#WHOOPS ??

[halfdemonguy]

Yehehe! Well I'm dead from bleeding out ig. Or i would probably stuff my hand in my throat and kms than live in that pain of air touching my bare muscles

uh oh! one of your organs has mysteriously vanished! Spin this wheel to find out which one!

[cinnamontoastcrunch-15]

OKAY this was initially meant to be for the wolfstarmicrofic prompt unrequited (10th Feb), but then I got too into it, it's well over 1,000 words, and I gave it a day to figure out how to end it. It's now a oneshot that doesn't currently have a name (bear with I'll figure out what to call it haha)

Remus is in love with Sirius.

Everybody knows it. His friends, most of the students, the teachers, even Sirius himself. After one drunken confession that involved a lot of him crying and apologising, and Sirius pulling him into a hug to assure him over and over that it doesn't change anything between them, Remus has reached a pretty solid conclusion.

Sirius doesn't love him.

In all honesty, it's exactly what he had expected, and why he'd kept it a secret for as long as he had. Thankfully, Sirius wasn't lying when he said it wouldn't change anything. If anything, Remus has felt a hell of a lot lighter since everything happened. Sure, all of his friends know that he's hopelessly head over heels for his best friend, and that it's embarrassingly one sided, but none of them are judging him for it. They're all being really nice about everything. It's gotten to the point that Remus can make jokes about it and have his friends laughing, rather than halfheartedly trying to conceal their pity. It's a welcome relief, even if he still spends an unhealthy amount of time crying with his curtains closed around his bed.

Still, peaks and valleys.

Everything feels a little lighter than it did before and, hey, at least he knows where everybody stands now.

Well, he thought he did.

As it turns out, all it takes is a poorly timed joke to flip Remus' world on its head.

He's just chatting with Mary, walking back from class. In all honesty, he'd thought that his friendship with them would be ruined after they found out that he's in love with their ex, but honestly? It feels like they've gotten much closer since the whole thing came to light.

As the two of them get into the common room, it's as though Sirius just... appears in front of them. He makes Remus jump a mile, much to Mary's amusement.

"Hi. Hey. Could I, er... could I talk to you about something?" Remus watches Sirius' brow furrow in that way of his, and he knows that he's going to say yes. The ominous implications of needing to talk make him feel a little bit sick, really, but he's not going to say no to Sirius. He can't bring himself to do it. Especially not when he seems so... nervous.

"'Course." He turns to Mary. "See you around?" They nod, before turning to Sirius.

"Meadowes." Sirius nods at them.

"Black. Listen, hurt his feelings and I'll do something Azkaban worthy." They jab a finger at his chest, and everyone knows that they're not joking.

"Got it," he says, quickly raising his hands. They release him, then, shooting Remus a kind smile before disappearing upstairs. Sirius turns to Remus, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Remus says, shrugging sheepishly. "They're still in the whole... feeling sorry for me phase."

"Ah. Right." The two of them start to walk up to the dorm together.

"It'll pass," Remus says gently, not missing Sirius' sudden uncertainty. "Everyone was like that at first, remember?"

"Yeah," Sirius nods. "Merlin, it was a sad few weeks, wasn't it?"

"Well, unrequited love is terribly depressing," Remus quips, hoping to draw a smile out of Sirius. Instead, Sirius gets into the dorm with clenched fists. He stops in his tracks, unclenching his hands and pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. He isn't facing Remus but, based on the shaking of his shoulders, Remus can tell that he's fighting tears. "Hey, what's...?" Sirius crumbles, burying his head in his hands and outright refusing to turn around. "Sirius... hey, c'mere."

He quickly moves in front of Sirius and pulls him into a hug without really thinking, hoping that he can hold him through whatever crisis is going on in his head. Thankfully, Sirius relaxes into the hug, tension leaving his body as he cries into Remus' shoulder.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," Sirius gets out, slightly muffled in Remus' shoulder.

"Sorry for what?" Remus asks softly, confused. "Last time I checked, you haven't done anything wrong."

"I- Moony, I'm- awful, I'm so awful." He holds Remus a little tighter, as Remus tries his level best to figure out what's going on.

"You're not awful," he says simply, firmly, hoping that it's enough to at least slightly dispel the panic that seems to be gripping at Sirius.

"I am. Fuck, I really am. I- I don't want to- I don't want to lose you."

"You're not going to lose me," Remus answers, even more confused than he was before. Sirius untangles himself from the hug, quickly wiping his eyes and taking a deep breath. "What's going on?"

"Remus, I- I don't know how to say it."

"Whatever it is," Remus starts slowly, carefully, "I promise I won't be pissed off."

"...You will be," Sirius says quietly. Remus practically wants to shake him, tell him that there's literally nothing that he could do that would anger him.

"I promise you," he says again, as Sirius looks up and meets his eyes. "I won't be." Sirius nods, taking a deep breath.

"I... well, Remus, I- I'm..." He stops himself, screwing his eyes shut. "I'm in love with you," he exhales in a rush, and-

What?

Remus' eyes widen, as Sirius chances a glance at him. For a second, Remus can't actually think. Every thought seems to have run out of his brain, his voice dying out, anything other than shock bolting from his system.

"I- I think I have been for a while, I just... I don't know, I was so scared. Hell, I still am pretty scared," he says with an empty laugh. "I just... I'd been pushing down this part of me for so long, I don't think I was thinking about how I actually felt when you... I was more thinking about making sure you knew that I didn't want to stop being around you. I mean... it took me until a few weeks back to even start thinking about what I want, which... it isn't fair on you, Rem, and-"

"You love me?"

"...yeah."

"You're in love with me."

"Yeah."

"This isn't a joke, is it?" He asks suddenly.

"What? No! No, it's not a joke."

"Because it's not funny."

"No, it's not funny. It's not a joke."

For a second, they just look at each other, both boys desperate to find something to say.

The issue is, no words are coming to Remus' head.

He needs to do something, though. He can't just leave Sirius standing here after that. Honestly, a big part of him feels like this is all just a dream, one that he's about to wake up from and mourn for a long time. There's no way that Sirius...

Fuck.

Sirius loves him.

This whole time, Sirius has loved him. He feels like he should be somewhat frustrated, after all of the time spent heartbroken, but he can't bring himself to be. Not at Sirius.

Eventually, Remus reaches his limit with the silence. He can't take just standing here with what he knows now. Words clearly aren't an option anymore, so Remus opts for the easiest option.

He pulls Sirius in by the jacket and kisses him.

After the initial surprise, Sirius positively melts. His hands reach out and cup Remus' face, as Remus winds his free arm around Sirius' waist and tries to tell himself that he isn't dreaming. This is real. Sirius right in front of him and tangible. Sirius kissing him like he's more important than oxygen.

Sirius kissing him.

After what feels all too short, both of them break apart, interrupted by the need to breathe. Remus wouldn't be able to fight the smile rapidly spreading across his face even if he wanted to. Thankfully, Sirius has a very similar smile infecting him.

"I love you," Remus says, watching Sirius blush more than he'd ever seen him blush before.

"I love you," he says back, and Remus gets the strongest urge to kiss him again.

Sirius beats him to it.

[midnight-the-pony]

Yeah I stopped drawing for a while because I got brainrot beamed by a new hyperfixation. Yeah it's probably gonna happen again. Sorry. Anyways here's the new government assigned comfort character

Flat colour and timelapse under cut

[loni4ever]

Oh yeah, that state called 'please let me finish this passage and not make an idiot of myself by bumbling something as simple as reading 3 sentences out loud.'

I remember that one.

why does my mother suddenly fail kindergarten whenever she tries to do anything on the computer

[casualshrimp-but-undertale]

where is he (intro part 2/3)

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dream belongs to jokublog

ink belongs to comyet

[suzythesilkie]

Paint your men too pretty and they become Anya Mouthwashing

[inkieflame]

You’ll look back and laugh someday (or at least you’ll learn to be okay)

A Life Series Lab AU, featuring Mumbo

Content warnings: kidnaping, tranquilizer gun, implied abuse, angst

2200 words

Aka: it’s Mumbo’s first day in the facility. He meets some new friends, and reunites with an old friend.

Author's note: wow, this came out much longer than I expected. I guess that's what I get lol. It is the first one shot for the AU so I had to do work building

Mumbo likes to think the world is predictable. He likes mechanics and spreadsheets, and he likes things that are always the same. He likes days where he gets to wake up, follow a plan, and go back to bed.

But today is not one of those days.

It is hard to tell what is happening exactly, but Mumbo is very certain he does not like it. It is dark and humid where he’s just woken up, and by the way the floor is shaking, he guesses he is in the back of a van.

He tries to reach up to rub the sleep from his eyes, but his hands seem stuck on something. He tugs again, only to finally come to the realization that his hands are tied behind him.

“Hello, excuse me?” he calls. He strains to look towards the front of the vehicle. “Where am I? What are you doing?”

Two people in cloaks and masks sit in the front. One of them, the one who wasn’t driving, turns to stare at Mumbo. The mask is white, covering his whole face, with one cultish symbol in the middle.

“Erm. Hello.” Mumbo clears his throat, “Mind explaining?”

The masked person just glances back at the driver and murmurs something to them.

The driver sighs and nods.

Mumbo arches his eyebrows, trying to make out what they were saying, “I’m sorry, you what?”

There is a tranquilizer gun pointed at him in a matter of moments.

“Goodness gracious!” he gasps, “Now, I don’t think-”

But then the trigger is pulled, and Mumbo can’t feel the movement of the van anymore.

…

There is a cold metal floor underneath him, still and steady.

Mumbo groans and sits up, rubbing his face. His hands are free again, he realizes. He rubs his wrists where the bite of the rope has left angry, red lines.

He frowns at his clothes. White tank top and pants. He doesn’t own these clothes. They aren’t his.

“What on earth…” Mumbo looks up at the people around him.

He is surrounded by half a dozen people in identical masks and cloaks. Several medical devices and tubes are attached to various parts of his body. They seem to be measuring something.

One of the people turns to look at him.

“Hello, I see you have awoken

Welcome to your new home.

Just making sure nothing’s broken

Then you’ll be free to roam.”

Mumbo just stares at the person blankly. They begin to remove the medical devices stuck to his arms and chest.

“Excuse me,” he says, “I, uhm, who are you? Why are you rhyming?”

The person nods, as if expecting this question, but they don’t answer him.

“You can’t just take a person off the street like that! I was filming!” He looks around quickly, like he would be able to find his things just laying on a table somewhere. “Where is my camera? And the rest of my equipment?”

One of the people help him off the table he was sitting on. The tiles are cold under his feet.

“And where are my shoes?” He huffs, “what is happening?”

The person walks him to the door. They nod, as if they understand his confusion.

“Let me show you around,

I’ll give you some rules too.

Just stay inside your bounds,

And trouble will avoid you.”

The person guides Mumbo to a wide room, painted bleach white, and gestures to a frame on the wall. Glancing around the room, Mumbo sees a three other doors, one on each side of the room. In the center of the room there are several tables and seats, bolted to the floor, and a few bean bags in the farthest two corners. Several people in the same white uniform as him are scattered around the area.

Mumbo swallows nervously and turns to the frame. Inside are a list of rules:

1. Obey the Watchers

2. Eat during designated mealtimes

3. Take your medication

4. Stay in your room at quiet time

5. Work hard

“Who are the-“ Mumbo turns to the person who led him here, but they are gone. “-The… Watchers.”

The other people in the room keep glancing at him. He can hear some of their whispers.

“-Another new one?”

“Poor guy…”

“You don’t think-“

“Rude, aren’t they?”

That last voice is directly in Mumbo’s ear, and he flinches.

“Well they just sit there talking about you instead of introducing themselves.” The guy who is talking is covered in scars. He looks charming, and warm, and like he would be over six feet tall if not for the wheelchair he was sitting in. “I’m Scar by the way.” He holds out a hand.

Mumbo eyes the people on the other side of the room, before shaking Scar’s hand.

Scar has a metal collar around his neck. It looks uncomfortable, except then Mumbo reaches up to feel his own neck and finds a matching one. He tugs on it gently, and something sharp pricks against the nape of his neck. He decides to not force it off.

“Sorry, excuse me.” Mumbo rings his hands together, “Where am I? What’s happening?”

“Last Life SMP” Scar answers, as if that was any sort of answer. “And you’re a new subject! There’s two other new subjects too, I think, but I don’t know where they went.”

“Uh. SMP?”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s a Scientific Mastery Project. It’s what they call facilities like this, where they test us and make us do things. For, like, science I guess.”

Mumbo shakes his head, “I’m. I’m not a subject of anything! I need to go home, how do I leave?”

Scar winces, like he’s been waiting for this question. Instead of answering, he turns his wheelchair around, “Let me show you the facility?”

Mumbo hurries behind, “Who were those other people? Why were they rhyming?”

“Oh, the Watchers.” Scar says, “Yeah, they just do that. We don’t know why. The Watchers run everything here. The tests, the work, the food, everything.”

“Work?” Mumbo squeaks. Oh goodness. Oh no. Has he been kidnapped into a labor camp? His stomach drops.

Scar nods, struggling with a doorknob and his wheelchair. Mumbo opens the door and holds it open for him. “Thank you. Yeah. Rentings and stuff. You, uh, you get used to it.”

There is a beat of silence as Scar wheels down the hall. There are several doors along the stretch of hallway, each spread out by several meters. The doors each have a window next to them, but most of the curtains are drawn.

Scar stops at one of the doors at the very end of the hall, “This is the last open room.” He says, “So you stay here.”

Mumbo pushes the door open and peers in the room.

Other than the light coming in from the hallway, it is dark. It pours in through the open window, illuminating the small space. There is a bed and a nightstand. A lamp sits on the nightstand. Other than those things, the room is plain.

“No. No, I’m supposed to go home.” Mumbo says, “I can’t stay here.”

Scar rolls backwards a few inches, avoiding eye contact, “Could I introduced you to the others?”

Mumbo hesitates, then sighs and nods, “Yeah, maybe someone in charge? So I can explain this is all misunderstanding. Then I can go home.”

Scar doesn’t answer. He just wheels away down the hall.

Distantly, Mumbo can hear screaming, “What was that?”

Scar swallows. His voice is stiff, “It’s just Joel.”

“Joel?” Mumbo echoes, “Well is he okay? Why is he screaming?”

Scar forces a smile, “This is Scott’s room! You’ll like Scott.” He knocks on the door.

The knock his answered by a little voice, “you can come in.”

Scar nods at Mumbo, prompting him to open the door and creep inside. Someone, Mumbo assumes this is Scott, is laying on top of the bed. He lifts his head weakly to look at Mumbo.

“You’re new.” He comments. “Did Impulse send you here?”

“Uh, Scar.” Mumbo says. “You’re Scott?”

Scott forces himself to sit up with a pained sigh, “Yeah.” He manages, “That’s me. Do you need something?”

Mumbo hesitates, looking Scott up and down. He looks ill. “Are. Are you okay?”

Scott grimaces, “Yeah, all good here.”

This was clearly a lie, but Mumbo could hear Scar calling him down the hall.

“Well. Good.” Mumbo manages, “I’ll, um. Goodbye.”

“Bye.” Scott says.

Mumbo hurries down the hall to catch up with Scar, who is already talking about how Mumbo should meet Impulse and Skizz.

They pass doors and windows until one of the catches Mumbo’s attention fiercely. He stops walking.

Those eyes.

Someone has their curtains open, and they are staring directly at Mumbo with wide purple eyes.

“He’s cool, you’ll like him. Oh, and you should-“ Scars cuts himself off, realizing that Mumbo has stopped following him. “Mumbo? What are you looking at?”

His throat is dry.

“I know him.”

Scar is quiet.

“Who is that?” Mumbo asks, “Why won’t he blink?”

His eyes stare and stare, and Mumbo can feel himself start to sweat under the gaze. He knows those eyes. He knows that face, that figure.

And yet something is so wrong.

“Scar, who is that?”

The hallway is silent, except for the soft sound of Scar coming back over to be beside Mumbo. Scar looks through the window at the person sitting in the bed.

“He doesn’t talk to anyone.” Scar says. “He just sits there and looks at people. Sometimes he comes out to get food, but even then, he doesn’t say anything.”

“But I know him.” Mumbo says, still unable to take his eyes away. “What’s his name?”

Scar shakes his head, “You wouldn’t know him, he’s been here forever. Longer than I have.”

“His name.” Mumbo insists.

Scar hesitates.

Mumbo manages to tear his eyes away to look at Scar.

Scar sighs, “Grian.”

And it clicks.

Mumbo knows where he’s seen that face before. Grian is not a common name, but Mumbo knows it. He knows it very well.

He steps away from the window and slams the door open. Without the glass between them, Grian is much less intimidating. He’s in the same uniform as them, with a metal collar stuck around his neck. He was just as much prisoner as Mumbo was.

Grian’s eyes go wide at the sudden movement, and his wings flare up, but he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at Mumbo.

“Grian.” Mumbo says, “Grian, it’s me.”

Grian does not answer. His black wings lower slightly. Mumbo takes it as recognition.

He wanders a step closer, “It’s your best friend.” Somewhere behind him, Scar makes a choked noise. Mumbo ignores it. “Grian, where have you been?”

Grian does not answer.

“Just… here? The whole time? Grian, it’s been years!” Mumbo says. “You can’t have-”

“Mumbo.” Scar starts. “how do you know him?”

Mumbo turns to where Scar is sitting a distance away, “I know him from- I, uh, I grew up with him. I’ve known him forever.” He turns back to Grian, “We thought you were dead! You’ve been reported missing for ages.”

Grian’s eyes finally move away from Mumbo to stare at Scar through the window. Then he slowly looks back at Mumbo.

Mumbo approaches Grian carefully, “I thought I’d never see you again. How long has it been, five years? Six?”

Grian watches him carefully. He is sitting crisscross in his bed, hands in his lap, with a blank and unmoving look on his face. His hair is longer than Mumbo remembers. And his eyes.

Something is wrong with his eyes.

They shouldn’t be that color.

“What did they do to you?” Mumbo breathes, stopping at the edge of the bed in front of Grian. “You’re not. You’re not okay.”

Grian looks down at his hands. Mumbo follows his gaze, and spots with Grian is looking at.

Two symbols, one on the back of each of his hands, are seared into his skin. Burned, dark and red.

The same symbol Mumbo saw on the masks of the Watchers.

A brand.

His stomach turns uneasily. He glances back at Scar. He has no burn marks on his hands. Mumbo swallows, throat dry, and looks back at Grian.

“Why did they do this to you?”

But Grian still doesn’t answer. He just lifts his head again to stare at Mumbo blankly. Mumbo is going to be sick.

“Why did they hurt you? Why did they take you away?” Mumbo starts to beg, “Say something, Grian! Say something.”

Grian’s expression doesn’t change.

Mumbo shudders and grips the bedsheets, “Why won’t you answer?” he asks weakly, “You use to laugh! You use to laugh so much…”

And Grian keeps looking at him, unblinking, eyes so unfocused that Mumbo doubts he can even hear him.

“Answer me.” Mumbo whispers, head bowed and eyes screwed shut, “You were my best friend…”

Scar rolls up beside him silently, and reaches to put his hand over Mumbo’s.

The comfort is lost on him.

[petrenocka]

Fair enough, it could very well do without the obnoxious condescension. Idk if that's public execution worthy since it is still context that might be useful to someone who doesn't know the language.

The Yuri gagarin joke is brilliant, I might just have a bit of a undue vendetta against mistranslations.

Love the contrast between the Americans’ “Apollo” and the Soviets’ “Sputnik.” You got the Americans naming their rocket after a Greek god trying to communicate the grandness and importance of this rocket. And you got the Soviets naming their rocket “fellow traveler.” Like a friend you go on an  adventure with together. This rocket is our little friend lol 

[s0up1ta]

"so grunkle ford how do you know bill?"

"... that's not important."

[mxbequiet]

this was easily one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen cinematically, so god damn incredible.

Nosferatu, 2024

dir. Robert Eggers

[pissmamiii]

anyone want fall in love with me already and have the filthiest, soul merging sex everyday of our lives

[sex-drugz-rockroll]

He's a pureblood. That's GENERATIONS of magic mixing and strengthening. That's CULTURE and LEGACY in the library at Grimauld. It's knowledge he 100% had instilled from a young age. No way Walburga would let him get away with not doing it. He's going to be extremely gifted. I don't appreciate the fabdom acting like pureblood magic isn't slightly different and potentially a bit more innate because they would have grown up around it, unlike muggle borns or some half bloods.

Sirius would be so inteligent, he's upper class. It's what they do. Also, this is just people trying to smash a typical heterosexual dynamic onto a gay couple. Like, no, there doesn't have to be a less capable? In any relationship? That ideal stems from misogyny and we shouldn't be applying that to anyone, let alone a gay couple?

People don't get that their prejudice seeps into their worl and supporting queers doesn't equal unlearning the shit we were indoctrinated with.

I just think Sirius Black is good at everything, actually.

"He had bad grades, and Remus had to help him study" wrong. He was actually one of the best in his year without even trying, while others had to kill themselves studying. He was amazing at Quidditch, even without waking up at seven a.m. to practice like James. Just a few tries, and he got it.

"He didn’t care about school" wrong. He did, just not in the way people expected. He didn’t take notes or study like Remus, but he listened. He remembered things. He got into debates with professors—not just for fun, but because he deeply cared about the topics. Sometimes, his points were so sharp they had to pause and rethink their own arguments.

"He was terrible at cooking and almost burned the whole place down every time he tried" also wrong. He rarely did it because he was lazy, but when he did, he didn’t even need to glance at the recipe. Somehow, whatever he made always turned out incredible.

"He was all talk and no skill in dueling" wrong again. He was fast, instinctive, reckless, yes, but brilliant. He didn’t just memorize spells... he understood them, twisted them, made them work for him in ways they weren’t supposed to. Always calculated.

And people always thought he never took anything seriously, but that’s the most wrong of all. He was talented, yes, but he also observed, learned fast, adapted. He didn’t practice like James, but he watched, took in details, and adjusted. He made up for what he didn’t know and made things look easy because he refused to let anyone see how much he cared. About winning. About proving himself. About making sure no one ever saw the cracks.

[secretly-a-trekkie]

he needs his floor time

[vaugely10]

moon waltzing

[doc-art]

Don't leave her waiting, that lap needs a warming!