and murder them. tasty: appealing teenager: not a common term until 1930; before then, the term was “young adults.” tell it to Sweeney: tell it to someone who’ll believe it. tight: attractive Tin Pan Alley: the music industry in New York, located between 48th and 52nd Streets tomato: a “ripe” female torpedo: a hired thug or hitman

unreal: special upchuck: to vomit upstage: snobby

vamp: (1) a seducer of men, an aggressive flirt (2) to seduce voot: money

water-proof: a face that doesn’t require make-up wet blanket: see Killjoy wife: dorm roomate, student. What’s eating you?: What’s wrong? whoopee: wild fun Woof! Woof!: ridicule

You slay me!: That’s funny!

zozzled: drunk

have fun.

#it's the 20s slang list #thanks dude #submission

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