#Do you want your brain to shrivel like a raisin?

[questionableadvice]

~ Advice to a Mother on the Management of Her Children and on the Treatment on the Moment of Some of Their More Pressing Illnesses and Accidents; Pye Henry Chavasse, 1878

Well, there go my plans for the weekend.

[love-of-the-red-star]

That time I got reincarnated as an Aeon

Chapter One: Fuck it we ball!!

(Series)

Obligatory chapter warning: Violence (there’s a gunfight), description of blood, reader being a liiiitle dubious.

Maybe you shouldn’t have wondered how the crew even knew.

You had asked in the “acktually☝️” type of way— in layman’s terms, rather awkwardly.

Who could blame you? You were stuck in space with no human interaction for god knows how long with only your fellow eldritch horror looking gods that occasionally passed by for company.

Your brain may be incredibly big and fast now, but it didn’t mean you weren’t any less awkward. (Though you’re pretty sure you speak better than most of the Aeons— however, that’s just your opinion.)

“We could feel your energy.” That’s what Himeko said. “Well— our system did.”

“Okay?” You blinked, but then went cold when you realized having your energy levels out as Himeko told you meant that you were basically walking out with your fly open.

“The influx of energy isn’t allowing us to jump.” She added, and you understood now, it was like coming across a stellaron infested planet, except it’s worse because it’s God— one of them anyways, and not just some random piece of space cancer.

“Sorry.” You blurted out, then had an idea, wondering if that one bit in the show you watched in your world would help. “Can I get out of the train and excuse me for a bit? I’ll be right back, I’ll just uhhh… suck the energy in, if you know what I mean.” You pointed to the open door, and the stop that thankfully no one is occupying.

“Go ahead.” Himeko nodded, and you made your way out.

You took a deep breath and exhaled, then looked side to side to see if anyone is going to see what you’re pretty sure is going to be an embarrassing looking spectacle. Seeing as the coast was clear, you took a deep breath again and scrunched your face in concentration, adapting a kamekameha pose like Veldora had.

You then grasped at your energy that you now saw around you and crumpled it, until it became smaller and smaller to just enough to thankfully pass like a normal Joe.

A Joe that can fight, but a normal Joe regardless.

What you did was just basically return some of the energy you’ve poured into this projection back to your main body, not exactly holding it in. You’ve managed to succeed, thankfully without having to accidentally explode a planet.

You weren’t Nanook, and you weren’t going to plan becoming a 2.0 very soon. And now that you thought about it, you’re pretty sure they hate you— but when do they not hate anything enough to not destroy it?

Brushing your thoughts away, you returned to the parlor car, and Himeko blinked in surprise. “That was quick.” She told you.

“I know.” You said. “It was surprisingly easy.”

If she had seen what the hell you just did outside, she wasn’t going to say anything about it.

(You’re pretty sure she saw that, much to you wanting to shrivel on the inside like a raisin.)

“So uhh… anything else?”

Himself shook her head, then the parlor car door closed.

It was only the start of your journey.

————————

Seeing the stars through the window of the express had been a surreal experience. It’s strange, to be inside of a room— you almost forgot how it felt like to step on the ground or not smelling the radioactive scent of space. The parlor car smelled nice, nostalgic almost.

It was funny that you only took notice of that now when you were left to your thoughts in your projected body.

“I can’t believe I’m missing the smell of air freshener of all things.” You mumbled as you watched Pompom sweep the floors of the parlor.

Welt and Himeko were talking about something behind closed doors— probably about you. Honestly you can’t fault them for that, because even though you’d like to deny it, you were in fact a big deal.

A very big deal. An elephant, an obnoxious colored elephant, in the room.

You just hoped they’d come to a conclusion to give you time just enough to prove you mean well. And you really do mean well.

In the next 168 hours (god, that was such a weird way to call an entire week), you were assigned a room of your own.

In the game, you recalled there were only four rooms, but in this one, in reality, there were more. It would make sense, you thought as you observed your own room that’s still rather barren of decoration.

You could just think of what to place into it later.

Another 168 hours go by and you’re entertained by either the little music player in the parlor, or helping Pompom. You spoke to Himeko and Welt from time to time, but it felt Ike you were a bit… out of place. Now that you thought about it you realized they were far more mature than you were, and it wouldn’t be lie either.

While it was nice to have something close to a parental figure, you knew they couldn’t entertain whatever it was that you craved. You realized you’re surprisingly a bit more childish than you thought, especially for a cosmic entity.

You were starting to feel a little antsy though, and decided you’d go back to your main body for a while to fuck around— yeah, you should do that, you thought as you nodded to yourself.

You stood from your bed and made your way out of your room to find either Himeko or Welt so you could tell them you’d be leaving for a while.

Pompom seemed to pout a little at the thought of your absence when you spoke to them about it, but their emotions were quelled when you had mentioned promising them trinkets.

You bid the three farewell, and your body eventually dissipated.

———————

“What the fork are you looking at me for, darlin’?”

Oh wow. You thought as you blinked. “Nothing, I just thought you look rather… interesting, that’s all.” You said. You meant to say handsome, but you didn’t want to be creepy to the cyborg as much as you loved him. It was a little embarrassing to admit now, considering that he was just as real as you were, that you were probably his biggest fan.

“What brings someone like you in a place like this? You don’t fudging look like you’d be into the shady business, unless…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, taking a swing of the strong smelling shot of whiskey handed over to him by the bartender.

How did you even end up here? Simple, you got bored in the parlor car.

You left the express, went to your body, chose a random planet and saw Boothill and decided to make an appearance because why not? It wasn’t exactly everyday you would get to interact with a cool cowboy (probably the coolest space cowboy), so you made the spontaneous decision to simply appear as you were in this little.. town and entered the tavern.

“I got bored.” You said, swirling the drink on your hand that would undoubtedly send you to a hospital for alcohol poisoning had you been an actual human. You took an entire gulp and made a face afterwards. Boothill laughed.

“How do you even enjoy this? It tastes like battery acid and fire.” You grimaced, but you took more sips of the drink despite your own comment. “Anyways, I was bored, and I saw this place and thought: hmmm why not? It feels weirdly liberating in a way.” You confessed.

“Not that much of a stickler for rules despite being dressed like a goody two shoes huh? That’s fudging funny.” The glass clinked, and Boothill’s attention still remained on you funnily enough.

“I’m not nice.” You frowned. “I just dress like this because it’s nice to pretend to be a pretentious bastard sometimes. Plus, it’s cute.” You bristle, and he only smiled at you.

You found that Boothill’s surprisingly way too easy to speak to.

“Sure, sure.” He waved a hand. He doesn’t believe you, and in the far corners of your mind you heard Aha’s laughter. Great, you inwardly groaned, but at least it was just Aha. Then you realized they might just fuck around with you AND have people know you’re an Aeon so they could look at you— maybe not today, but at some point in time.

You felt your lips thin at the thought.

Your attention snapped back to Boothill when you saw him glance at a few people, probably lackeys, in a way that you could describe as nasty. Then you suddenly remembered the posters outside in passing.

“Hey darlin, you might wanna hide your pretty face under the table right now. There’s about to be fork load of bullets, don’t want any one of them grazing your face.” Boothill muttered over to you. And you realizing what was happening and what he was going to do, you played along, slowly sliding under the table as he took out a gun. “‘Bout time these motherfudgers showed up.”

It didn’t take two seconds and hell broke loose.

You felt bad for the bartender.

Patrons screamed and some women ran out as you heard gunshots, and suddenly you felt the urge to poke your head out of the table to see the action. It wasn’t like you’d die if a bullet hit you, it would be embarrassing for an Aeon to die by a mere bullet.

You whistled, then gaped as you witnessed this absolute unit of a man literally moonwalk his way out of the bullets. You felt like a little kid watching an action movie, except you had front seats, and this was very much reality.

“Behind you!” You warned Boothill, and he made a show of shooting the lackey (that you now recognized was an IPC grunt) in a way that got you clapping with joy. “Beat their ass mister! Fuck ‘em up!” You cheered, and one of the grunts tried coming for you instead. You weren’t a coward though, and instead grabbed a chair and threw it as hard as you could.

You heard a grunt and a really ugly crack that you know that definitely wasn’t the wooden chair. “Eugh.” You cringed, feeling a little bad about co-signing the man’s obituary but coming for you with a weapon in hand was just natural selection waiting to happen.

Now that you were out of the bag, you grabbed another heavy chair and decided you’d give Boothill an easier time by helping. “I don’t know what’s going on, but damn I feel bad for the owner of the establishment.” You said loudly through the sound of gunshots, Boothill laughed again as another man had been shot down.

“Yap later darlin! You should worry about the side of your fudging head first!” Just as he said that, you threw the chair at one of the final three lackeys. And like the other one who you took out, this one too went out to board his one way ticket to god.

The establishment had gone completely quiet aside from your breathing and the sound of Boothill’s engine quietly whirring.

“Is it over?” You asked, hopeful.

“Yep.” The cyborg drawled.

You released a sympathetic “oof” at the state of the tavern though. “This place is a wreck.” You said flatly.

“Don’t worry too much about that, they’ll take care of it.”

“Okay….” You exhaled. “Wow.. that was.. a lot.” You eyed the bodies, frowning as you prayed your default appearance won’t end up in a wanted poster. Scratch that, it probably would.

“Didn’t know you’re darn crazy like that though.” Boothill spoke, patting off the nonexistent dust off of his pistol.

“Yeah sorry.” You muttered, then clearing your throat. “I felt bad for them but I realized they’re capitalists for a certain corporate office. They can go die in a ditch.” You shrugged, you don’t grieve this time, maybe you would at some point in the future when you’re wiser.

“Also, it wouldn’t hurt to help a friend out I think.” You said, though you’re uncertain as to how Boothill would react to such a sentence.

“Oh fudge me sideways, care to shake my hand? The name’s Boothill.” He grinned, teeth sharp like a shark’s as he held out his metal hand for you to grasp.

Oh I know very well who you are, you thought, not that he would ever know that. You grasp his hand and introduced yourself, happy that he actually likes you.

You eventually had to part ways with him for the day, having each other as contacts through the phone (Welt was kind enough to give you one of your own) so you could keep in touch.

You ended up spending the remainder of your time in that little town looking around for souvenirs to pocket just for Pompom. Now where did you get your money? It’s a little mean, but you looted them off of the IPC bodies.

It’s blood money, but it’s money regardless. And if the people who initially owned it were rich and dead? Then you don’t have to feel bad about pocketing it, you were free to do as you wanted.

Getting back to the parlor car was easy, making your presence known to the beloved little conductor who very much anticipated your presents.

“[Name], where’d you get the money to buy all this?” Welt asked as he inspected the personalized mug you gave him. (It was a neat wooden mug with his name carved on it, Himeko had one of her own too.)

You merely smiled innocently.

Welt sighed, he shouldn’t have asked.

———————-

Part I, Part II (HERE), Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII….

AAAND THATS A WRAP UP FOR THE CHAPTER FOLKS! And yes, reader is a litttle unhinged (curse being a cosmic entity, they’re a little dubious as a treat). And YES they’re a big Boothill fan (like me), like come on who doesn’t wanna hang around a cool space cowboy who has a censored vocabulary of a COD lobby?

[pinkgic]

playing now 💿 — juno by sabrina carpenter

warnings: smut (mdni), p in v, oral (f!receiving), fingering, handcuffs, breeding kink, dirty talk, no use of yn, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart), unprotected sex.

pairing: stanford!sam x fem!reader

　　　⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀💌⠀ ⠀⠀

stanford was good—great. you were such an a-grade student, sweet and kind to everyone. you were popular, but not in the stereotypical, intimidating, "i'm-better-than-you" kind of way.

everyone genuinely admired and liked you.

the guys definitely tried to win you over, but you only had one person in mind: sam winchester. that guy had you sighing like a schoolgirl, batting your lashes whenever your eyes met his. god, it was so adorable how he got all nervous and clumsy around you.

three months of playing cat and mouse later, you were now wearing his hoodies—ones you had to roll up so they wouldn't completely cover your hands—and cuddling up in bed next to your—how you called him—giant puppy-faced teddy bear.

he was everything you wanted in this world, leaving little notes in his locker every morning so that when he opened it while you chatted with your friends, you could watch his dimples deepen and his cheeks flush pink.

you couldn’t spend much time away from him; it felt like your heart would shrivel up like a raisin if you did. your body craved him, and he was more than happy to fulfill your every desire. thank the fairy godmother who sent you the whole package.

today's little note, written in cursive with a glitter gel pen, read: “Sammy, I’ll wait for you tonight in my dorm. I have a surprise for you! Love ya. XOXO.”

and you saw how he blushed and smiled, folding the note and slipping it into his jacket pocket. he couldn’t even wait for tonight. you always got him going just at the thought of you.

“Bab—,” His words got stuck in his throat when he stepped into your room, stopping dead in his tracks, his body wobbling a bit from the shock. “Wow.”

His eyebrows shot up, eyes wide as he took in the view of you propping your back in your elbows. A sheer silk nightgown clung to your figure, with fuzzy pink handcuffs lying beside you. And those eyes you made when you tried to seduce him? Now it was just for fun because you had already won him over long ago.

“Baby, oh, just—” Don’t blame him for being speechless and unable to think straight. When you have someone as stunning as you in your bed, how could he not be affected?

“C'mere, Sammy,” your seductive voice and a beckoning finger commanded him to step further into the room, closer to you, to the scent that drove him wild every time. You were a dream—a fantasy that some kind enough entity (if there was one) had gifted to flustered Sammy's heart, in the flesh.

“Do you wanna kill me or something?” His knees sank into the mattress, making it dip under his weight. His eyes couldn’t decide where to focus on your body; you were simply the living portrait of a goddess.

“Just wanna spoil you a li'l bit,” you giggled, your teeth catching your lower lip. “Is that bad?” You fucking tease.

“No, no, it—it’s not bad at all, baby, I just—” He wanted to say so many things at once that they all tangled up in his mind, leaving him unable to choose any one of them.

“Just go with the flow, Sammy,” Yeah, yeah, Sam, just get it together, man. He nodded several times, sighing as he tried to shake off his nerves before leaning forward to kiss your shin, slowly making his way up to your knee, adjusting his lower legs on the mattress and placing his hands on your calves, pulling them up to your chest to get a peek at your underwear.

Oh.

His breath caught again, his brain short-circuiting as his eyes landed on your skin, completely uncovered, your bare lips on full display. God, if he was already hard when he walked through that door, now he was aching with how much blood had rushed to his dick.

“Baby,” he said, looking at you as if he were begging for mercy, while your smirk only widened. You were enjoying the show, one hundred percent. Poor thing! You never let him have a moment of peace.

“You like it?” you purred, tilting your head to the side on the pillow, your eyes locked on his expressions.

“Like it? You're making me drool right here.” He shook his head, grabbing the thin fabric of your gown and bunching it up. He had never felt this way in his whole fucking life. It was like his stomach was tightening combining with the fluttering of his heart, and his mind was drifting to forbidden places he clearly couldn’t go.

But having you like this, so precious and sweet just for his eyes? It was making him wanna run to the nearest jewelry store in the city and buy you the prettiest ring to put on your finger, and fuck you until you were full of his load over and over again. Marking you as what you were—his.

“Can I?” Sam snapped out of his thoughts as he kissed his way from your inner thighs, your sighs mingling with the way your fingers tangled in his brown hair, finally reaching your outer lips, his breath hitting your labia.

“Don’t ask, Sammy,” you said in a breathy voice, tilting your head up from the pillow to watch the exact moment his tongue traced a path against your folds, making them part as you threw your head back again, this time arching your back. “Yeah—yeah, like that.”

He groaned in response, his arms wrapping around each of your legs, spreading them wider as his tongue danced from left to right and up and down on your clit.

The taste of your juices against his tongue as he lapped at your folds and the moans escaping your lungs, filling the room, were too much for him.

“Feels so good,” you moaned, the arch of your back getting more pronounced, your hair getting messy from the way you squirmed against the pillow. He had to dig his fingers into your skin to resist the urge to palm himself through his pants because it would never get old, the way he got so hard just from eating you out.

It got messy as he grew more desperate to make you cum on his tongue, the sound of slurping filling the room as he practically made out with your soaked lips. One of his hands traced up, groping one of your boobs as he pushed the fabric of your gown down, making your brows knit together in pleasure, your nails scraping the sheets and his hair.

His nose bumped against your bundle of nerves as he took in your scent before pressing open-mouthed kisses to your lower stomach, replacing his tongue with his thumb, jiggling it so nicely that it was already sending you to heaven, making you see stars.

It couldn’t get any better—until two of his long fingers pressed against your entrance, pushing inside, your thighs trapping his hand as he moved his fingers in and out.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart,” You love when he looks at you like this, still so sweet and enamored but with a hint of pride in his chest, knowing he’s the one making you feel this way. And he hits deeper, his fingers curling to reach the sweet spot that makes you bite your lip. “So pretty for me, yeah?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, yeah, God…”

“Yes, baby, I feel you.” Of course, he does. He always knows. Because he’s felt countless times how your legs start to shake slightly, and your moans turn into pleas when your pussy clenches around his fingers and your juices coat them. Wet and soft. For him and because of him.

And he can’t think anymore. He needs to be inside you. But he also needs you to cum first before he fucks you. He needs his girl all needy and dumb for him.

So he grabs the hem of your nightgown and pulls it down, freeing both of your breasts and attaching his mouth to left one. Circling your nipple with his tongue and grazing it with his teeth. “Mmph, Sam, I—get me there, please.”

The pace of his fingers increased, going fast and hard, his thumb circling your clit, and the room was filled with the sound of your juices hitting his fingers.

“C'mon, baby,” Sam's voice hit against your breast as your fingers tightened in his hair. He grinded himself against your thigh, not wanting to seem pathetic for attention, but damn, he just couldn’t help it. “Give it t’ me, wanna fuck you s’ bad.”

And just like that, with those words, you came undone on his fingers, a loud moan escaping your lips, your legs trembling uncontrollably as your juices spilled all over Sam's hand.

He moaned at the same time as you, rushing down again to drink it all. “Oh, shit, Sam…”

“Taste it, baby, you taste just so right,” Sam said, guiding his ring and middle fingers to your mouth, making you clean them for him while his other hand fumbled to unbutton and unzip his pants with a stupidly urgent need, like if he wasn’t inside of you in the next few minutes, he’d die a torturous death.

He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, and you whined at the loss. It was such a calming presence, having his skin on your tongue, what you needed to come down from your orgasm. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched as he wiped some sweat from his forehead and threw off his pants and boxers all at once before positioning himself between your legs.

“Feel that, hm?” He pressed his lips against yours in a messy, sloppy kiss, grinding his dick against your pelvis. “You did that, baby. Got me so hard I can only think about filling up this pretty pussy of yours.” You loved how filthy he got when he was so turned on that every trace of his usual shyness just vanished.

You nod, unable to process what he’s saying, just loving the way he says it, his voice dropping a little darker, a little lower.

So, you grab the hem of your robe and toss it aside, just to give him the pleasure of seeing you naked. He deserves it—after all, he’s not like the jerks you’ve had before. He knows how to treat you, how to put your needs first.

And just like that, he’s crashing his lips against yours again. Roughly, but with a tenderness hidden in the way he brushes some strands of hair out of your face. Because he loves you, and you make each other so fucking horny.

You reach for the handcuffs lying beside you, breaking the kiss for a moment to hand them to Sam with a grin. “Wanna try ‘em?”

He hesitates for a second. You’ve never added anything like toys into the mix before, but it’s tempting. He nods nervously, taking them from your hands, unlocking one, and watching your excitement grow.

He chuckles, shaking his head as he gently grabs your wrist, wrapping it in the handcuff and locking it to the bedpost before doing the same with your other wrist. “You like this, huh? Kinky girl. ’m gonna make you feel so good.”

He taps your clit with his tip before wrapping his hand around his cock, giving it a few strokes. And you can’t take your eyes off it. He’s so… ugh. You’d put his cock in a frame just to kiss it every damn night.

“Someone’s staring,” Sam chuckles, noticing how you press your thighs together, already so needy. He dips the head into the wetness from your earlier orgasm. “You’re so ready for me.”

His big hand cups your cheek, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder as he finally slides inside you, making you both moan low. He’s in full control now, with you unable to move a damn finger.

He’s big. The kind of big that stretches you so good you forget everything—except his name. “Ah, hmm, Sammy.”

“There, doll,” he hums, pressing deeper, stretching you wider. His thumb flicks your clit, making it easier for him to fit. “So warm, aren’t you? Fuck, you hug me so good.”

Poor Sammy. The way his words come out all tangled is your fault, for having such a tight, needy pussy for him. He bottoms out, squeezing the cheek in his hand as you close your eyes, your hips lifting to adjust him deeper.

“Shit… Oh, Sam,” His thrusts are slow, deep. In and out. Feeling you clench around every one of his inches like the good girl you are. It turns almost animalistic. It’s instinct and connection. You’re both soft-spoken and well-mannered around others, but in this position, the words flow effortlessly.

He grips your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he shifts his angle to hit deeper and faster.

“Nggh, so—” thrust “—fucking” thrust “—tight, baby,” he groans in your ear, and you struggle against the handcuffs, desperate to touch the muscles on his back. The ones you love to dig your nails into and leave red marks.

So you clench your fists and throw your head back against the pillow, lips parted, moans pouring out from the center of your lungs and the heat building in your gut.

Sam wants to see the fire in your eyes, the spark that ignites with the feeling of his cock speeding up and his balls slapping against your skin in a messy, sloppy rhythm.

His palm cups your nape, tilting your head up so your eyes stay fixed on where his cock disappears inside you. “See that, baby? See how good I’m making you feel? This pussy's all mine.”

“Yes, yes, so good… Yours—”

“Mhm, I’m gonna cum in this pussy, nice and deep,” he groans, his hips stuttering. The bed rocks against the wall harder, and you’re sure you’ll get some complaints tomorrow. But it doesn’t matter—it just feels too good.

“Fuuuck. Oh—you're gonna milk my cock, take it all, yeah?” He says, pulling his hand off your nape, your head dropping back to the pillow as you feel the warmth of his fingers wrapping around your throat.

“Yes, Sammy. Give it to me, wanna have your babies!” Your heels dig into his round ass, the deeper, the better. Both of your breaths coming in shallow, unsteady gasps.

“Fuck, yeah. Just cum for me, and I'll knock you up. Gonna look so pretty, make you a mommy.”

One more slam of his hips against yours, and you’re cumming again around him, squeezing him like you really want him to make you a mommy. Like you’d live forever for and with him. And that’s the whole point.

Sam feels your legs tremble, your pussy clenching tight around his throbbing cock. “Mm— ah,” His cock twitches inside you as he presses his whole body against yours, hiding his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead in your soft neck. He’s cumming, sliding out of you slowly, and just as you’re about to complain, he thrusts back in with more force, filling you with white spurts of cum. “I love you.”

He might make you Juno.

[cerseiwexler]

For whoever youre feeling atm: 🍎 🍒 🍅 🥭

doing mae and zeet again, i’m feeling my bcs verse today!

🍎 [RED APPLE] Who does your OC value above all else?

mae values self-expression. she’d be nowhere without her art — acting and dancing and costume design. i mean that literally as it’s how she makes her money as well was figuratively as her soul would be shriveled up like a raisin without her creativity. zeet values security — financial and physical especially. they walk on the wild side but they’re careful with their $$ (not that they don’t spend plenty, but they always make sure there’s more just in case they need it for something someday) and always strapped when going into a dangerous situation lol preparation is key!!!

🍒 [CHERRY] Who is your OC's perfect companion?

mae is an artsy, less academic type but she likes big brains lol. they have to be a little shady (the hozier lyric “i’d be appalled if i saw you ever tried to be a saint, i couldn’t fall for someone i thought couldn’t misbehave” comes to mind) and support her endeavors. zeet values loyalty a lot. they like people who can keep up with them, which is not everybody lmao. and they have to have wit and humor (even if it’s more dry or sarcastic), they don’t tend to get along with folks who keep it serious all the time.

🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL.

mae tends to wear her motivation on her sleeve, so she’s less misunderstood than your average person most of the time. she’s very clear that she wants money and to create and glamour and to support her partners, those are her priorities. zeet sort of has two lives between home and work, in one environment they’re actually pretty fun to be around (if high on coke half the time) and friendly and in the other they’re in severe guard dog mode and can and will kill a man. so people who know them in one or the other don’t really see the side of them that isn’t apparent.

🥭 [MANGO] What colours best represent them and why? Does this differ from their favourites?

mae is best represented by cherry red, which is one of her favorites along with various shades of pink. zeet is best represented by like, bright coral, which is pretty close to their favorite of cactus-blossom pink.

[xxj0kerxx]

he was certain he wasn't going to last any longer. he could feel it in his bones, getting weaker and deteriorating. his body can only take so much, but he was not weak. he would not shed another tear at the thought of him being a weakling. this fight has purpose, it wasn't meaningless to him. kenpachi wanted to prove he was stronger, he wanted to so desperately prove that he could win. he wanted to test how far his mind could take, how far his suppressed strengths could take him, how far his body could endure. the explosions all around him could be felt, direct contact on his skin as more welts and tears appeared on his skin as he was pushed into space and sealed away. this was like another trap the kid created for him because he was too weak to face him head on. it angered him how much the kid chose to not fight up face-to-face. but his eyes widened to see nothing but darkness, the battlefield was gone, sereitei was gone, and he was left nothing but stars in the distance of space.

blood filling the whites of his eyes as the surface of his eye dried up in an instant. the first breath he took in, he didn't feel anything. he was suffocating. his lungs were collapsing on themselves, shriveling from the pressure. like a raisin. his skin tightening as if it was being crinkled together. something was boiling inside of him. he had to get out of here. he won't last long from the heat of the sun and the freezing temperatures of space— in an instant, blood spewed and smoke escaped between his lips. all the blood was getting into his eyes and brain. he swung as hard as he could around him, mindlessly like a beast that lacked any senses with a looming threat around him, as if that would help his cause to stop the pain that he was taking. it hurt too much. but his axe swung and tore through space, he could see the tear.

a crack started to form out of thin air, the same spot that it was sealed. like cutting through a seam. the crack formed more and more before darkness could peer through and soon, a piece of the sky broke and got sucked into space. kenpachi could see light. there was no more hope, no more thoughts in his mind, but instinct as he plunged the axe through the hole, tearing more until he could fit his hand through to grab onto the sky, pulling himself closer till light shined enough where the monstrosity could faintly be seen. the kid created a monster, a force of nature. was he truly a man, if he could do such feats? enough light where the bloody eye could be seen till the sky cracked more and a large piece was completely broken. enough to fit a monster his size. as he stepped out.

he looked hellish. all he could see was red. truly, red. there was so much blood in the whites of his eye, but the eye patch remained on his right eye. the eye patch couldn't seal the pressure of space properly as blood ran down the right of his face, seeping through the eye patch. no matter his condition, he was alive, but how alive and conscious was he? kenpachi looked at no one, but the kid. a nasty grin appearing on his face. madness in his eye. he couldn't be happier to see the kid. he couldn't be happier to see the battlefield. he couldn't be happier to breath in fresh air, but he didn't have time to breath. kenpachi had to kill.

racing to murder the kid as a feral scream can be heard, one unlike any that he heard before. kenpachi was becoming more beast than man as he finally placed his second hand onto the handle of the axe and hacked through the kid. the shock apparent on his eyes at how easy he cut through, smooth even as the gigantic axe split the boy in two. did he truly have time to be shocked? no. "DID YOU FORGET TO HARDEN YOUR BODY?!?" he screamed with all his might. no matter how strained his voice was, no matter how much it hurt to move and talk. he wanted to inflict all the pain he felt onto the kid.

kenpachi won't let the kid think. could he even have time to react to all of the attacks? grabbing the top torso that he cut of the kid before it got too far and slamming it under him. an onslaught of violent swings as he mercilessly hacked and hacked into the kid.

"DIE, DIE, DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

he was pushing his body to the limit, blood spewed out of his mouth with each string, exerting too much strength with each fatal blow. pure madness. "ARE YOU IMAGINING ME AS A MONSTER IN YOUR MIND NOW?! SWINGING AT SOMETHING HAS NEVER BEEN FUN TILL NOW!!! THANK YOU!" plugeoning the sharp edge like he was turning the child into red paste. each slam enough to rumble the entire platform and shake the battlefield.

each swing never felt so good. too good. never had he ever had the lustful urges to tear something apart till now, he forgot just how fun it was to cut through a worthy opponent. how fun to destroy something he utterly despised.

—-- he did try and warn him.

He was doomed from the moment they had crossed paths, there was no possible way for Kenpachi to be able to overcome someone like him and hope, to have hope.

What a foolish thing indeed.

The result was always as he wanted for it, can Kenpachi not see, for all his power, he could not fight against someone own mind and his mind was what controlled every single thing around them, how did Kenpachi not know, if he was real or not, if all of this was nothing more than his imagination running wild, that these are pages to win, with writing upon them and it was his own mind and his hand, crafting the story for himself, a world where he will always win no matter how many people like Kenpachi come to him.

And so many have challenged him and all have been defeated.

His golden eyes would watch with wonder, some problems solves themselves in the end and Kenpachi had been kind enough to deal with his clones for him, never a good thing, to make a clone and then have to remove it, you always run the odd little amusing thing that happens, they think they are real and you are the false one, they think they had created you and you had to be removed, it all got really complex, the same with the life forms he had created, they believe themselves to be so real and when he tells them otherwise.

They don’t like that, they don’t like that at all.

Still, his attention was above him, with one being taken out as his eyes would widen and then, no sooner had one been dealt with, had the second one been removed, he felt it as well, his clones had been destroyed, someway, somehow, Kenpachi had saved all the people here, for what reason anyway. There was still a war being fought they would stop for the time being but they would turn on one another and being to fight and kill, to do what has happened for a thousand years now, with one side killing the other, and on and on it goes, it was so boring, lacking in any creative spark, Kenpachi had seen that it continues then, who was the true monsters, could Kenpachi not see, that this would have been nothing other than a truly good thing, to remove all here once and for all and ensure that there was only himself remaining and he could make a better world from the ashes and yet.

Kenpachi had denied him even that simple joyful thing.

“I have to admit, Kenpachi .. I did not think this would happen.”

His eyes glanced to the side, once more .. Kenpachi has managed to overcome his mind and his powers and while the results where not in the best interest for Kenpachi, he was battered, he was bruised, he was burnt, he was bleeding, how he was still alive, he could not imagine how someone could still keep going after everything they have been through none of it made any sense to him at all.

“I have no idea, how you managed to do that.”

As he shifted and turned, to look at him, he was taken back, he has thrown everything at him and it was still not enough to overcome him as he stepped forward and then he was gone, he had the opening, he had the chance, as Kenpachi was he was on deaths door, how he was able to stand, speak or do anything at all, he could not process the thoughts, but it did not matter as he reached him and quickly clones appeared, latching onto him, one on each leg, one on each arm, and then one jumping onto his back as the real body kicked up and sent Kenpachi into the air, as the clone would hum, there chests opening, he imagined if there was nothing within the world right now that could defeat Kenpachi.

He would imagine something from the future then.

Taking from it as the bombs would explode, as he would quickly swipe his hand through the air, cutting open a fabric in time and space, the blasting of the bombs swatting Kenpachi backwards and through the opening, knocking him into space itself, as no sooner had Kenpachi been through it, did the rift close sealing him in there, space .. where no one can hear you scream.

“Die well, Kenpachi.”

As he moved his hand to the side of his head and held it there, his mind felt strained, he was pushing himself too hard, far to hard to try and defeat Kenpachi once and for all, this was it, no one, no one can last through that, he has removed him from the platform, from here, places him in a situation where not living, breathing creature could hope to survive.

It was over.

[englishknightsky]

Clyde: Check it, man. Bebe's totally undressing me with her eyes!

Token: I doubt it, she isn't laughing.

Tweek: Sweetie, have you seen the pig's bowl?

Craig: I didn't know he could.

Kyle: The outdoor grill probably gives the house a nice bump in value.

Kenny: I can fit six hotdogs up my ass.

Tricia: I like your dress.

Karen: Thanks, my mommy stole it from Target!

Laura: Tricia cried because she didn't get any Valentines cards at school so Craig wrote her one and left it unsigned, and now she's crying because she thinks she has a stalker.

Clyde: -and finally, there's the atomic wedgie.

Bebe: Ugh, boys are so sick.

Clyde: Well what do girls do?

Bebe: We just tease someone 'til they develop an eating disorder.

Stan: One time Kenny walked into my room, started sniffing the air, said 'oh, I smell a quarter', and then walked over to a pile of clothes, lifted it up and picked up a quarter. I can't stop thinking about it and it's been years.

Tweek: Hi welcome to fuckin' Tweak Bros.

Linda S: Well that's a little rude.

Tweek: Well that's a little rude- I don't give a fuck, lady! What do you want?!

Kevin: Are you ignoring me because I'm Korean?

Token: You're Chinese.

Kevin: Oh, like there's a difference?

Craig: Uh oh, you're making that face, what did your dad say this time?

Tweek: He said he invented the question mark, and then he accused chestnuts of being lazy!

Estella: I'd say it's nice to meet you, but I'd be lying, you miserable waste of Satan's sperm.

Damien: Oh I like you, if I was straight I'd kiss you.

Estella: And if I was straight I'd grab your testicles and twist them until they snapped like the top of a banana. You're lucky I don't want to even think about your disgusting, shriveled scrotum, you putrid little man.

Pip: I just knew you two would get along!

Kenny: I used to think my life was a tragedy, but now I realise it's a try not to cum challenge.

Craig: Tell me again how Clyde got banned from Raisins?

Token: He was really drunk, and when they brought the receipt over he refused to pay and ate it.

Craig: Are you suffering from some kind of brain problem?

Tweek: Nah, I really enjoy it, actually.

Stan: If we really wanna get back at Scott, we should take something he likes hostage.

Cartman: Okay I can do that.

...

Kyle: You stole his MOM?!

Cartman: Stan said to take something he likes hostage!

Stan: Some THING not some ONE!

[mcmoth]

BOIS

The aro c!Tommy propoganda is done.

Here:

Friends can be Home, too

Summary:

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

'Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

 He couldn't doubt anymore.

A journey of introspection, self doubt, and realizing you're not alone.

Or read on ao3!

Warnings: swearing, internalized arophobia, which includes self doubt, a bit of self hate, that sort of stuff. Also, this will have like, mentions of attraction and all that stuff, and Tommy gets pretty confused, so if you'd like to avoid that? This isn't the fic for you, ig. Btw, as a reminder, this is all set in the dsmp universe and is not about the irl people in any way.

Now onto the fic!

Welp.

Tommy sure is ready to stab someone right now.

Well, not really. More accurately he wanted to run, or shrivel up into a fucked up raisin, or snap, or just exist in darkness right now. Because there were his two best friends, cuddling on the couch. And he was sat there, next to them, supposed to be enjoying movie night.

It's not like he wasn't happy for them. They can do what they want, he reminded himself, again and again. They're just expressing their love, they're just close, and Tommy has to stop being such a fucking oddball about it. This wasn't weird. It wasn't weird.

And he could even see Ranboo giving him looks, probably about to ask something stupid. But if he made any comment, expressed discomfort, that would just be him being a dick and a weirdo. He's not going to ruin this for them. He just has to… to ignore it. To ignore it. He can do that. Yes.

“You alright, Tommy?”

Tommy's jaw snapped, he could feel his teeth grinding, and the couch was feeling all too small. So with a fast raise to his feet, he stumbled away, throwing a brash “fine" Ranboo's way, something burning deep in the pit that was his chest.

It was fine. It was fine. Why wasn't it fine? What the fuck was wrong with him??

Maybe he was just…

Jealous.

 

***

 

“I think I have a crush on Hannah.”

Tubbo and Ranboo stilled. The silence was… bad.

“oh?”

Tommy gulped, anxiously crinkling the chip bag he got from targay. “Y-yeah.”

Tubbo hummed. “I've never seen you interact with her much. When… did that start?”

Tommy's mind buzzed, and he resisted crushing the food in his hands, reclining heavily against the backrest of the bench. “I-I don't know, uh, recently? I guess? She's just… nice. She uh…. Has pretty hair? And she gave me a flower once! That was just, swe- uh, poggers of her, so. Yeah. I just think… yeah.”

Tubbo nodded, head tilting. “Do you think she likes you back?”

Tommy's eyes widened, and he didn't know why he laughed, but he did, and when he responded, he himself was taken aback by the hiss accompanying the words. “No!! She- why would- no- no, I mean… m-ma- I don't know??”

Ranboo swung his tail. “She better not. I mean, how old is she?”

“What does that matter?”

Ranboo stared. “You’re a child. Technically.”

Tommy bristled. “Fuck you, I am a big man! I'll kill you!”

The conversation moved on after that, and Tommy, somewhere along the way, quickly got lost. Head filled with cotton, electricity running through his veins, feeling horribly, oddly, humiliated and strangely… dissatisfied.

They didn't care. And he just felt more confused than ever.

…Why did he even do that?

 

***

 

Tommy was walking, grass up to his knees, a lead in hand. When he reached the village, he tied it to a fence, patting his borrowed horse before placing feet on the path, comforted by the gravel crunching beneath his feet, the feel of the sun on his neck. He looked around, at the wooden houses and half stacked stalls and idle chatter. He looked around and he thought.

He thought back to older days. This was… strangely nostalgic. Walking alone, in an unfamiliar town, the vastness of the world enveloping him in it's many potentials. He still wasn't sure when he felt better. Running around on the streets, just trying to survive, noone by his side, weak but naïve, hopeful. Or now, with some people to care for and trust, a place to return to, enough food in his pack, but shouldered with the weight of a dozen betrayals, life slipping past him three times too many. In a sense, he was still just trying to survive. Everything was so different now, yet the same.

He supposes, one thing that remained, was the sense of loneliness.

He grasped the front of his shirt, taking in the beating of his heart, looking at the strangers mingling amongst themselves. At the pairs, at the couples, at the families, sharing laughs and smiles, a contrast to the furrowed brows or tired amusement of shopkeepers and the idle folk visiting them.

He had always wanted a family.

…there was one way to get a family.

Someone to share laughs with. Someone who would comfort you. Someone who would take your hand, or hold you through the night, and never even leave. Someone who promises to stay.

It was a nice thought.

So why was it so hard to conceptualize? To imagine, to picture someone actually coherent, to look at a person and go – yes. I want to be your partner.

...eugh. just that sentence made his whole nervous system do a double take.

But why? Why? Was it the betrayals? Was it some fucked up self conscious mind shit? Was that it? Was he just fucked up in the head? Maybe.

Maybe.

But as it is, he knew he liked girls. He did. He liked them. They were… they were nice. Like Niki, who smelled of baked goods, and had a soft smile, and who had once given him a hug when she found him crying during the revolution, and who looked very nice in dresses. Or Puffy, who had made him a pickaxe when he asked for one, and who opposed Jack in stealing his hotel, and who offered him therapy, and she had really cool horn rings. Or Hannah, with her red flowers, and pretty builds, and the way the nature seemed just a bit more lively with her around, and her laugh was bright with mischievous intent that he could empathize with. They… they were nice. Yeah. Most girls were so nice.

So why… why hadn't he found one that he could. Actually picture doing… anything. In his head. No kissing, no dates, none of that… shmuck. It was just… he could see many girls his age running around, just now, in front of his eyes, many running through his mind as he searched his memories. None of them… no. And he tried thinking of boys, but that didn't… no. Not that either. …Enbies?

No… no, nothing… nothing felt. Good. None of it felt good, he just felt sick, he just felt weird, he didn't even feel dirty per se, but more like he was charting into foreign grounds, into something alien, and none of the thoughts he forced to visualize behind his eyelids, fleeting from how quickly he shut them out, felt like him. It didn't feel like him.

His fingers trembled, his chest felt tight, throat choked, and his head, on his shoulders, heavy and woozy and oh so muddled. He felt his heart race. Was… was that it? Maybe that was a sign. People said heart racing was a sign of attraction. Was there anyone in particular who did that? Maybe he was wrong – he was not lacking or messed up or broken, he just had buried the feelings so deep below his ribs, underneath fabricated doubts and trauma and the disconnect he had with reality and relationships in general, and once he got over those barriers, and just found someone, he would experience that joy that everyone spoke about. That closeness. He just had to… allow himself to get closer. To know more people, know them better.

That was… that was probably it.

But no matter. He raised his eyes, his senses coming back to him like the wind blowing his hair out of his eyes, blinking at the noise around him.

After all, he still came here for a reason.

 

***

 

“Yeah, I like these ones the best,” Tubbo said as he handed Tommy the various colored discs. Tommy nodded, smiling as he sorted through them, writing down the names in his notepad, feeling little stones dig into his elbows. Tubbo joined him fully on the ground, laying down next to him. “What do you need these for, anyways?” he blinked, and there was a smirk growing on his face. “Are they for… someone?”

Tommy furrowed his brows, staring at the other. “What?”

Tubbo chuckled nervously, waving his hand around as he stumbled over his words. “You- you know. Like a gift? Are you going to… to try to, get someone?”

Tommy’s stare just became sharper, becoming even more confused. “What??” What the fuck was he talking about?

“You know, like a- a date?” Tommy blanked. “Cause- you know, you've been talking about girls a lot lately, and I just thought-"

“No.” Tommy interrupted, feeling numb. “No, it's not for a fucking girl.”

“Oh.” Tubbo laid on the grass, clearly uncomfortable. He began to tear up the leaf he had picked up. “Sorry, I just thought- I'm not really good at this whole thing… sorry for assuming. W- …what is the reason, then?”

Tommy sighed, thankful for the topic change. “It's for… you know how I’m going to therapy?”

Tubbo hummed in affirmation.

“Puffy suggested that, since I like music, I should like, indulge in that, use it to calm myself or give myself something to do, that junk. So I’ve just been. Collecting, I guess.” He looked over the list again, then closed the notepad and sat up, discs in hand. “I wanna build a place where I just keep all the records, maybe I’ll even sell the ones I don't like. Good business practice, you know?”

Tubbo brightened. “Oh! That sounds really cool! If you need help with the building part, I can help you, by the way!”

Tommy looked at Tubbo's grin, so sweet and infectious, and his heart thawed, thinking of working with Tubbo again, building towards something together. It was a nice thought. “Alright.”

It would be nice to be with Tubbo again.

 

***

 

Tommy felt miserable.

This… this was miserable. He didn't know why. It really shouldn't be – it was just music. He was just sorting through all of his music, picking ones he liked, picking ones to comfort him, he loved music, it was fine, it just…

Why did so many of the songs have to be about love.

It made him feel angry and hurt and alone in a particular way that was so familiar and yet so utterly different. Because when he felt alone before, he fought with himself the same, he sunk into the thoughts of being unlovable or broken or undeserving of company, but at least he could understand it. At least he could look back now and think “Dream was a bitch" and that would be some solace. At least he could have hope that even if he was unlovable, he could still love. Love others. Try to seek others. Even if he never got that back.

But now, hearing all the poetics and sweet confessions that were in such abundance, something that sounded so passionate and revered, so integral, it was like looking into another reality he didn't, couldn't, understand, and suddenly, he felt more alien than ever before.

And most importantly, how fucking stupid that was, that the thing that made him feel that way was love.

Love. The thing that supposedly drove the world, that made everyone happy. He thought he knew love. But maybe… maybe not. Maybe there has been something deeply, intangibly wrong about him this whole time, and he hadn't even known. Not to this extent.

Cause he knew before. Knew it in the unease in his bones, and the panic in his brain, and the annoyed buzz in his chest. But… but he had doubted.

He couldn't doubt anymore.

God….

He laid on the ground, head to the cold floor, the record still spinning. The noise bounced off the dark wooden walls and into his skull, grating and aching. He covered his ears, messed up his hair, breathed in and out. In and out. What was wrong. What was wrong.

The record fell to silence. Then it started back again, as it automatically swapped out. Next.

His fingers felt restless, his whole body did. He tapped his skull, feeling the thumps echo. Breathe in, and breathe out. Breathe-

“-ow will I ever know you enough to love you, if you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain-"

He startled, his breath catching. This disc was scratchier than the others. It felt different. Something in him drew in the lyrics, head loud. He blinked.

…He's not hiding. Is he? Hiding what? He’s- no. Just- Breathe in-

“-Who are you hiding from, across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain, don’t ask me to explain-"

His breath escaped, arms trembling as his body froze. He didn't understand. He couldn't explain. He wanted to cry. Something was unravelling.

“I'd like to marry all of my close friends, and live in a big house together by an angry sea,”

He sobbed.

He did, he thought, with surprise, as the tears fell.

“Am I the devil's marbles don't move on without me,

Who will be watching my body when I sleep?

Who will I believe in?”

Something… yeah.

Something happened.

Because suddenly, all that stress, all that confusion, all that loathing, was detangling, and the tears ran deep, ran painful, silent, wheezing screams escaping as the sobs continued. He couldn't breathe. His chest was tight. His head swam, and he felt oh so light headed. Light. He felt light. Happy. He felt alive.

He felt understood.

He- he wanted that! He could- he wanted to live with his friends, with Tubbo with Ranboo. He wanted to stay as friends. He wanted them to protect him, to be able to trust them, to be able to protect them in turn, he wanted to reside with them, he wanted to sleep amongst them, to have them watch over him, safe, he wanted to wake up in the morning and see the sun rise with then, he wanted to have casual dinner with them, he wanted to grow old together with them. As friends. As friends.

Friends.

What a lovely thing…

He could… he could live with his friends…

He could build a family with his friends.

And he didn't even care at that moment that he didn't know how Tubbo and Ranboo would feel about that. He didn't care whether they'd want him at their house, whether they'd want him around at all. He didn't even care, at that moment, if he couldn’t join them.

Because he realized that it was a possibility at all. Just the prospect, just the thought, the realization, that spending your life, being intimate, finding a stable ground, with your friends, not romantic partner, was possible, that it was possible to not be able to feel otherwise, that it was shared by other people, who wrote this song, who sung it, who had thought about it…

It meant he couldn't be that alone after all.

“It's so easy to lie to myself,

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't"

And oh so comforting it was, that he couldn't.

 

***

 

“Ey, Ranboo! Bitchboy!”

Ranboo suppressed a smile, an exasperated sigh hissing through his teeth. Tail swishing, he glanced to the other boy, who was down below, standing in the snow.

“C'mere!! I gotta give you something.” He yelled.

Ranboo raised a brow, but complied, closing the window he had been looking out of. After making a quick detour to check on Michael, he made his way down the stairs and stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Tommy bounded to him, big grin on his face. He seemed jumpier than usual. Ranboo smiled in turn. “what is it?”

Tommy opened his mouth, then closed it, instead going to rummage through his bag. What he took out was a… box? “Here, fuckboy.”

Ranboo winced, taking the container. “Don't call me that.”

“Why, what does it mean?”

Ranboo stared. “Just…. Don't.”

Tommy blinked, laughing nervously. “o-okay.”

Moving on, Ranboo inspected the item in his hands. It was medium sized, and made of simple, but elegant, smooth black wood. On the top, there was a leather sign embedded in it, with the word Beloved stitched into it. His ears flickered. This seemed… awfully nice. “What’s in it?”

Tommy scoffed. “Just open it, you twat.”

Ranboo, with a glance, could see the anxious way Tommy was holding himself, seeming impatient and uncomfortable. So he wasted no more time, and clicked open the surprisingly sturdy iron latch after a moment of struggling, and what awaited him inside was…

“…Discs…?”

Ranboo held his breath, fingers twitching as he held the gift. …was it a gift?

Tommy was staring at the ground. “Yeah. You know, I’ve just been traveling around, collecting, and I wanted to…” He seemed to shake himself lightly, hands wringing. “I wanted to give you some, I guess. That… yeah. These are yours.”

Ranboo was stiff, still perceiving the actual gift in his hands, that looked hand made, that was hand picked, that Tommy had worked to attain, just to give to him. His tail curled, and he carefully, delicately closed it's lid and hugged it close to his chest. “I… Thank you. Thank- O-oh wow…”

Tommy scowled. “You look like a fish. It's not a big deal. Just… take a listen sometime, won't ya?”

“Y-yeah!” Ranboo reverently nodded, cursing the way his eyes felt misty. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll definitely listen, and cherish it. Thank you, Tommy.”

Tommy curtly nodded. “Alright. Pog.” And then, he was turning around, walking away with a quick “Share it with your family, too, some day. Bye.” Thrown or his shoulder.

And then, he was gone.

 

***

Tubbo heard music down the hall.

Ears tilting towards the pleasant sound, he skipped with bare feet over to the source, evening light casting warm glow through the windows as he went. When he arrived, to what was Michael's bedroom, he found Ranboo on the couch, curled gently over their son, head resting on his little head as he seemed to just… listen, wistful. Michael was listening too, letting out a little yawn as he turned his head to snuggle even deeper into his parent's warm embrace. Tubbo smiled softly at the scene.

Quietly, he patted over to them both, Ranboo eventually noticing him and watching him as he did. Tubbo buried a hand in Ranboo's hair, and the other leaned in. “What are you listening to?”

Ranboo didn't rush to explain, letting the comforting silence fill the space. When he spoke, it reminded Tubbo of soft flower petals and honey. “I didn't know Tommy's music taste was so…”

Tubbo blinked, turning to the disc lazily turning on the jukebox near them.

“-But in the end, I don't really care what you think,

Cause the bottom line is you make me happier than I’ve ever been...”

“wholesome.” He chuckled, fondly.

Tubbo hummed, unsurprised. “Tommy gave you these?”

Ranboo leaned more heavily in the couch. “Yeah. I don't know why, but…”

Tubbo's smile only deepened as he thought. Slowly, he replied, “I think he just wanted to show you he cared.”

Ranboo seemed to lose his breath a little, looking up at the other. “You think so…?”

Tubbo carded his fingers through Ranboo's hair, looking past Ranboo's twitching ears. “Tommy doesn't do things like these without reason. If he gave you something, it’s safe to say you mean a lot to him. He doesn't like to show it, usually, but… that I know.”

Ranboo stared at the turning of the discs, breathing softly. His tail curled around Michael. “Oh.”

Tubbo sat down at his feet and joined in.

Hearts warm, they laid there and listened until the sun had cast it's last rays and the jukebox no longer had a melody to spin.

 

***

 

Tommy sat behind the counter, feet on the counter, just trying to eat his discount chips while some people were being dumb children.

“Stop throwing the fucking food! I'll have to clean this up later!” He whined, to which Tubbo and Ranboo just threw him a glance, Tubbo’s apathetic and Ranboo's at least vaguely guilty, before Tubbo went right back and threw another gummy worm Ranboo's way.

Tommy scowled. “Seriously. At least pick them up and eat them.”

Ranboo made a face of disgust. “I'm not gonna eat candy off the floor, Tommy.”

“Yeah, some of us don't eat mud, Tommy.” Tubbo added.

“There’s no fucking mud here! It's a clean floor! You can totally pick them up and eat them, what the fuck!”

Tubbo raised his brows, staring. “Okay, then go and eat them, trash boy.”

“Okay, that's it.” Tommy raised to his feet, left his chip bag on the table and ran to Tubbo. Tubbo squawked, crawling onto the armchair he was reclining in to curl into a ball around his bag, but Tommy just threw himself onto the armchair with him, trying to reach for the candy. Which, considering the position, it was more like he was half-tickling, half hugging the other more than anything. “Give me that.”

Tubbo just burst out laughing, trying to hide deeper into the couch, attempting to kick the other away. “St-Stoppp!”

“C'mon, you disobeyed my shop's rules, I’m just confiscati-"

Something hit his head. Tommy stilled.

Ranboo peeked from behind his own candy bag, before digging into it again.

Tommy laid off of Tubbo slightly, raising like a puffed up cat. “Ranboo, you fuck!”

Tubbo laughed again, and Tommy was about to go on a murder spree, only for all the commotion to halt when they heard a sudden 4th voice.

Michael.

“Oh shit.”

Ranboo sighed. “He's awake. C'mon.”

Tubbo sighed as well, rolling out of the couch and dragging his feet towards the source of the oinks. “For the record, this is not my fault.”

Both of the other boys gave him the stink eye, but in the name of preserving needed ceasefire they held their tongues.

Michael was sitting up in Tommy's bed that resided in the backrooms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and hiccuping. Tubbo reached for him, lifting him up. “Aww, did we wake you up? I'm sorry, little bossman.”

Michael clutched Tubbo's shirt, muttering something in piglin.

“He's asking what all that noise was.” Tommy quickly translated, before turning his eyes back to the kid and saying something soft in piglin back. Michael listened, seeming to quiet a little.

Ranboo, gathering that it was an affirmation, smiled and took one of Michael's hooves gently. “Yeah, we were just having fun. Do you want to have fun, too, Michael?”

Michael’s big eyes widened, and he wiggled in Tubbo's grip. “Ye! Ye!”

They chuckled, and Tubbo transferred his hold of Michael to Ranboo, who led the way in making it back to the front of the shop, chatting with his son all the while.

Tommy bumped his shoulder with Tubbo's as they walked, but didn't say anything further. Tubbo bit back a grin.

The next hour was spent feeding Michael and letting him listen to some new discs. Tommy even remembered he had some records that were in piglin, some songs, some stories, and put them on, which seemed to enrapture Michael quite a bit, immersed in the new voices and tales and familiarity. The three boys let him sit in Ranboo's lap and get lost in his own world, residing on a couch together and quietly chatting, around them comfortingly dark walls, bookshelves and the smell of wood and candles.

Eventually, the conversation steered.

“You know, Tommy, why don't you join us?”

…huh?

Tommy blinked, willing his breathing to restart and for the words to come. “W-what?”

Tubbo looked at him with warm eyes and a trepidant smile. “Like, how would you feel about coming to Snowchester? Live with us?”

Ranboo waved his hand. “Of course, you don't have to! But we just thought, you know, if you'd like a bit more, uh, company…”

“We want to be with you, is all.” Tubbo added quietly.

Tommy's heart raced, and he only blinked more, hands clutching the fabric of his pants. “B- be with me… are you…” he gulped down the butterflies clogging down his windpipes, still trying to understand that this is real. “are you sure…?”

Ranboo grinned, patting Michael's head idly. The piglin looked up at them. “Yeah! You're family, Tommy, after all.”

Tubbo tilted his head. As Tommy was still struggling to respond, he assured, “You don't have to if you don't want to, big man. No pressure.”

Tommy laughed, weak and breathless, but bright. “No, I-I’d- I'd really want that, but…” he gestured, trying to put his worries to sudden coherent sentences. “wouldn't that be… awkward? Like… you two, just, l-lovebirds," he chuckled clumsily, “and then there's… me, just, there?”

Tubbo shared a look with Ranboo, then turned back and laughed. “You won't be a third wheel, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, it's not like we’re really romantic partners, even, it'll be fine.” Ranboo said.

Tommy stilled.

Blinked.

“Uhw- what?”

The other two tensed, Tubbo quickly glancing at his husband before grimacing, thinking deep on how to explain it. “You know, we… we're not really… romantic? We just decided to marry? But we're… not platonic either, it's…”

“I-It's something inbetween. Queerplatonic is the word? I think?”

“It's hard to explain-"

“There's- there's a word for that? And you were- Like. Friends? Living together, this whole time??” Tommy reeled, head in hand.

“Well, not exactly friends, or at least, with how we decide to label our relationship, but… yes?”

“Oh my-" Tommy slumped forwards, now both of his hands holding his head upright, just. Breathing. “Shit. What the fuck. I…” he laughed, wrecked.

Tubbo and Ranboo stared at him, uncomfortable. Tubbo frowned. “Look, if you… if you're gonna say something, I’d rather-"

“No- nono, it's…” he raised his eyes, slowly, like coming out of a cave and into the light. His words tripped upon his tongue, but he was so eager to know. “So you two don't want… romantic partners?”

They blinked. “Not… particularly, no.” Ranboo replied. “…are you okay?”

Tommy laughed. It sounded stilted even to his ears, senses muddled as he was wrapped up in his own head, his own elated feelings, his heart nearly bursting at the seams. “I-I’m not alone.”

Tubbo stared, but then his eyes softened. He sighed, and his smile was immensely gentle, while looking at his friend. “Oh, Tommy…” Ranboo, beside him, wilted the same.

Michael, inbetween them, looked at all three of them silently.

“…Do you want a hug?” Tubbo quietly offered.

Tommy quickly nodded, slumping into Tubbo's side and burying his face in Tubbo's soft hair, not even caring for the way one of his horns poked into his cheek slightly. He held the other, and Tubbo held him. He felt the end of Ranboo's tail drape over his leg.

With a delicate tone and worn vocal chords, he quietly, and simply, admitted. “I'd love that. I'd really love that. Living with you three.”

Tubbo tightened his hold.

That night, Tommy fell asleep not alone, but with his two other closest people, his family. Safe, warm, with that insistent nagging at the back of his chest cavity, that told him he was alone, that he was wrong about himself, that he never even knew himself at all, finally silenced.

He had never felt more at home.

[sir-crocodile-smile]

Fluff-ty Followers Event

Hello! Here’s a scenario I wrote for @nimi-resonance​, one of the winners from my Fluff-ty Followers Event! The prompt was “I would do anything for you” Sanji x Reader, specifically the reader giving Sanji some much-needed love and affection. I hope you enjoy!

Sanji “Anything For You”

    Plate after plate, pot after pot, Sanji scrubbed the dishes from tonight’s dinner until they sparkled. He scrubbed and scrubbed, watching the water in the sink slowly become darker and dingier as his fingerprints shriveled like raisins. His hands would have started to hurt if they weren’t toughened by years of this kind of treatment. Still he scrubbed, mind wandering elsewhere as he worked, thoughts floating away in the haze of the smoke from his cigarette. That is, until he heard your voice. 

    “Sanji, dear, do you need a hand?” His head snapped to the source of your melodic voice, heart leaping in his chest like it always did when you came around. There you were, in all your elegance at the doorway to the kitchen on the Sunny, lips curved into a gentle smile that sent him reeling.

    “Y/N! You look like an angel this evening! I’m just finishing up the dishes,” he explained, quickly putting what he was working on aside and drying his hands. “What can I get for you, love? Would you like some tea?” He was by your side in an instant, giving you a soft peck on the cheek. Your cook was always this way, always at your beck and call ready to provide you with whatever you needed. To him, you were a deity that he would wait on hand and foot, because you deserved it. But you loved Sanji just as much.

    “I came here to help you!” You protested. He flashed you an easy smile.

    “You don’t need to worry about me, my sweet Y/N,” he replied, softly taking your hands in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. You looked down at the damp skin of his hands, turning them over to see where scrubbing had turned the skin an angry red.

    “Sanji! Your hands!” You gasped.

    “It’s nothing my love, I’m more than fine,” he continued to smile at you. You weren’t buying it. You would take care of your beloved whether he thought he needed it or not. You marched over to the sink, rolling up your sleeves despite Sanji’s protests. “W-wait! You don’t have to-”

    “I want to. You’re not going to keep me from what I want, are you?” You looked at him out of the corner of your eyes as you started on the dishes. You could almost hear the gears grinding in your boyfriend’s brain as the impulse to pamper you clashed with his desire to always give you what you asked for. 

    “Well, I’ll help you then,” he relented, reaching for the sponge.

    “Nope!” You swatted at his wrist. He started to fidget.

    “Then… I’ll dry the dishes for you, love.”

    “Absolutely not. I’m finishing the dishes for you. You work so hard for me, darling. For all of us. Let me take care of this for you,” you insisted. Sanji stood next to you silently now, brow furrowed with worry. His fingers twitched as he played with his cigarette, watching you with an increasingly worried expression on his face. You let out a sigh. “You’re staring holes into me, honey. What’s on your mind?” For once, Sanji hesitated to reply to you.

    “Have I… done something wrong?” He asked with a twinge of hurt in his voice. You whirled your head to look at him. He chewed on his bottom lip, new cigarette in his hand as he had nervously smoked the other down to nothing. 

    “No! Not at all,” you pleaded, putting a plate back in the water and wiping your hands on your pants. The blonde couldn’t look at you. “Sweetheart, what makes you think that?” Your arms wrapped around his chest gently, and he couldn’t keep his hand from your waist.

    “I… I don’t know. I just… I’m not used to people doing things for me,” he whispered while fumbling with his words. He hadn’t told you everything about his life before joining the Strawhats, but you knew from some of the secrets he had shared with you that he had endured more than his fair share of hurt while growing up. It made it impossible for him to ask for help, and caused him to struggle with accepting any kind of assistance even if he knew the person it came from had his best interests at heart. You placed a hand on his cheek and felt the blush rise to his face as you did.

    “Sanji, I love you. I want to take care of you, like you take care of me,” you soothed, watching the worry evaporate from his eyes. You softly caressed his pink cheek with your thumb. “I would do anything for you.” His eyes widened, staring at you in surprise before melting into your embrace. You gently rubbed his sore shoulders with your palm and heard him sigh as he relaxed in your arms. A few minutes pass as he lets himself be held before you separate to finish washing up. While you work, Sanji snakes his arms around your waist and holds you, chin resting on your shoulder. You hum a little melody as you go along, and eventually you feel wetness on your shoulder, soaking through your shirt. Sanji turns his head to place a clumsy, tearful kiss on your jaw.

    “Thank you, my love,” his whisper cracked out like a confession. “You care for me better than I could ever ask for.”

[tracybirds]

Mauerbauertraurigkeit: The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.

Scott.

Thank you <3 Words are from here :D

General warning for everyone that this ended up being about teenage Scott immediately post his mum dying and I wouldn’t say he’s coping well. I might have cried writing this (not a good measuring stick but still)

Oh also language warning :P

---

“Hey Scott.”

He froze.

He couldn’t look up. Couldn’t bear to see the awkward glances his friends were giving each other over his head. Or worse, the pity.

He could hear the nudges, the whispers, the shrill, nervous laughter.

“You do it,” a voice hissed.

Cameron.

She couldn’t even say it herself.

An awkward cough, dry and half a chuckle. He knew that cough – his fucking lab partner. His friends were gathered around him, and they were gonna make Jerry say it.

“Look man, we’re, uh, sorry. You know… it sucks. Your mom dying like that and all.”

He couldn’t breathe, he was choking on his own tongue in the effort to keep his hands from shaking. He couldn’t talk about this, not in his Calculus class of all places.

The last time he was here, she was still alive.

Hot anger flashed across his skin even as his body betrayed him and a tear fell, splashing across the tablet screen for all of them to see.

He couldn’t be here.

He shoved the tablet back into his backpack, shrugging off well-meaning kindness and blocking out the useless, stammered apologies and platitudes.

Scott didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to feel it.

It would all be easier if he could numb himself.

Like Dad, his mind whispered savagely.

Dad still had his mom. Just like his friends, just like Jerry, just like everyone in this stupid town.

He didn’t want to be here anymore, not in this place where everyone knew. Not when everyone smiled with their smiles that were so understanding before they went home and prayed that they’d never have to understand for themselves.

“Scott?”

And there was John, peering over the top of the bleachers down at his hidden space because he’d never once gotten a break.

“Go away.”

As though John had ever listened to him before.

Instead, he heard the tell-tale creak of metal as he clambered down, cramming his awkward limbs into the hollowed out space under the bleachers that Scott had outgrown their sophomore year.

“Get lost,” spat Scott, elbowing him in the side.

“No.”

Scott seethed, glaring burning holes in the back of John’s shirt, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“Dad sucks.”

“Shut up, John.”

“He shouldn’t have made us come back so quick.”

John kicked at the metal frame, eyes gleaming at the satisfying clang that echoed in the empty gymnasium.

He kicked it again.

“Stop that,” hissed Scott. “You’ll get us caught.”

“So?”

“So, we’re skipping class, we could get suspended.”

“Oh no,” said John, dripping sarcasm. “Then Dad will have to let us stay at home instead of being here. Whatever will we do?”

“It’ll look bad on your college applications.”

John stared.

“You think I give a shit about college right now?”

“Of course, you do.”

He was certain of the fact. It was one of the constants of their world. Alan refused to eat peas. Gordon stayed in the bath until he shrivelled up like a raisin. Virgil got a new sketchbook for his birthday every year. John was going to college to study space.

Mom made pancakes every year for his birthday.

But not anymore.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that the pillars of his life were all falling apart.

“You don’t think,” said John, scathing ice frosting his words, “things might be a little different now?”

Everything was different now, said the rational part of his brain. The same part that was slowly but surely being enveloped by a deep and heavy emptiness that was gnawing at his bones and swallowing him from the inside out.

The same emptiness that stoked all his burning resentment, watching his friends with their moms who drove them to the funeral. The same emptiness that whispered hateful accusations that he had to bite back from spilling over whenever his Dad left, kissing Grandma goodbye and heedless of how Scott would give anything to do that to his Mom one last time. The same emptiness that breathed life into all his worst fears of his family being snatched away from him one by one, fears that he used to laugh at by the light of day, that he’d never think were irrational again.

The same emptiness that dragged him down and shoved him in the mud of grief and kept him chained there – still struggling, but growing weaker and weaker by the day.

He wanted to believe it wasn’t just him down here.

He’d give anything for his brothers to escape this.

It was easier to believe they already had.

“You have to go.”

The words are thick on his tongue. He hears his own voice but it’s distant, like something else is speaking through him.

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to be here.

“It’s what Mom would have wanted.”

He can see perfectly, the way John’s face crumples, the way his hand pulls back and leaves an impression of his fist against his ribs.

It’s just not happening to him.

“Fuck you, Scott.”

He doesn’t hear the rest of his brother’s tirade, nor the doors being slammed open as he refuses to defend himself against the anger and the pain still being shouted at him as they’re both hauled out of the gym and marched to the admin office.

He doesn’t much care what John thinks though.

If he can get them all to leave before his loses them, Scott can’t help but see that as a win.

And the emptiness that’s taken up residence in his guts, in his lungs, in his heart?

It only smiles.

[idyllicserendipity]

@falsiliar​​​ asked: “Hey, Miu! Hey. Hey. Hey—! I'm in desperate need of your maaaaassive brain! Please; this is, like, way important. ( •᷄⌓•᷅ ) How do you spell 'i cup'? ﾍ(ﾟ∀ﾟﾍ)"

    LIKE A PINCH OF SALT DASHED into her gorgeous baby blues, Miu’s features were quick to hike themselves up in UGLY DISTASTE at the very sight of the other. Already skeptical as to why he was even here other than to PISS HER OFF,  so would her hands rest themselves apprehensively upon her hips as she allowed him the blessing of a listening ear. When she could have simply told him to fuck off--

   “Eurgh, what is it now?          No wait, lemme guess-- you want a bunch-a TOYS that only a                         LAME LIL’ VIRGIN like you will ever be SATISFIED with, RIGHT”

   He could pull that INNOCENT LIL’ BOY ACT all he wants, but Miu and the others have long since come to know that he was ANYTHING BUT.

   ... Pft, important? HAH! Like anything important EVER comes oughta that FUCKIN’ GLORY HOLE he calls a mouth! And while it IS TRUE that she did indeed possess a massive brain (Oh yes, even she knows how unfair this all is-- for she alone to possess BOTH BRAINS and BEAUTY~), the Ultimate Inventor would give nothing more than a snort and a roll of her eyes. 

   Did he really think she was that STUPID? Like she would believe any compliment that comes out of that LYIN’ YAP of his! Buuuut, lucky for you, ya lil’ dweeb. She’s not only beautiful, smart-- but KIND and GENEROUS too! As so evidentially shown right then, what with her entertaining your dumbass requests when you have done nothing more but waste her precious time. Ooohh what would you and the others do without her, really?

   “I-CUP?!         Even an annoyin’ LIL’ TURD like you should know this!                                                                  I-C-U-P--ee--”

   KHH-HRRGHH!!!!

  Far too late in clenching her teeth together, Miu had only wished that she could have bitten the tip of her tongue off. Instead of allowing herself to drag out that final alphabet for as long as she had. Undignified shudders noticeably running through the entirety of her body, and all the way to the ends of her tentacular hair.

   L-LIKE HELL WOULD SHE EVER WANT GOLDEN SPORTS AND THE NAME KOKICHI OUMA TO EVER BE PLACED TOGETHER IN THE SAME SENTENCE!!!

   “... I-I can’t believe it... h-hrgh... I can’t... believe a genius like me fell for something like that...”

   And here she was, having managed to swerve around those first few landmines-- only to land FACE FIRST into the biggest one of em’ all... And all she could do now was shrivel up like a raisin in the sun at this very defeat... 

[join-the-joywrite]

Hamish & Vera soulmate au headcannons

Lil headcannons for a colours soulmate au in which the S1 finale wasn't the first time Hamish had been hit in the face with the powder. Because why not? This version of the colours is the one where you can only see varying shades of the colour of your soulmate's eyes. Because why not?

Here is part two, as promised

To everyone who knows Vera on any level, she hasn't changed a bit. Okay, maybe she's a little bit more sharp now and then and she gets a little testy whenever it rains. But maybe that's just the stress of being Grand Magus, and Temple Magus, and Chancellor of Belgrave setting in.

When she's alone at home, Vera stays up late into the night, wondering if she made the right decisions. She falls asleep in Hamish's jacket often.

The jacket is completely worn through now, the suede verging on ruined again. But she doesn't want to make back to brand new again nor does she ever want to get rid of it. It's quite literally that last bit of Hamish -- her Hamish -- that she has left.

She tells herself that it's for the best. If the Knights remained active, the Order would pursue them to the ends of the earth. But you have a seat of power almost all disciples would die for, that inner voice says, you can turn the Order around.

"They're our enemies." "But they don't know that." Well ok fine but I'm also deathly afraid of seeing Hamish's face again so let's not talk about this ever.

Eventually, logic trumps all else and Vera agrees to induct the Knights.

When Alyssa returns their memories, Jack is consumed by rage and hatred. Hamish wants to feel the same, he wants to be burned bitter by the betrayal, but he can't.

"Secrets are terrible things. They ruin the best of things and can break down nearly everything."

"I love you."

Hamish understands Randall's apprehension, Lilith's disgust and Jack's rage. He wants to say he feels the same. But all he feels his confusion. All he thinks about is the day he watched Vera leave.

Who's jacket had she been wearing?

Hamish runs his thumb over the letter hanging from the chain before tucking it under his new Order robes.

Did the necklace belong ..... to Vera? Because he knows it isn't his and he found it right where he'd fallen.

What the fuck is in Hamish's head on repeat for the entire evening.

"If you're going to stand there, at least make yourself useful." While Vera congratulates herself on her ability to appear as normal in front of Hamish, Hamish studies Vera as he passes her a drink. The same drink he'd watched her make back in the den.

Vera is momentarily distracted by the taste of the drink in her hand.

"Drinks are an art form, V, which means I can make whatever I want with justifiable reasoning." Laughter echoes. "And what are you calling this drink? It's a bit . . . harsh for all your old suggestions." "I'm thinking something along the lines of Vera."

"Are you calling me harsh?!" "I would never!" Pure, unfiltered joy echoes through the entire apartment.

"Magus?" Hamish's voice brings Vera back to the present. "Mingle, Acolyte. It's your party, after all."

Hamish reluctantly leaves the bar. He wants to stand there longer and study Vera -- maybe some of his questions will get answered.

"Drink it all in one go or your brain will shrivel up to the size of a raisin." "Bottoms up."

Suddenly, Hamish can recall his high school locker combination. Lilith is talking about some childhood fear, Randall's complaining about a retainer, Jack's crying about a tattoo -- frankly, that part scared Hamish a little -- and then he's stunned into silence with the flood of memories.

And then he's as angry as Jack was. He's furious. But not at Vera for what she did. He's furious at her for not waiting. Waiting for him to respond, waiting to see if they could have made it work.

He's furious because now he'll never know if they could have avoided all the deaths between then and now. Maybe the Knights could have allied with the Order. Maybe the Knights could have weeded out all the bad magic in the Order. Maybe he and Vera could have done it together, made the Order what she said it could be, a secret society of magic practitioners that is dedicated to preserving and passing on the art of magic. So many maybes, so many what ifs.

A part of him wants to storm into the temple, into the reliquary and demand that Vera confess. The more rational part of him keeps him grounded to protect the fact that they have their memories.

He'd feel a little bad about planning to rob the Order blind if he wasn't so pissed at them for raiding the den. Thanks to Lilith's potion, Hamish is slowly developing burning rage at the idea of being betrayed by his own goddamn soulmate. As time passes, he's starting to forget that he used to understand her circumstances, her choices being bad or worse.

So when they come across Zecchia, he's ready for it without any hesitation.

"Bring me something in a tall glass." Okay maybe a little hesitance. Just a little.

Hamish thinks it might have been a mistake when the news about Rogwan is delivered. He realises he's gone and royally fucked up on a Jack Morton level when they find out Zecchia robbed them.

"So, what's all this talk about wolves?"

Vera's too pissed with them to register the fact that Hamish has his memories (not all, though, right?) "Where is my inventory?"

"It was . . . stolen from us." "For fuck's sake, Hamish, can't you keep track of anything in that fucking apartment?" Randall: ( ͡° ʖ ͡°) (ಠ_ಠ) what the fuck is happening here 🙃 "I am seriously considering killing both of you." "Please don't." "SHUT UP"

Rogwan taking Hamish's fear could have been incredibly catastrophic if Vera had had her phone on her around the same time Hamish got his hands on money and a phone booth, even worse if she had answered any of those calls (though to be honest, she might just have been incredibly confused about it or more accurately, Hamish might not have even dialled her number properly)

Hamish standing at the phone booth with the dial tone while Randall repeatedly tries to climb a nearby tree: I know what you did, Vera Stone. You wicked witch with a cute butt. You jacket thief, alcohol thief, heart thief-- vest thief! + stupider and stupider things until Randall eventually gets his attention again.

"I give my life to the cause to protect the Hermetic Order of the Blue Rose from threats both inside and out." "So . . . we're supposed to babysit the Grand Magus aka you?" Both Vera and Hamish shoot Jack a withering glare. Randall finds it funny and Jack is grateful for Randall.

"Is everyone okay?" Awww she cares. Stop smirking at her -- stop -- STOP IT, FACE!

As much as Hamish was internally laughing at Vera for her still harbouring her old feelings, Hamish realises that he hasn't forgotten his own instincts when it comes to Vera when he sees the Magistratus, Angus, charge at Vera.

He may have fucked several things up, but no one is allowed to harm Vera. Tundra is a Knight of the Blue Rose, but Hamish is Vera's -- it's not as if he'd have it any other way anyway.

Vera's pretty stressed, what with the impending end of the world. Hamish is waiting for Vera in the reliquary, having discovered something ... interesting about the Tartarus explosions.

"I got your text." Hamish stands, book in hand. "Yeah, I found -- . . . is wearing three different shades of black a conscious decision or--" "Shut up."

Hamish happily complies. Who cares what colours she's wearing when he's got her in his arms? For someone who doesn't like anyone kissing in the reliquary, Vera seems to be very unopposed to the idea when she and Hamish are the ones doing all the kissing.

Not that Hamish is complaining. He wouldn't ever want to stop Vera. "Wait -- wait, this isn't why I'm here." "Your text specifically said you had something big to show me." "I ... see how that can be misconstrued."

Vera glares. "Make it quick, I'm busy."

"Tease," Hamish mutters with a grin before delving into the very solid fact that the world is going to end.

"The council wouldn't listen to reason so . . . I gave them fear. Stopping Praxis is the only way to stopping these eruptions." "Or is it the only option you'll consider?" The glass hits the table hard. Hamish is beyond pissed, but he's not sure at what. Vera is clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place. Perhaps he should let her know about his first clash with pulveris memoria

"They're asking for something I can't give them." "Or won't." He knows he's being difficult but he doesn't feel guilty about it at all. He's still mildly miffed that Vera didn't think he could make the choice for himself on whether or not he wanted anything to do with the Order.

Of course, his entire demeanour changes when Alyssa shows up in the reliquary. He may be pissed and a little disappointed in Vera but that doesn't mean he's willing to let her stand in harm's way. And of course, Alyssa knocks him straight the fuck out. (I mean personally I don't like her but I have to admit, that was a smart move)

I can't fucking remember how the scene goes word-for-word but you all know it.

Hamish wakes with the gripping fear that Vera is hurt or worse, dead. As soon as he sees Vera though, he's incredibly calmer. She seems okay. She's alive.

"She took your magic." Honestly, it could have been worse. It really could have been a lot worse. But he doesn't say so because he knows magic is something that is important to Vera and he knows that she's fucking terrified -- even if she won't say.

"I imagine she, like you, finds me a selfish woman." "Vera, I don't think you're selfish. You're demanding and ... weirdly ticklish, but not selfish."

Vera thinks about all that she's put Hamish alone through. She has very many a regret in her life, but Hamish somehow seems to dominate that lost. "How can you be so sure?" "Because of all the times you could have killed the Knights but you didn't, because you wanted th-- us to live. To learn."

It's a little hard to separate Vera's soulmate from Tundra's champion, but Hamish does it. He's still a Knight, despite whatever feelings he and Vera might share. Both of them are him but not together. Not just yet.

"It's all right to let someone care about you, V." "You--" "You dropped this." Vera stands still as Hamish puts the chain over her own head. How long had he had all his memories? Said nothing? All this time, he'd kept his mouth shut -- was it for her sake? Old guilt creeps back into her.

"Maybe you are selfish, V, but not for all the reasons you think. Your selfish acts are always about protecting other people. Me, Jack, Alyssa, the Knights, the Order. Selfish doesn't mean evil."

"What's he doing here?" "We're not staying." "Yes, we are."

"No, you're not." "It's not safe." "I'm no threat to her."

Hamish really doesn't want to leave Vera alone with Alyssa. But she trusts herself so he'll trust her. Besides that, he still has to save Lilith.

When Hamish returns to the temple, chasing Midnight, Alyssa is dead and Vera is shaking.

"V, it's not your fault." How does he know exactly what she's thinking?

Hamish sets a drink, Vera's drink, in front of her and turns to leave. To give her space. To give her the choice. He drags his hand over hers. Do you want me to stay?

Vera makes no movement other than wrapping her fingers around Hamish's hand and holding fast. Yes.

And as he stands there and the doors to the reliquary closes, he glances down at Vera and realises that bad as things are, they could be worse. Vera tried so many times to push him away, but she's failed every time. And he's incredibly thankful for that.

Vera doesn't have her magic, but she's got all the colours in the world because of Hamish and somehow, that's so much more important to her.

Someone help me I'm Sad�� I wanna write this but like ,,,,, not as a full book because that would make me cry ,,,,, maybe like a nice collection of scenes 0.0 what do you think?

Take a look at other soulmate aus I've chosen to torment myself with

[luparaneo]

so because it’s Pride Month I feel like I should talk about my own sort of small (compared to others) but weird journey, but it’s my journey

long post and ultra personal talk under the cut, you have been warned

I’ve always known I was asexual of some kind, I’d never felt any sexual attraction to others or hell never even felt a need to date. Those kinds of desires everyone else I met seemed to have but all I have is one great big black hole for both. Even well into my teens I found sex scenes in media gross and unnecessary, and I’d often feel repulsed and look away for romantic scenes in movies even if all they were doing was making out. I still do this though I try not to make it as obvious as I used to.

Growing up I was repeatedly slapped in the face by media with the message of “you MUST have a relationship and it MUST be a man and you MUST have sex with him on a regular basis or something is WRONG with you” and because of that I felt like I was broken, though nobody ever told me this to my face I just eventually internalized there was a problem with me. Like I was a child that never completely grew up, or I was afraid I was going to grow up a serial killer because I couldn’t emphasize with those kinds of relationships (I still wonder if I’m neurodivergent other than ADD, but that’s a topic for another day). To be completely honest it still kinda fucks with me on bad days. But then I started seeing others in the same boat, that maybe I’m not broken or maybe they're broken like me but we’re all free because it has a Name now and names are powerful. Something with a name can be grasped, understood. I didn’t fully understand the term, I might have even mocked it a little (I’m pretty sure I used the “lol like a plant?” joke at some point), but eventually the term “asexual” settled in my little brain and like with many things this shy little bean does I quietly embraced it and hid it away. And that’s how I discovered asexuality!

But, here’s where I recently fell down another rabbithole.

The ace banner is good and all, but I realized at some things just didn’t add up for me. I do actually enjoy adult games, read dirty fics, insert myself into fantasy situations when I’m not using an OC, and uh, “solo act” as it were because I still have a need to scratch that itch too. But like, real people? In meatspace? No, absolutely not, the mere thought makes all that shrivel up and recoil in horror. Buut then I found the term “aegosexual” and everything makes even more sense now.

I know there’s a lot of debate whether aegosexual is just another term for grey-ace, or even if it’s under the ace umbrella at all, but we’re just gonna wave that away for the moment. How my brain works is the more specific something is, the better I can wrap my brain around and understand or relate to it; otherwise I actually panic. Asexual and greysexual are not specific enough for me so I started worrying if I was wrong about being ace all this time, but then stumbled onto this term. Aegosexual in a nutshell as I understand it is “functioning libido but not with another/irl” and fantasies can be detached and/or extremely unrealistic. It still falls under the asexual banner since there’s a distinct lack of sexual desire with others. Kinda helps explain my monsterfuckery/furryism because you really can’t get more unrealistic than those lmao. I suppose I’m also some flavor of fictosexual because when there is attraction it’s 110% going to be a fictional character, but I legit feel like if that character ever somehow became real my ace brain would kick in and go “NO, NO SMASH, ONLY FRIEND >:C” fhdjklsjfs. I literally have no interest in meatspace shenanigans, at all. But aegosexual sounds much less childish imo so if anyone asks, I’ll tell them I’m ace or aego. Funny enough I don’t feel that I’m aegoromantic though I’m probably somewhere under the aro umbrella, but I think I’d be down for trying a QPR someday.

holy shit this turned out longer than I thought, my bad

anyway thanks for coming to my Ted Talk, if you feel I’m talking out my ass about anything feel free to DM me here or wherever your local friendly Lupa can be found

if you felt this was TMI, well, too bad fuck you there was a warning for a raisin

On a much shorter note, sometimes I also wonder about my gender because I’m not sure where it falls anymore. I’m a cis female, I’m perfectly fine with being referred by female pronouns, but some days my brain is like “wow imagine if you didn’t have those awful sacks of fat called tits?” because I have never liked having female physical features for some reason. I want to bind, I want to dress up in fancy suits over flowing dresses, it’s like my brain is going “imagine, androgyny” or something but I’ve never been too sure what I should call this. I blame growing up a massive tomboy for this confusion, lmao.

ok that’s it go home, I have nothing else for you, shoo

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER FIVE one | two | three | four trigger warnings apply HORIZON MENNONITE COLONY JULY 23 - 12:06 PM

Abel Stoesz was cabled with stringy muscle, a sparse yellow beard struggling to assert itself under phlegmy, peacock-blue eyes. He had the brutish, loose-jawed look of someone who was willfully stupid, and Mulder, still on edge from the dead fox in the boat, was already itching to break his nose. 

Salome, his wife, was a waif of a woman; tiny, shorter even than Scully, and so agonizingly underweight that you could see the architecture of her skull beneath her face. Perched beside Abel on the stiff loveseat, she rested her bird-bone hands on the gentle, rounded swell of her belly, and a raisin-coloured bruise, smattered with green, framed one eye. Most of her was buttoned up in one of the ubiquitous puff-sleeved frocks of the religiously sequestered, but Mulder would bet that the bruise had a few cousins underneath the powder-blue polyester. They were a few days fresh, he estimated, probably about as old as the news of Anna’s death. 

Mulder longed for the opportunity to set Abel up with a few matching welts of his own, but settled for hating him privately in the interest of avoiding an assault charge and one of Skinner’s arduous ass-chewings. He consoled himself by grinding his molars together. 

Outside, white bungalows and red barns squatted in clusters on the flat expanse of land. A black storm battled the sun for dominance, and the glass panes of the windows, loose in their tracks, rattled against the wind. The other members of the colony, bonneted and behatted, milled politely about their business. 

He and Marion had been invited to stay for lunch by the community elders the moment they arrived. They’d been ferried along to the dining hall, but then Abel had emerged from the throng and snapped them away from the friendly masses, yelling for Salome, who scurried after them and into the dark of their tiny home. 

The air stank of hyssop detergent. No one offered coffee or tea. Marion refused to sit down, and Salome eyed the gun on her hip uneasily. 

Abel spoke first, and spoke plainly. “I didn’t murder my sister.” 

“It’s interesting you say that, Mr. Stoesz,” Mulder countered, struggling to hide the contempt in his voice. “Why do you assume that Anna was murdered?” 

“Why else would you people be here?” Abel glared at Marion, who was standing sentinel near the empty wall, arms crossed. Mulder half expected steam to billow from her nostrils. 

“Your sister’s husband mentioned that you’re not too fond of him,” Mulder said. “Would you say that’s accurate?”

“Hugh Daly is a scourge on this earth, and every day I pray for his retribution,” Abel sneered, spittle frothing in the corners of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t it be more Christlike to pray for mercy on his soul, instead of divine punishment?” Marion asked, her face ruddy with indignation. She stared Abel down with fiery determination, and Abel stared right back, the loose skin around his eyes twitching, not deigning to respond. The wind knocked against the windows like it wanted to pick a fight.

“What has he done to warrant retribution?” Mulder asked, and Abel turned back to him. 

“Anna always had a… disobedient streak. That’s why she left. But that man… he seduced her, corrupted her. Ruined her. Before he came sniffing around, before he made her his whore, Anna could have still come home. She could have returned to her people, to her rightful place.”

“Her rightful place?” Mulder prodded.

“It was my duty to bring her back. To correct her. She was my sister. My responsibility.” 

Mulder leaned back in his seat, hands firmly flattened on his knees so they wouldn’t accidentally crash into Abel’s ugly mug. He let his eyes pass over Salome’s battered, bitter face, and wondered what, exactly, constituted this man’s idea of responsibility. 

“You know, Mr. Stoesz,” he began, slowly, easing into a new strategy. “I… do admire your conviction. It takes a strong hand to correct a wayward woman, and so few men these days have the stomach for it.” 

Abel was visibly heartened, his mouth twisting into an agreeable, self-righteous frown. This is too easy, Mulder thought to himself. Men like Abel thrived on validation. If he could effectively convince him that he was on his side, he was sure Abel would, intentionally or otherwise, let the cat out of the bag. Or, maybe, in this case, the crow. 

Mulder could feel Marion staring at the back of his head, but thankfully, she didn’t say anything. He hoped she could trust that he knew what he was doing.

“I have a sister too,” he half-lied. “I understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her. To bring her home if she was… lost.” His mind conjured a few versions of Samantha at various ages, abducted, cloned, ripped to a bloody pulp in the wheat. His chest contracted in a familiar pain, and he directed the images to the raw hollow in the back of his brain where he kept most of his thoughts about her, promising to return to them later for self-flagellation. 

Abel nodded fervidly, evidently gathering his thoughts. 

“Anna was the devil’s slut⁠—” Salome hissed in a high, thin squall, apparently unable to contain herself any longer. “Witch—”, then Abel violently gripped her arm, and she gasped and shut her mouth, glowering at her belly and skating a claw around it discontentedly. 

“She was still my kin,” Abel growled. 

Mulder, sensing an opening, leapt in for the kill. “Mr. Stoesz, have you ever experienced anything you couldn’t explain? Or suspected that you have the ability to make things… happen? To affect the world around you without necessarily taking direct action?” 

Abel looked at Mulder stupidly, his neanderthal mind stonemilling the words, trying to decide if he was accusing him of something or not. But before he could answer, Salome spoke again. 

“Hugh Daly is facing retribution for his sins. Whatever misfortunes befall him, whether they are acts of God, man, or Satan himself, he is deserving of.” She trembled with conviction, her bony jaw shaking. 

“And Anna, Mrs. Stoesz? What about her?” Marion said tersely, from over at the wall. 

“Perhaps she has also received her judgement,” said Salome, and Abel looked at her quickly, working, Mulder noticed, to keep his expression neutral. 

Mulder’s cell chirped in his pocket. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and removed himself to the porch, carelessly letting the screen door slam shut behind him. He jabbed the worn rubber of the call button and put the phone to his ear, squinting at the gathering storm. “Mulder.” 

“Mulder, it’s me…” Scully sounded breathless, resigned. He didn’t like it one bit. “Hey, you okay? What did the autopsy turn up?” He picked at a shard of peeling paint on the railing, wary of the sadness in her voice. 

“Anna Daly was pregnant.” 

“... Are you sure? How can you tell?”

“I found… remnants. Of the fetus.” 

Mulder flinched. “From what I can gather based on the apparent level of skeletal development, I’d estimate she was eighteen to twenty weeks along.” 

He sucked air through his teeth. “Jesus. You think Daly knew?” 

“I’m going to call him up to the station here and find out.” 

“You okay?” His stomach clenched with the brief flickering memory of her ova in a vial. Not now, he thought. She doesn’t need to know right now. Maybe not ever. 

She hesitated momentarily before answering him. “I’m fine, Mulder.” 

“You sure?” Scully’s voice took on an exasperated edge. “Yes.” 

“Because if you’re not, it’s…” “What do you want me to say? That it was fun?” She said, sharply. “Scully, that’s not⁠—”

“⁠—Listen, I have to get back. We’ll discuss it tonight.”

“...Okay,” he said, doing little to disguise the irritation in his tone. 

Held hostage by some unspoken, unacknowledged superstition, neither of them said goodbye. Mulder hung up the phone, took a stabilizing breath, refocused himself, and walked back inside. He settled back into a stiff-cushioned chair across from the Stoeszs. “I just got a call from my partner,” he said. “Mr. Stoesz, are you aware that Anna was pregnant at the time of her death?”  

Abel looked like Mulder had punched him in the gut, which was almost as good as actually doing it. 

“Are you serious?” Marion whispered behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder at her, her eyes were saucer-wide. 

And then Abel leapt up in a sudden rage, prompting Salome to flee the loveseat like a frightened, emaciated rabbit. 

“Get out of my house,” he seethed, taking a few lunging steps towards Marion. She stumbled backwards, palming her gun over the holster. 

“Mrs. Stoesz, if you’d like, you’re free to come with us.” Mulder swiftly maneuvered himself so that he was between her and Abel, and reached out an upturned hand, but she gave him such a sharp, hateful look that his balls practically shrivelled, even as his heart went out to her. 

“You heard my husband,” she hissed. “Get out.” 

Just another person he couldn’t save. Add it to the scoreboard, boys. 

He stomped out of the house behind Marion’s flustered stride, the cool wind catching the edge of his trench coat and sending it flapping behind him. A few plaid-clad teenage boys waved excitedly at them from the flat of a wooden cart as they hoofed it back to the truck. 

Marion released a creative string of curses and condemnations concerning Abel’s personal attributes, including the diminutive size of his dick. “You drive,” she finished, tossing Mulder the keys in disgust. “I’m gonna end up killing us if I do. Fuck, that man riles me.” 

“You’ve got experience with him? Mulder asked, as he hoisted himself into the cracked leather driver’s seat of Marion’s cherry Chevy Scottsdale. A felted green air freshener in the shape of a pine tree swung from the rearview mirror. He started the engine, and Harvest swelled to life from the tape deck. 

“Kind of.” Marion said, slumping into the passenger seat. “Met him a few times. Mostly at Rhiannon’s, back when me and Anna lived there. He used to show up a lot. Rhiannon usually wouldn’t let him past the front door, so him ‘n Anna’d be arguing in the driveway… God, was she really pregnant?” 

“Yeah. Sc - uh, Dana found, um. She found evidence to that fact.” 

“Fuck. Goddamnit.” Marion was pale. 

Mulder pulled into the road and eased the needle on the speedometer upwards. The truck gasped and sputtered like it was having an asthma attack. The sky above had turned dark and threatening, but the sun pushed a few tenacious arms through the thunderclouds to illuminate the lonely stretch of highway. It was eerie as hell. 

“So… while we’re at it, can you tell me how you came to live at Rhiannon’s?”

“Why do you need to know?” 

“C’mon. Just help me out a little here.” 

Marion picked at a hangnail, sullen and slouching. “Um... I, um, left the res when I was 16. I wasn’t planning on staying in Horizon or anything, but Theo picked me up and kinda took care of me and set me up at Rhiannon’s. She took Anna in, too, when she ran away from the colony.”

“Did Anna ever say anything about why she ran away?” 

“Oh, gee, I dunno, she was probably tired of getting pummeled to shit by her brother,” she said bitterly, as if he was an idiot. She gripped the console and swallowed. “Fox, slow down a little.” 

“Oh⁠—” he eased off the gas pedal. “The… colony elders didn’t do anything about it? What about their parents?”

“Her parents have been dead for years. Highway accident. And the elders...it was none of their business, not their concern. You saw how Salome looked. They’re fucking heartless up there.” 

Mulder nodded, thinking. “So… do you think that Abel would be capable of all the things that have been happening? Setting the silos on fire? Drowning the horse? …Anna?” 

“No,” Marion said flatly. “I don’t.” She took a deep breath and let it stream out of her nose. 

“I’d love to know your thoughts on this, Marion.” 

“And I’d love to know what the fuck you were going on about in there. Affecting things without trying to. What does that even mean?” 

He eased into it as naturally as he could, cautious of her mood. “Well… in my particular line of work, I’ve seen people who… experience such a strong emotion that it can affect the physical world around them. Daly claims he’s been seeing omens, right? And I saw something strange myself this morning. A dead fox in a boat out at the lake.” She turned to him at that, quickly, with a sharp look in her eye. “That seems pretty on the nose, don’t you think?” he continued. “Perhaps Abel’s anger towards Daly is manifesting in these visions, or somehow these events are a result of⁠—” 

“⁠—Stop the car. Oh, God, stop the car. Stop the car.” Mulder glanced at her, and upon seeing the look on her face, immediately pulled over to the side of the highway, lurching over the rumble strip. Even before they’d rolled to a stop, Marion was heaving herself out of the passenger seat and vomiting noisily into the ditch, clutching her stomach. 

Mulder had to look away to keep from losing the rest of his breakfast. Jesus, first this morning, and now Marion... this was entirely too much upchuck for one day. He hadn’t even been going that fast. 

He hunted around the back seat for the bottle of water he’d spotted earlier. He replayed a few fresh, brutal memories of Scully’s poorly-hidden chemo nausea, her deathly pallor, her heart-wrenching heaves behind closed motel bathroom doors. He burned anew with guilt.

Mulder swung himself out of the truck when the retching stopped, toting the bottle. Marion was kneeling on the side of the road, arms wrapped around herself, weeping. He crouched down and placed a palm on her back, trying not to balk at the caustic smell of her. 

“Marion, have some water, okay?” He held the bottle out to her, and she looked up at him, teeth bared, her earth-dark eyes bottomless with desperation. “We’ll find out what happened to Anna. I promise. We’ll keep you safe. From Abel, from Hugh⁠—” 

“Oh, you stupid, stupid⁠—” she sobbed. “Abel has nothing to do with it. You can’t stop it, Fox. You can’t. You need to leave this place. You need to get out.” 

An investigatory thrill chilled the back of his neck, and a distant flash of lightning silently illuminated a fumey cluster of clouds. “What can’t I stop, Marion? Why do we need to leave?” 

Marion groaned in tandem with a low roll of thunder, her tears splattering onto the asphalt, a prelude of the coming storm.

“You can’t stop what’s happening.” Her throat was thick with fear. “No one can.” 

[lizord-lord]

The Seven Princes as quotes from my idiot friends on discord

Jaqueline: And I like to think that bird is your fursona Roman: feathersona Jaqueline: ,,,,hey Roman? Jaqueline: why do you know that? Jaqueline: Roman?? Sparrow: Remy told me Jaqueline: ,,,hey Roman? Why does Remy know that? Roman: he’s Remy Jaqueline: I- Roman: We don’t question him anymore

Eleanor: Enrique is loosing his ikea virginity ahsgvdbdbd

Remy: having extra holes is fun Anvity (in response to being told everyone knows about his Hoe Tendencies™): Okay, calling me out publically in front of the village like I’m a witch and this is the 18th century in Victorian England. I get it

Eleanor: like ...shriveled raisin duck penis, I don’t think that would be great for terrorizing homophobes Vincent: not with that attitude

Vincent: listen if I wasn’t ace I’d fuck venom and you can quote me on that

Jaqueline: no one owns space Eleanor: not yet they don’t

Anvity: I called a pumpkin sexy once because I was about to carve it and I wanted to see Roman sneeze soda

Enrique: we're too tired to feel anything except what the fuck

Anvity: I would just take my immortal husbands penis and laugh Anvity, about said penis: I would keep it in a sack on my belt, and wave it in front of my enemies

Eleanor the DM: Alright, what are your character's names? Vincent: McDonald the Brave. Jaqueline: Id'iot, but with an apostrophe between d and i. Eleanor: Wow, I hate all of these. Remy, your character's name? Remy: Waluigi. Eleanor: Remy: He's a bard.

Roman: Because they never close, they are slain. Only the mightiest can defeat Denny’s.

Infomercial: What do you really have to lose? Anvity: My Life.

Jaqueline: Ugggh how the fuck does procreate work Vincent: well when two people love each other very much- Enrique (to Anvity): i know this sounds really weird, but you stay really still when you sleep Anvity: wHa T Jaqueline: i killed 5 mosquitos in my room this evening im scared why are there so many not-hot mini vampires

Eleanor: I also want to ask [crush] out but 1) I'll be a sad bitch if they turn me down completely 2) what do I do if they say yes???? Yeehaw??????? Vincent: P L E A S E SAY YEEHAW

Enrique: can i have a strawberry frappuccino Remy: *something that involves the words “white chocolate mocha” and other coffee terms* Enrique: ....I don’t know what words you’re using

Vincent: she’s the only normal one out of the three of us. Eleanor: ah, okay. Jaque, here's the magnesium- Jaqueline: i'm gonna eat it. Eleanor: ...and you're the normal one?

Remy: CAN I HAVE THE BRAIN CELL?? Vincent: no you gotta fight Eleanor for half of it Eleanor: [knife] Vincent: Eleanor may I have your half tomorrow, gonna need it for things Remy, holding up a gun: give me the brain cell, and nobody gets hurt

Remy: *making a lot of noise and being a disturbance* Eleanor: any more of that and i'll throw this at you, no regrets Remy, without missing a beat: and make me bleed?

Roman: so what’s the head from? Enrique: oh that’s just a head I have

Some random demon: wait WHAT what the fuck is up with y’all and your ages Vincent: sorry I was born with it

(who said what under the cut)

Blue @romansleftshoulderpad​ Sparrow @poisonedapples​ (talking about me) Queenie @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2​ Tori (I can’t find your tumblr I am sorry) Avery @theincediblesulk​ Em @em-be-lievable​ Jynx @jynxlovesluck​ Sparrow Blue

Jynx Queenie

Jynx

Airam @towersandmyrtles​ and their DnD party

Jynx Fae @theshiproyalarrives​ A classmate of mine Me

Two friends of Jelly’s @emberofthefrost​

Jack @patton-croc-agenda​

Jynx Sparrow

Me a barista

teacher and classmates of Dallas (no tumblr) Skyla @skylagamingv2​ Kai @kaioanxiety​ Jensen @purediscordhell​ Kai Skyla

Sassy’s (can’t find your tumblr sorry) younger sisters My grandpa My mom

Airam Jensen

[disregardcanon]

end of year writing meme

Total Stories Written: 27

Total Words Written: 147413 Average Words Per Story: if you do the mean, then it’s 5,459 Shortest Story: the aftermath of rebirth at 338 words Longest: Paint a New Horizon at 23,673 words

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

I wrote fewer stories than I expected, but they were far longer than I expected. I wrote a lot of 11k fics. 

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write most?

pairing: Sansa/Margaery (throwback to 2015 omg) 

genre: I don’t feel like I had a certain genre I wrote a lot of tbh. 

fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January?

THE POKEMON GAMES! Like, oh my god. I wrote fanfiction about soul silver. I wrote fanfiction about POKEMON WHITE. what. the fuck. Like, technically the first fic i ever wrote was about pokemon but i never expected to do it again. 

Did you take any writing risks this year?

I wrote 2 very long asoiaf fics about difficult subject matter. Combined, they add up to more than 40 thousand words of fic. 

Do you have any fanfic or general writing goals for the new year?

Fanfiction wise, I would like to finish up some of my wips and try to improve. 

In general, I would like to figure out more what I want my writing to look like moving forward and how to go about that. I’m experiencing some growing pains, so I need to reassess my style and strategy and see what I need to readjust moving forward. 

From the past year of writing, what was your…

Best story of this year: Paint a New Horizon

This feels like a bit of a cop out since it’s the longest, but I am very firmly the most proud of this fic out of anything I wrote this year. I feel like the emotional bits were satisfying, the romance worked nicely, and the action kept me interested in a way that almost never does. I was able to commit to TWENTY THREE THOUSAND WORDS and put my ALL INTO IT! that is. monumental for me. I’ve written long fics in the past, but those were chaptered and frankly, not as good as this one was or as much work. 

I love this verse so well that I might actually go back and write more in it later when I have time. I have the beginnings of a sequel ruminating around in my drats. 

Most popular story of this year: normally I split this up into multiple categories, but by hits, kudos, OR comment threads The Times They Are a Changin’ comes out on top. The mcu fandom really went nuts over Carol and Maria, didn’t they? 

Personal favorite:

Washing Machine Heart is a fic that I hold close to my heart. 1. I wrote this one when I was on a study abroad in Latin America, which is the coolest thing that I have ever done 2. it’s just. really well done. I’ve never written something quite so messy and unpleasant in a realistic way before. It’s ugly in the way that Steven Universe: Future is ugly right now. In exactly the way that “Washing Machine Heart” should imply 3. oh god was it cathartic 

Most under-appreciated:

Maternal, Paternal at 71 kudos, I know I shouldn’t call this one “under-appreciated”, but it’s in a few VERY happening tags, in a very happening fandom with a VERY popular set of characters. I’d think that people would be more interested in reading “Endeavor is an asshole and eventually Dabi kills him” but like. it’s whateves I guess XD

Most fun to write:

We Could Be Heroes both semesters that I had during 2019 were. super fucking stressful. the only times that I’ve had that were productive for fic was January break, summer vacation, and December break. 

Last April on my birthday, though, I rewarded myself and after I got home from hanging with some friends I just sat down at my laptop and didn’t think about literally anything. I just wrote. I took a format that I knew I liked and didn’t have to think about (talk show format with an OC I already made for a different story) and then 3 characters I was very interested in then (Melissa Shield, Monica Rambeau, and Tahani Al-Jamil) and then I just. ran with it. I wrote and wrote and wrote and it was amazing. I didn’t think about it being good or about my homework or literally anything other than this talk show lady talking to these three cool characters. 

It was wonderful. 10/10 would do it again. 

Story with the single sexiest moment: 

Familiarity. It is literally the only thing I wrote this year with ANY sex in it, so it’s automatically the sexiest. Way to go Margaery you did it. 

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story:

Um. Just Souring Grapes in general. 

Most challenging to write:

Biggest disappointment:

Shouto Todoroki Joins the Supervillain Dads Club I hoped to finish this fic last year in January. It’s currently December and I haven’t been able to look at the thing since. 

I think it’s mainly because I just lost the drive, but it’s also kind of because wips stress me the fuck out. And also I had 2 stressful semesters so that doesn’t help.  Favorite character to write: my favorite characters to write this year were both Todorokis! Dabi and Fuyumi are both a joy to write, I swear

Favorite opening lines: 

Serena falls down at the kitchen table feeling as cold and distant as the room does. The harsh lines and open floor plan were supposed to show a minimalism only possible with wealth, but to Serena it's always felt empty.

A Woman’s Place

Surprisingly, Theon’s life does not change much either way after Maron is taken to the Greenlands. Balon does not magically start paying attention to him, even though he’d prayed every night to the Drowned God that he would. 

Pretty Little Thrall 

The Twins are a grand fortress spanning the width of the Green Fork. A great stone tower stands on each side of the river, with a greater bridge running in between. The Frey stable boys have taken their horses, and Jeyne walks as close to the river as she dares as they make their way to the tower. She watches the river rush beside her in awe. She’s never seen a river run so wild before. It seems like the very waters rushing beside her want to rise up and drown her themselves.

Good Family

Favorite closing lines:

That's what she gave up fighting the Kree for, and Carol will do everything that she can to bring them back. She's stopped fighting for some things, but she'll never stop fighting for this. If the times don't change on this one, she'll make them. She'll rip that gaudy fucking glove off of that bastard's grape crush colored hand and shove it up his ass if that's what it takes to get her family back.

The Times They Are a Changin’

"Alright, then. Let’s do this together,” you say, “as a team.” You think that you really like this "being friends" thing. Maybe after you beat Red, you and Silver can go to Hoenn- or Sinnoh. Unova even. Somewhere new and exciting with new people to beat. It’s nice to have a partner who’s not a Pokemon, for once. You think that, together, you could be the best trainers that ever lived.

Maybe the best friends too.

no silver medals (when you get the gold together) 

The stars spread out above you- the universe expanding outwards onwards and upwards, excelsior.

Excelsior

Other favorite lines:

What does a grape do under pressure? Grapes tend to shrivel in the sunlight. Turn to raisins, actually. She doesn’t remember what poem that was from, but she remembers reading something like that in English class once. Some poem that she didn’t understand really, and might not have gotten even if it were in Japanese. She doesn’t think that’s what she’s doing.

Does it ferment, like wine? Her father always joked about her mother aging like a fine wine, growing more beautiful every year, growing stronger. But Miné isn't gaining strength, not really. Not right now. Maybe she’s just souring, getting more and more bitter about things that she can't have. Maybe she's just souring grapes.

Souring Grapes

“The authorities confirmed that Endeavor was not even in the state during the accident, and Shouto’s doctors confirmed that the burns were consistent with boiling liquid, not an open flame.” Superman looks visibly relieved to hear that.

“But that does not mean that I trust him,” Batman says, “I would prefer to keep an eye on him.”

“Why would you want to keep an eye on him, he’s a superhero ,” Captain Marvel says, with none of The Wisdom of Solomon but all of The Innocence of a Ten Year Old, “that means that he’s a good guy, right?”

Shouto Todoroki Joins the Supervillain Dads Club

The thought stabs into his brain like a needle, like the scent of pine, like the memories he’s never wanted back. Robb was the one person who ever cared about him, and Theon betrayed him to parade around as a prince and become Ramsay Bolton’s broken little toy. He swore himself to the little boy who took him by the hand when he came to Winterfell as a scared little boy and never let go. And then Theon betrayed him.

“Theon,” the trees whisper,” Theon.” The crows in the branches take flight, cawing his name, and he feels something else take flight too. His heart, beating somewhere deep inside his chest.

“Theon,” it throbs, “Theon, Theon.”

He wants to do something, something reckless, something brave. Something that makes him redeemable.

He can’t save Robb, but he can save someone . He can save Robb’s fake sister. Theon can save Jeyne from some of her pain.

If You Believe in Me (I’ll Still Believe)

She dared a glance forward and met Margaery’s eyes- a deep, chocolate brown. They were warm and inviting and Margaery’s little curly bangs framed her face like a heart. Margaery’s head went over the back of the booth and it seemed to almost be floating against the flowery wallpaper. It looked like Margaery was lying out in a field of flowers- the Maiden gazing up at the clouds and trying to make shapes of them.

She could imagine Margaery telling her that this one is a flower, like Tyrell, and this one’s a deer, like Baratheon, and this one’s a dick, like Joffrey. She giggled nervously again and felt her cheeks flush. She’d never felt this giddy and unsteady in her whole life.

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Margaery asked cautiously. She reached across the table and laid a hand over Sansa’s own. The touch was warm and tender, and Sansa felt the blush from her toes to the tip of her head.

“I’m perfect!” Sansa nearly screeched. Margaery laughed at that, but her look was kind.

“Yes, darling,” she said with a smile that was wide and fond, “I think that you are.”

Lesbian. The word wasn’t supposed to fill her with such a warm, hopeful feeling, was it? She wiggled awkwardly in her chair, trying to get situated and stop feeling so silly and excited and vulnerable, but it didn’t fix anything. She felt Margaery’s leg brush against hers under the table. It sent a jolt through her.

Lesbian.

Sansa took a shaky breath. She thought to herself that there might be something to that.

Paint a New Horizon 

[nofeartina]

I think a while ago you wrote something about a Notting Hill au, but that you were not going to write it? I just finished reading a book about a woman who owns a bookstore in Vienna and god!!! I can't stop thinking about that. Even would be the best bookstore owner he would have all this obscure sections and a great children's books collections and would be great at recommending stuff. That's it tbh. I just wanted to share that with someone. I love your fics!

Dear sweet anon. Thank you for sharing this with me (even though I’m amazed that you remembered..? xD). Because honestly?? I love this movie so much and it makes me cry-laugh every time I see it and it would just be the most perfect AU for Evak and now I can’t stop thinking about it.

BECAUSE IMAGINE THIS!

Even as The Travel Book Co. owner (although I do agree he would be awesome in a normal bookshop setting) who’s barely scraping by. He lives with his roommate Magnus who’s a total slob and doesn’t have an inkling of social skills.

And then one day, one fateful day, a beautiful man enters his shop in the most unassuming clothes and with a snapback so far down his face it’s almost impossible to see it. But there’s something about his build that makes Even look at him again from behind the counter, makes him ask, “Can I help you?”

It’s not until the man looks up at him that he realizes just why he seems familiar. It’s Isak Valtersen. The Isak Valtersen. One of the most famous actors on the planet right now. And he’s looking just as gorgeous and divine as he does on screen. And he’s standing in his bookshop.

(sorry – read more because this got long. As it does when I start going off… ;))

“No thanks, I’m just looking around,” Isak Valtersen says and Even can’t figure out what to do with himself now.

And so we know how the story goes, there’s another customer that comes in – yadda, yadda, yadda, BUT THEN!!!!

Even decides to close up early because what even was this day? The door is old and the lock sticks, but Even knows it by now, does this twist and jerk combo that works 9 out of 10 times but it tends to get the key sticking a bit, so he pulls at it violently until it sort of just suddenly lets go, making him spin around straight into a solid wall of a body.

“Oof!” Even grunts.

“Oh Jesus.” Comes the response.

Even steps back ungracefully, feels how his entire front is soaking through with cold orange juice, slowly starting to drip down his pants, and he looks up to find Isak Valtersen standing in front of him, former white t-shirt now orange with juice as well, so wet that it’s dripping.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Even says, patting his pockets to see if he has any paper he can help Isak clean up with.

“That’s alright, I’ll just…” Isak replies but he looks down at himself and glances at the mess that is Even’s shirt and before he can say anything else Even just blurts it out.

“I have a t-shirt you can borrow if you want. I live just across the street.” And he sincerely hopes it doesn’t come off as creepy as he suspects it does because it’s a genuine offer.

Isak seems to see it on him because he asks, “How close is just across the street?”

Even turns and points to a bright blue building that’s quite literally across the street.

“You can get cleaned up so we can get you back out onto the streets in no time. In a totally no prostitute kind of way,” Even says, cursing his own uncoolness on the inside.

Isak squints at him, before he quickly scans their surroundings, probably seeing how the streets are getting busy with people now, and he glances at the house before he looks at Even and nods.

Even lets out a relieved sigh, letting out air he didn’t even realize he was keeping in.

“Okay, brilliant.”

When he unlocks the door and opens it he’s met with the horrifying sight of his hallway a complete mess of jackets and shoes, and he swallows nervously as he starts apologizing.

“Uhm. It’s not quite as clean as it normally is, we, that is my roommate and I, were a bit busy this morning,” which is a blatant lie, this is the normal state of the apartment, it might even be a little bit tidier than usual. But he’s never telling Isak Valtersen that.

As they enter Even surreptitiously kicks some shoes out of the way and quickly hangs up a couple of jackets.

“It’s fine,” Isak mutters behind him and Even is torn between looking back at Isak to just look at him. A movie star. In his home. But on the other hand, he’s afraid what kind of face Isak is surely making at the state of this place.  

The door closes behind Isak and Even finally turns to look at Isak who’s now staring a framed photo of Even with the rest of his family.

“Right. I’ll just get you something to change into.” Even almost runs to his room, frantically rummaging through his clothes for something clean, but luck would have it that there’s almost nothing clean left. He should’ve done the laundry days ago, and he himself has been wearing the same shirt for three days now, but he does manage to find a clean pair of sweatpants and then he takes the liberty to pop into Magnus’ room for a second to find a clean t-shirt there. He’s not happy with the lone clean t-shirt that’s left in Magnus’ closet, but it’ll have to do.

Isak is standing in their living room by the time he comes out of Magnus’ room and he hands him the clothes.

“Here, the bathroom is just down the hall, to your right.”

Isak smiles a small smile and Even almost melts at the sight. Isak’s taken off his cap and his hair is so bouncy and curly and his eyes are so green that Even almost can’t stand it.

“Thank you,” Isak says and disappears into the bathroom.

Even uses the time he’s out there wisely, rushes through picking up clothes and throwing them into his room, which he then closes the door to, and his eyes widen in horror when he reaches the kitchen.

Fuck. It’s such a mess. He throws some really dirty plates in a cupboard and scoops a handful of dirty mugs into the sink and then he hears the door to the bathroom open.

Isak appears in the door to the kitchen, wearing Even’s old washed-out sweatpants and a t-shirt with lots of hearts saying You’re the most beautiful woman in the world which would be lovely if not for the Fancy a fuck Even knows is on the back. Once more he curses the universe for his uncoolness. Why couldn’t this happen on a day where they had just done the laundry and had one of those spontaneous Why is everything so disgusting in here? We should clean it up-days that they have once in a while (or once a year if he’s being honest).

He postpones his inevitable break-down by opening the fridge and as he looks through it he asks, “Would you like something to drink? Some beer or soda? Or orange juice?” he pops his head out of the fridge to add, “no better not that one.”

And Isak smiles at him, a real smile, a bit bigger this time and oh. Even wants him to smile all the time now.

“Are you hungry instead?” he asks and pulls out the only thing eatable from the fridge. He looks at it as he’s talking. “We have some… apricots, soaked in honey?” he glances at Isak who just shakes his head and Even couldn’t keep all the words inside of him even if he tried it seems. He rambles on, “No, I wouldn’t recommend it either. I don’t even know why we have these because really, they stop tasting like apricots and just taste like honey. And if you wanted honey, you would just eat honey, you know? Instead of apricots. But anyway. If you want them, they’re your’s.”

And he’s almost out of breath from saying all that, but it keeps the smile on Isak’s face and even though he just answers no again, it makes Even want to keep talking.

“Do you always answer no to every question?”

It makes Isak’s smile widen even more, and he pauses a bit before he answers, “No.”

Even laughs. He can’t help it, this is just too surreal. “Alright then.”

And then there’s the awkward shuffle of getting them back into the hallway and them trying to say goodbye to each other. Imagine all that tension with them crammed into the small hallway, the way Isak keeps looking at Even’s lips until he finally leans in and plants a small, almost innocent kiss on them, and Even almost can’t breathe from it.

He touches his lips in wonder, can’t help but ask, “What was that for?”

Isak shrugs, one hand still on the door handle, but before he can answer the door opens violently, making Isak stumble a bit from the force of it, and Magnus rushes through them, a flurry of blond hair and colorful clothes, and he takes off his jacket and toes off his shoes while he walks down the hall, talking without even paying them any attention.

“I just have to piss real quick,” Magnus says in a much too loud voice for the small hallway, “and then I’m going to tell you a story that will make your balls shrivel up to the size of raisins.” 

The bathroom door slams behind him and Even just have time to think that he at least closed the door this time before he turns to Isak in horror.

Isak has a wide-eyed half-smiling look on his face, like he’s not sure what just happened and yes. Even can relate.

“My roommate, Magnus,” he says pointing over his shoulder in Magnus’ general direction, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him hole. He’s still reeling from the kiss and how the world is all backward today.

“I have to go,” Isak says, but he sounds almost sorry and Even just wants him to stay.

“Right. It’s been surreal, but nice,” Even says, closing his eyes to how stupid that sounded but he can hear Isak snort at it.

“Surreal but nice?” he asks in a teasing tone and Even just wants to kiss him all over again.

“Yes. Sorry about that. I don’t always… mouth, brain, you know.” And he has to take a deep breath to not die of mortification.

“Don’t worry about it,” Isak says with that damn delicious smile still playing on his lips. “I thought the honey-soaked apricot thing was the real low point.”

It punches a surprised laugh out of Even. “Right, yes. That.”

Isak reaches for the door handle again. “Goodbye Even,” he says and then he starts to open the door and Even knows that he’ll probably never see him again.

But there are just no words in him to keep Isak there anymore it seems, so he returns the goodbye and watches as he walks out the door, watches him walk down the street, out of his life.

It’s not until Magnus comes out of the bathroom, pants still open saying, “Wait. Was that Isak Valtersen?” that he closes the door behind him and turns to face Magnus with an eye-roll.

------

WOWSIE!!!! This got so long, though?

Look what you made me do anon!!!

Why do I always do this??? I keep telling myself that if I wrote this AU it would be a small one-shot of maybe 8k words. Honestly, I don’t even know who I’m trying to kid anymore. Because it would get so long, and even though I really want to write it, there are so much other stuff that I want to write too. (and I know that there’s another Notting Hill AU coming out soon and I still don’t want to step on anybody’s toes)

No, but seriously, thank you for letting me play in this verse a bit anon (and for paying attention!). It’s been so much fun and I really, really loved it! I hope you enjoyed it too… :D :D