#a special friend universe

[luveline]

for the fred x asf!reader, maybe something where one of his family members is like whispering about r or says something rude or backhanded and he sticks up for her? or if you don’t want to do his family, maybe a friend or something?

ty for requesting! fem, 1.7k

Sometimes you get so sick with everything that it makes you gag. It sounds insane, how can an illness that tires you force something like a gag? It might be more appropriate to attribute it to anxiety, but it’s overwhelming, whatever it is. You get this feeling like you’re totally lost in the middle of the day and all Fred can do is watch you as you scramble out of your seat for a bathroom. 

You haven’t actually thrown up yet. You stand bent over the bathroom sink in the burrow and breathe. Your gag had been loud —it wouldn’t surprise you if everybody here tonight had heard it. Fred stands just outside the door, the bathroom too small to force his way in while you still stand at the sink. 

“Lovely,” he says, without shame despite the tens of ears listening in, “can I come in?” 

The basin is made of yellow and orange tile, peculiar as the rest of the burrow. The mirror is framed by the same colours. You meet your own eyes and don’t have it in you to scowl. You aren’t angry at being sick. You aren’t sorry for yourself. You’re just tired. 

Fred says your name. 

You scoot into the very corner of the bathroom and begin opening the door for him. He’s in as soon as you allow him to be, shimmying between the door and the toilet to close it behind him again. He takes a breath of relief when he finds you unhurt, but his concern doesn’t waver. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

Sometimes you wish Fred didn’t have to see you at all. Like this, like that, ever. You wish he never met you, because you know he’s beautiful inside and out, and he has to witness you at your constant lows. “Fine.” 

“My mum’s making some peppermint tea, if you want some. It settles the stomach.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Is there something wrong?” 

Beyond the usual? No. Everything is the same. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’ll be in love with him forever without ever feeling enough, maybe he’ll keep looking at you like he is now, softly, the slightest air of defeat about him. There are wires crossed in your head you can’t fix, and he loves you, and sometimes it doesn’t make a bit of difference. 

“Hey,” he says, “it’s okay.” Fred holds your arm by the elbow.

“I know. I don’t know what…” 

Do you ever? 

Fred doesn’t catch onto your dark mood. “That’s enough for today. We’ll go home, okay? Let me just say goodbye to mum, you can say bye to George. Or do we…” 

“No. It’s okay, I’ll go and see him.” 

“Okay.” He kisses your cheek. 

Fred leaves first. By the time you’ve slipped between the toilet and the door back out into the hallway, he’s gone. Not even his scent lingers. You make your way back into the living room where you’d been before you started feeling sick, face angled down. 

“You alright?” Charlie asks. 

You raise your head to smile at him quickly. “I’m okay. Just not feeling well, sorry.” 

“Going home?” George asks. 

You bite your tongue and nod. George gathers your jumper where you’d shed it in a hot flush and quickly stands to be by your side. 

“Let me walk you down to the garden.” 

“Okay. Bye, Charlie. See you next week.” 

“Feel better!” Charlie calls as you go. 

You pull your jumper on and follow George out into the garden, where you meander. You’d say goodbye to Molly, only she’s so caring that it can make things worse. She’s more understanding of how you feel than you’d first expected, but she made boys like Fred and George, so it shouldn’t surprise you. 

“What’s that about? The being sick?” George asks eventually. 

“I wasn’t sick.” 

“No?” 

“No, it’s just kecking. I don’t really know what it is, honestly.” 

George looks like Fred, but they’re not as identical as people think. Very occasionally you’ll spot him across the shop and think it’s your boyfriend for a few nanoseconds, but you could never mistake them for one another in good lighting. When George offers a hug, it doesn’t feel like Fred’s touch. You know the difference. 

“Maybe it’s, like, a sign you need to chill out for a bit.” 

“I’m always chilled out. Nobody expects anything from me. I never do anything.” 

George pulls back with an arm still covering your shoulders, “Listen to the way you’re talking,” he says gently, “you need to be nice to yourself, even if it’s just until you feel better. You know? Something is clearly winding you up, and it doesn’t have to. You can tell me about it.” 

It’s something, but it’s something he knows already. You hold your arm to his, struggling to explain, to want to. You wish you could go back to saying nothing; it was easier to be quiet. 

George isn’t disappointed. He rubs your arm. “You can tell me whenever. Or not tell me. Don’t tell me anything, let’s just ditch Fred and go get cake.” 

“I can’t ditch Fred.” 

“Why?” 

“I like him.” 

“Ugh.” George puts his cheek to yours. “Whatever. You’ll pick the right twin eventually.” 

Shouting echoes from the house. You and George look up at the same time, startled, the light mood of your joking quickly tanked. “Is that Fred?” you ask. 

It’s definitely Fred. “I couldn’t care less what you think, Ronald, I’d be surprised if you could form intelligent thought–” 

“Fred!” Molly shouts, “Boys, please, there’s no need for all the shouting!” 

“If I were you I’d look at yourself carefully the next time you're tempted to open your fat gob–”

George laughs beside you. “Jesus, what’s Ron said?” 

“I have no idea.” The twins argue with Ron every time they see him, so it could be anything. “Maybe he’s harping on Fred to cut his hair again.” 

“Well, he should.” 

“No way.” You picture your lovely boyfriend with short, short hair as everyone wants him to have and cringe. “No, thank you.” 

“Just don’t talk about her, Ron! It’s really quite simple, even a half-wit like you could understand it if you tried, don’t even think about her–”

Your chest falls as you realise what it is that’s making all the fuss. At Fred’s shout, there’s an upheaval of sounds, Ron’s yelling, Molly’s, and Arthur’s quieter pleading for everybody to calm down. Fred says something you can’t hear, and then the door out into the garden is opening, and Fred huffs a breath as he makes his way down the path. 

“Hey,” he says, forcing a smile when he sees you and George. “Ready to go?” 

“What happened?” you ask. 

“It’s nothing. Ron being Ron.” 

“Did he say something?” 

Fred looks between you and George with a frown. “He’s hardly capable of stringing four words together. But yes, he said something.” His frown deepens. “He’s just being a dick. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Was it about me?” 

Fred squints at you. “Could you be less perceptive?” 

“No.” 

He visually debates telling you what’s been said. George grabs your shoulder, half a hug as he says, “I can invoke a divine punishment.” 

“It was nothing cruel, ghost.” Fred sighs. “He asked me why you act like that, and I– He doesn’t get it, okay? But that doesn’t mean you act wrong.” 

“I see,” you say. 

Fred watches your face. His own turns to heartbreak. “Listen, I’ll go back in there. I’ll kill him.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Of course I will.” Fred ducks his head a little to see you where you’ve shied away. “I will kill him.” 

George snorts. “Me first. He’s such a fucking dolt of a boy.” 

“No, it’s okay, I know I’m weird–”

“I’ll kill him–”

“Fred,” you interrupt. You take a moment to formulate what you’re saying, because it’s important, and because you constantly toe the same line, “I am weird. He doesn’t have to pretend I wasn’t just almost sick in the living room for no real reason–”

“It’s not about pretending, it’s that he thinks you do it on purpose.” Fred speaks with such severity that you immediately close your mouth. “I’ve seen you struggle for so long, it’s painful, ghost, and it’s worse for you, I know it is, and the insinuation that you’re choosing–”

“Fred,” you say, putting your hand to his chest. “It’s okay.” 

“Well, it isn’t,” George says, “but yeah, it’s okay. I’m gonna make slugs come out of his nose.” 

George kisses your cheek, a smacking joking thing that you bat away before he jogs back up the path to the house. Fred looks down at your hand on his chest, still frowning, but with a slowly relaxing brow. 

“You can’t blame people for not getting it,” you say. 

“Yes, I can.” 

“You can’t.” 

“Yes, I can. You are difficult to understand sometimes, lovely, but being difficult to understand does not mean you’re difficult to care about. Ron’s total lack of empathy is ridiculous. He should be better than that.” 

“He just doesn’t get it,” you say, raising a hand to his chin to turn his head, and lifting your chin to kiss his cheek primly. “But I don’t need him to. Just need you.” 

He grabs you in a hug before you can move away, his face pressed against yours. “How do you feel now?” he asks quietly. “Still poorly?” 

“Yeah, a bit. George told me I need to chill out.” 

“You do. That’s what we’re going home to do.”

Fred is so careful with you that it sort of hurts. Like, to have someone stand in front of you and to hold you without a second thought, to have never let you down, to grab you at the first sign of weakness and hold you together. You will never, ever feel like you deserve him. Maybe you don’t. But Fred doesn’t work on deserving, he just loves, lips soft on your temple as his hand scrunched into your side. “Don’t worry,” he says gently, fingers curling in and out against you, almost like a loving scratch, “you’ll feel better soon.” 

[1800-lemon-boy]

Friendly reminder that Jason spent months looking for Leo and only stopped when Chiron forced him to enroll in school.

<33

[nori-no-name]

If Blue Diamond ever fused, I think Garnet should be at least a little petty about it

[zehl0w]

Very messy scribble of a comic because they were on my mind (I doubt I’ll ever clean it up so I’m just posting it now so it doesn’t rot in my procreate files LOL)

[dragondraems]

The new dunmeshi episode really reminded me that Laios was canonically fairly stoic and withdrawn before going on this little adventure. You can tell that he doesn't normally share his interests with others... I can't wait to watch him open up more to his party members during the show!

[yunyin]

Thinking about the reverse-verse again and wondering if Felix and Kagami exist in it

[aromanthiccc]

But I know from experience that you only get one... best friend

[pianokantzart]

I want to discuss the difference in the relationship between Mario and Luigi in the games vs in the movie universe. I mean, is their bond wholesome in both scenarios? Yes. Obviously. But there is a special closeness between Movie Mario and Luigi that I really need to ramble about. In the games, Mario was born into the world where he belongs– a world that needed a daring hero. One of his first acts was to go on an adventure to rescue his brother, even though he was a literal infant at that time. He hit the ground running the moment he gained consciousness, and hasn’t slowed down since. Everyone sees this heroism and determination, and admires him for it.

But in the Movie Verse, Mario is born into a lower-middle class family of blue collar workers in a world that doesn’t take well to reckless heroism. Bullheaded bravery is considered amusing at best, and an embarrassment at worst. There are no monsters to fight or princesses to save, there is only money to make and jobs to do, and Mario does his best to adapt.

In the games (the Mario & Luigi RPGs in particular) Mario doesn’t react to people disregarding or talking down to Luigi unless Luigi shows it bothers him, because, otherwise, I don’t think Mario even knows it hurts him. He probably thinks that surely Luigi knows his worth, and that there’s no use getting defensive over pointless nonsense when there’s more important things at stake. There is a lot of love between the brothers, but there is also the natural divide between someone who has fit in effortlessly his entire life, and someone who has been struggling desperately to keep up with him, just to get brushed aside because he doesn’t measure up in the eyes of the world.

Heroism doesn’t come easy to Luigi, but he does it anyways because he cares about his brother, and wants to do the right thing.

In both the games and the movie Luigi is an anxious, goofy, clumsy victim of continuous bad luck, whose kindness and good nature always shines through despite everything. He is deemed too gentle and nervous to fit in, an easy target who can be mistreated and pushed around without consequence... ... unless, of course, Mario is there.

In the games, Mario will argue on behalf of his brother if it’s clear his feelings are hurt, but in the movie verse Mario is prepared to throw hands in a heartbeat the moment you disrespect Luigi, because that version of Mario knows what it’s like to be talked down to. He knows what it’s like to be brushed aside and belittled, he knows that whether you take it personally or not all those small insults wear you down over time, and he isn’t going to let anyone do that to his little brother. 

On the flip side, Luigi is one of the few people who sees Mario for himself, and loves him for it. Though there are no monsters to fight or princesses to save (yet), Mario’s brashness helps Luigi stand up for himself... helps him move forward... balances him out. Luigi has always been the one person in this world who needed Mario to be as brave, bold, foolhardy, and heroic as he was.

Neither of them fit in, but they see each other and love each other for what everyone else has determined to be their weaknesses. 

In the games, Mario can easily stand on his own because he’s being helped, uplifted, and supported by everyone and everything around him.  In the movie? Luigi was, for the longest time, the only one who allowed him to truly be himself. 

[mothfables]

Queering the Chain Day 8: Transfem

trans girl wind my beloved <3

@queering-the-chain

[forestlovesyou]

I got hit by a huge wave of nostalgia and fell back into the Undertale rabbithole and I just couldn't resist the urge to make a Handplates skeleton lore accurate oc who I am pretty proud of ngl :] adawd

[h4wari]

told my friends that you appreciate them and they wanted you to know that they appreciate you too and that you're super sweet 🩷

- popping candy

NONONOONONONONO YOU GUYS ARE THE SWEETEST!!! HIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI

I told the boys how nice you all were and they got a lil gift for you and all your friends Poppy!!

Food is care, food is love hehehehehehe

I unfortunately couldnt stop Four and Ezlo from eating you and your friends :cc Im very sorry for that XDDD

[luveline]

darling darling jade-y!!! I saw your post about semi specific requests that you like to write and I thought I’d combine two of the things I saw on there ❤️

for asf!Fred, very possibly maybe reader gets a serious concussion and Fred has worries about how the brain fog may affect readers tendencies to dissociate or that the confusion might further upset her? Just general, mutual hurt comfort where everyone’s worries are put at ease in the end ❤️❤️

I love coming back to your blog almost everyday and always finding something delicious to read no matter if i’m reading something new or rereading a fav!! Sorry this was a bit long but I love to sing people’s praises!! Have a looovely day or night ❤️

thank you for your request lovely! 💌 —Fred takes care of you when you can’t look after yourself, but he finds it hard to ignore how your actions mimic the past. 2k, fem

cw mental health issues

“It’s alright. Hold my hand.”

Fred puts his hand out for you in the middle of George and Angelina’s living room. Your eyes shine with hurt, so odd to see when no one’s said anything cruel, and you won’t take it. You’re stuck where you’re standing.

“Go on, sweetheart, take my hand. It’s okay. I’m just gonna help you.”

You put your hand up gently. Fred takes the hint and twines his hand through yours, tickled by the slowness of your fingers curling over the backs of his knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, taking a guiding step to the sofa. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”

You walk. Fred takes your shoulders into his hands when you’re close enough and holds you to his chest as he shakes out the pillows behind you, making room for you to sit comfortably. “Okay, sit down, my girl. There you go.” He grins at you. “Brilliant. How do you feel, are you okay?”

You stare at him. Your despondency makes him feel sick, but he swallows it down. He bends at the waist to meet your eyes with nothing but patience and fondness. “Y/N,” he says slowly, reaching for your knee. “Do you need to go to bed?”

“No.”

“No. Alright, I’m going to get your drink, and see if George is finished with dinner, okay? I’m not going far.”

You give him a look you’ve employed many times since you got hurt, like you can’t work out why he’s acting strangely, or perhaps why you’re acting strangely. Fred pulls your hand to his mouth for a kiss, barely a kiss, more like he’s pressing the entirety of your hand to his lips.

“Love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he says into your hand. “Okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“I know, I know, I just don’t want you to worry.”

He encourages your shoulders back to have you flush to the sofa and sends you a wink as he goes. You almost laugh, teeth peeking out as you smile at him, the happiest you’ve looked for at least the last two days. Your brain fog is persistent and bothersome, to put it lightly.

Fred heads into the kitchen where George is plating a large baking tray of pasta into four dishes, two of which he’s set atop the microwave.

“Hey,” George says, “I’ve got two for now and two for tomorrow, just in case.”

Fred doesn’t know how to say thank you, so he doesn’t. If Fred weren’t in love with you in a way that’s changed his entire being, George would still look after you, because you’re one of his best friends, and he’s yours. But Fred does love you, and George knows that, and to be taken care of by his brother while you recover is a privilege he won’t take lightly.

“Don’t worry about it, Forge. I think mums got a lasagna with our names on it waiting in her fridge…” Fred leans against the wall by the door frame and covers his eyes. He’d been joking, and now suddenly he feels sick again.

“You okay?” George asks.

Fred holds out his hand, as if to say, Don’t ask me. Don’t ask and don’t come near me. He doesn’t think that boys don’t cry, but he just hates being this person who can’t keep it together. You need to be looked after by someone who’s fully present while you’re disassociative. Fred needs to be that person, but it’s just so hard seeing you like this again.

“I feel like–” He swallows nothing, meeting George’s waiting gaze with a weak smile. “Feel like she’s that scared lonely girl again and there’s nothing I can do to make it up to her.”

George puts the empty pan on the back burner. He tosses dirty spoons and forks into the sink, and wipes his hands on a tea towel pensively. “It’s a brutal mix of symptoms,” he says finally, his voice straining. “But she’ll get better again.”

Post concussive symptoms are about as bad as it comes, and they can last for months. Not just weeks. Among the more manageable, such as dizziness, high blood pressure, and fatigue, are the worst Fred could imagine for you in particular —cognitive dissonance, memory loss, brain fog, anxiety, and depression. Even if you recover from each of your physical symptoms, it’s not uncommon for people who sustain a brain injury to remain depressed.

You’re already sick. Fred loves you and he doesn’t mind, doesn’t care, not a single thing will change for him, but you’re not well, and this head injury could send you into a tailspin.

“I forgot what she looks like when she’s hopeless,” Fred says. “I really did.”

“She’s not hopeless, Freddie, she’s hurt. Her head will get better, and she’ll get better too, because she has us to make sure of it.” George puts a plate of pasta onto a wooden tray with a knife and fork. “I’m… you know, I’m worried too.”

“Yeah.”

“I have Parmesan cheese and stuff in the fridge.”

“It’s okay. I’m gonna take hers in first.”

“You have to eat.”

“I know, I will. She might take some convincing, is all.”

It’s not as though Fred thought you were going to walk away from your concussion without consequence. It was an awful injury, his heart has never pounded that fast or that hard in his life, but he didn’t expect the symptoms of what you’re experiencing now to coincide as heavily as they do with your worst struggles.

You're teary eyed on the sofa, pressing yourself back into the apex of the arm and the cushions. It’s another symptom with multiple causes; Fred has found you crying because you were confused, and aching, and without explanation. It can happen and be finished within a few seconds.

“Hi, lovely girl. I have your dinner.”

“What is it?” you ask, sniffing.

Fred remembers the days in his last year of school where you’d been hungry enough to shake but not willing to eat. You didn’t know then and you can’t know now the sort of pain it is to watch a friend not be able to feed themselves without extreme effort, and Fred wouldn't want that for you, but it’s why he can’t explain his relief to you that you still have your appetite.

He sits down next to you and puts the tray on your lap, tentative at first to touch you in case he puts you off eating, then greedy with his hands as you eat a big first mouthful, and a second. You’re not uncoordinated despite the doctor's warnings. The dissonance seems to come before decision making for you, and this decision is firmly made.

You’re hungry so you’re eating.

Fred had to beg yesterday for you to eat. Hands on your legs, tone dropped into the most dulcet it’s ever been, asking, “Just one thing, can you do that for me? A piece of toast, lovely.”

That’s why you’re here. Fred can’t take care of you alone, he’s found. It’s almost fitting that you should need both of them again, even if Fred wishes you didn’t.

He knows it’s saccharine. Patronising, even, but he gives your arm a light squeeze. “Good girl,” he says quietly, relief palpable. “How is that? Is it nice? Don’t tell me all the trouble we had yesterday is because you don’t like my cooking.”

“Felt sick all day,” you say, scratching your bowl with the tines of your fork.

“I know. Do you feel less sick right now?” He cups your face as you nod shyly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I don’t mind. I’m just kidding. George made you another plate to take home, anyways, so you won't suffer again.”

Your laugh is more breath than voice, but you turn your cheek into his hand before he can pull it away. There’s a connection in your gaze he hasn’t seen for a while. “You’re worrying.”

“I’m fine.”

You put your tray in his lap, and his heart sinks thinking you’re finished already, you’d eaten a few good spoonfuls but not enough to make up for days of pickiness. Your arm slides behind his. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” you say, pressing your cheek to his arm in a cuddle. “You can tell me anything.”

“I’m fine,” he says, rubbing his nose against your head.

“It’s okay, lovely.”

He blinks back tears. “No, I know it’s okay. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“You can have mine. I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Can’t we share it?” he asks. He thinks you might be lying. In your confusion, you’ve taken his upset to be rooted in hunger. “Please?”

��It’s nice,” you say, like you’re agreeing, picking up your fork again to eat from his lap.

Fred breathes out a sigh. If he could, he would wrap you up in a hug so tight it makes you both click.

You offer him a forkful. He eats it and doesn’t comment on the way it taps against his teeth.

“I think I have that pain again,” you say, poking at pasta shells.

“Yeah? In the back of your head?”

“Like a thrumming.”

“I’ll get your painkillers.”

“I’m about to go get them,” George says, carrying a second tray, a soft smile on his face as he puts it on the coffee table. “I can read your mind, ghost.”

“What am I thinking now?” you ask.

“It’s nice to be with your best friends, duh,” he says, turning around again to retrieve your painkillers.

You turn to Fred without saying anything, eye to eye, nearly not quite smiling. You abandon your fork again to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him, hiding. Fred closes his eyes, his arm curved eagerly behind your back. “Don’t knock the tray,” he mumbles, letting out a deep breath.

“You’re making me feel sick,” you say.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault, right? It’s always my fault.”

“No, no, lovely, it’s not your fault.”

“It’s my fault,” you mumble. “There’s something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect to me, you always will be. You’re just not very well today, that’s all it is.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, nearing hurting now, your voice strangled. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

“Ghost, it’s okay.” He shoves the tray from his lap. He can clean up any mess, but this is urgent. You slouch into the space he makes. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s not your fault, and it wouldn’t matter if it was. There’s nothing wrong with you that won’t get better.”

“I don’t like feeling like this.”

Fred collects himself. He can’t panic right now, as much as he wants to. “It’s not forever,” he says, letting his hand run down your back to the base of your spine, “I promise, it’ll start to feel better. I’m not going anywhere until it does, and even then you can’t get rid of me. When was the last time you managed that?”

“I don’t want to get rid of you,” you mumble.

His hand seems to be working. The massaging of his thumb against the base of your spine calms you down. “I don’t want you to,” he says, nudging at your face with hide nose until he can kiss your cheek. “Mm?” he hums, lips sliding against the corner of your mouth. “Just me and you forever, yeah? You can’t be alone when you have me.”

[illegiblehandwriting1]

frankly i think the best way to differentiate fanon sky and canon sky is to take a look at groose's redemption arc. both forgive him for the bullying but fanon sky says "he didn't mean it!" Canon sky says "i deserved it"

(for reference, canon sky is sky as shown in the game/inferred directly from sksw)

[fitpacs]

<3

[imminent-danger-came]

I'm about to do some REACHING are you ready

[stoertebeker]

Thinking about getting a buzzcut but am currently still undecided though the biggest argument for it is how my mother always reacts like »😧 oh no don't do it« every time it comes up in conversation like it pisses me off sooo much because I'll be like »😑 well I might. It's my hair and not your concern« and she's like »💁‍♀️ well of course it's your decision but you'll have to expect people reacting badly« which (1) no I think most people won't care at all?? (2) you aren't most people you're my mother and we have a good relationship so shouldn't you be extra supportive of my decisions??