#but ill add more for whoever moves in

[ssspringroll]

Apartment: 101 Sandy Run

Building features: Roof access

Status: VACANT

Make a sim for this space! General Real Estate Event Info

A cozy, budget-friendly 2-bedroom apartment. Perfect for roomies, a single parent, a small family, or even a single sim who dreams of turning that spare bedroom into a craft or workspace

E.T. Moneybags Inc. guarantees a personalized home renovation* for each tenant!

*minor renovations only. furnishings will be added, altered, or replaced to suit the lifestyle of the resident, but the apartment will not be completely gutted and remodeled for them. Things like personalized clutter, hobby or career-related items, and accommodations for occult type, family members, or pets.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! First of all, thank you so so so much for this blog. It's incredibly useful for both old and new fans.

Second, I was wondering if you could help me recommending fics in which Aziraphale and Crowley are exes who still love each other? You see, one of my favorite fics is Ink Blots and Forget-Me-Nots and it made me want to keep reading that trope.

Thank you in advance!

Hi and thanks! We have #getting back together and #reunion tags with loads of fics like this (including the one you've mentioned), so do check those out. Here are more fics to add to the collection...

you're what haunts me (now that you're away) by duri (M)

“I don’t understand.” Crowley says quietly. “Why aren’t I enough for you?” “Oh…” Aziraphale murmurs, coming up to him, cupping his jaw with a feather light grip. “Oh, Crowley. Don’t ever think that, of course you're enough. You're more than enough." Crowley yanks himself away, his eyes burning even more. It’s a foreign feeling and he sends a quick thanks down to whoever is in charge downstairs that his sunglasses are always on. He shudders to think what his eyes look like underneath. “Then why couldn’t you stay?” Or, Crowley tries to get used to life on his own, but it would be a lot easier if a certain angel would stop showing up.

Tumbling Down by katonline (E)

When summer finally rolls in and lays heavy on the South Downs, he realizes he’s lonely. While most demons are solitary creatures, Crowley is not; just another way he doesn’t fit the mold. Without thinking, he picks up his phone, meaning to call Aziraphale - wants to tell him all about the cottage, what he’s done, what he’s made. Pain brings him up short. He can’t call him - literally, because he never added Aziraphale's number to this new mobile; but it’s more than that, of course. The angel doesn’t want what Crowley aches to give, holding out to him in two shaking hands. You go too fast for me. So he racks his brain for an alternative, trying to come up with someone to share his accomplishments with. After a week, he lands on the witch. She, too, can make things grow. He dials the operator, asks for Tadfield, Jasmine Cottage. The witch answers. She doesn’t sound surprised. I’d love to come see what you’ve done with the place. Crowley, frustrated by Aziraphale's continued hesitance, attempts to make a new life for himself after the Apocalypse-that-Wasn't.

Seven Minutes (Years) in Heaven by LollipopCop (E)

Gabriel’s violet eyes widened, almost comically shocked, and then he smiled tightly. “Now, what’s this?” Crowley’s throat was dry, the flowers and chocolates suddenly heavy in his hands. “Um.” Grateful that the glasses hid his gaze, he looked to Aziraphale. Aziraphale looked ill with panic. Right. He’d have to save them both. It wouldn’t be the first time. First time from an archangel, but God loved to toy with him, didn’t She? He had to put his theological angst aside, because above all costs, Gabriel could not find out that Crowley was in a semi-relationship with his agent on earth; he would absolutely harm Aziraphale, and there was no way Crowley would let that happen. ~~ Inspired by the deleted scene of the bookshop's grand opening in episode 3. Aziraphale and Crowley start a relationship in Paris, 1793, but are torn apart.

Headlights by RoswellSmokingWoman (M)

Aziraphale made Crowley want to believe in the ineffability of a God that brought them together. Crowley made Aziraphale want to sacrifice his religion and worship their love instead. But that was then when love was enough to bring together two fools desperate to make it work. Three years after their divorce, Aziraphale and Crowley aren't talking. They've tried to move on, but neither can. It should be their anniversary, on New Year's Eve, but they're not together. They should be together. Aziraphale calls. He's not even sure whether Crowley will pick up, but he does. They see each other again for the first time in years, and it's a whirlwind. It's time to heal old wounds, put aside their differences, and make their relationship work again. They already know the alternative, and know they can't live like that anymore.

I Was Made For Lovin' You by midnightdragons (T)

Anthony Crowley is a big-shot stuntman, working on a movie alongside a new member of the industry, a cameraman named Aziraphale hopeful to create his own movie one day. The two's fling begins to evolve into something more, until there's an accident on set that leaves Crowley injured, and their relationship in shambles. Six years later, Crowley's called back for the first time since then -- to a movie that Aziraphale himself is directing. (An AU inspired by and with some dialogue taken from Ryan Gosling's The Fall Guy; stuntman!Crowley, director!Aziraphale.)

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

- Mod D

[cozy-cinnamon-roll]

Stitches (Part II)

(Read Part I Here! used to be We Interrupt This Broadcast... changed the name because I feel like this fits better 😅)

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Ler!Rosie, Ler!OC, Lee!Alastor (strictly platonic)

Content/Trigger Warnings: tickling, very brief blood mention, medical themes (non-graphic & painless). And again, this is set right after Alastor gets his ass handed to him by Adam, so you can expect some angst (don't worry, he gets better).

If there are any trigger warnings you'd like me to add in the future (and/or to this fic), PLEASE let me know! I am always happy to oblige. 💕

This is a ticklefic! If that's not your cup of tea, kindly move along.

"Almost ready" I said. "Basically finished" I said. Sorry y'all, the Chronic Illness Fairy struck. 😅 I will say this was my favorite part to write, but also the one I'm most uncertain about... bit more angst in this installment and I'm not much of an angst writer lol... but with Rosie in the mix (especially as a ler), angst never lasts long. 🥰

Also I changed the title. Hopefully it's not confusing that way... cuz without Part 1 this fic makes zero sense 😅

One last thing... I'm so happy y'all like Trudy! Was thinking about posting a lil sketch of her at some point (I need a new insomnia project now that this fic is done 😅). I've been having a truly awful few weeks on the anxiety front, so all the positive feedback on Part I has been quite literally making my days 💕

Hope you enjoy!!

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

"Ooh, you stubborn little bastard. You're still gonna refuse to laugh?" Rosie mutters.

Alastor doesn't dare try to speak. All he can manage is a defiant shake of his head.

"Look, my friend. If you 'don't mind a little tickling,' and getting all giggly is your specialty…" Rosie tweaks his bottom rib, eliciting a noise that comes just short of a squeak. "What, exactly, is the problem here?"

"I'm supposed to be in control!" he grinds out through his twitching grin.

"You are in control, sir." Trudy abruptly withdraws her hands, holding them up innocently. "You can tell me to stop at any time."

Alastor cringes. He was sorta hoping no one would point that out.

"Which is why I find it so fascinating that you haven't yet." A sly smirk creeps across Rosie's face.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I- I'm humoring you!"

"Humoring me?" Rosie tilts her head. "My dear, I hope you're not doing this just for my sake. If you don't want Trudy to check for further injury-"

"No, I do! O-on my terms!"

"This is on your terms."

"Yes, but-"

"In fact, you insisted."

He stumbles again, before mumbling another meager, "…to humor you!"

Trudy shoots her boss a disoriented look - but Rosie, as usual, is hearing her friend loud and clear.

"Alastor." Rosie rolls her eyes, gestures for Trudy to step aside, and scoots over to place a hand on his knee. "Adam is dead. Everyone in hell thinks you're either succumbing to your wounds in some remote gutter or hiding in whatever alternate dimension you just spent the last seven years. You're not even 'on air'." She leans in. "You can drop the act for a moment, if it's what you need."

That certainly hits the mark. For the first time, Alastor's smile falters - not completely dropping, but certainly losing much of the strained quality it's had since he arrived.

"I wish I could, my dear."

Encouraged, Rosie continues. "Well, what's stopping ya? As much as I love spending time with Alastor the Radio Demon… if you wanna take this opportunity to let out whoever's underneath that effervescent grin of yours, you know we wouldn't mind."

Alastor swallows - and for the first time in a decades, Rosie finds his expression difficult to read. "Rosie, I'm afraid I can't really..."

"I mean, you've been holding that same silly show-host-smile for years! Don't tell me you've never gotten tired of it!"

"It's sewn on, Rosie."

"…What?"

He hesitates. "Let's just say today wasn't the first time I've been, ah... stitched up." As he speaks, he gestures to his toothy grin. And for once, there's not a trace of distortion in his voice.

Rosie's dark eyes go wide when she realizes what he means. The cannibal overlord just stands there for a beat, in an uncharacteristic moment of shock.

But, being Rosie, she quickly recovers. "Well, so what?"

"I'm just saying, I'm afraid I can't really drop the act."

"Nonsense! Since when has your act had anything to do with your face?" Rosie flicks her hand, as if brushing the thought aside. "Who cares if you can't show genuine Alastor. I wanna hear him."

"But my microphone..."

"You're doing just fine without it."

Once again, this attempt at reassurance only makes Alastor look more disturbed. "Th-this can't be me!"

"...Well, no. This right here sure isn't the Alastor I know. But…"

Alastor is barely listening to her anymore. His broadcast persona has been his sole identity since he was alive. Now his radio tower has been reduced to rubble, his microphone snapped clean in half, even his carefully-styled clothing left in tatters…

If this is the Genuine Alastor he's now stuck with - panicked, stuttering, weak - he can't imagine how he'll ever be able to face the rest of hell…

But these racing thoughts are once again interrupted by nails tracing up his sides. A sharp yelp cuts the air as poor Alastor just about jumps out of his skin.

"…Perhaps I can offer a little help?" Rosie suggests gently, once she has his undivided (and adorably flustered) attention. "On your terms, of course?"

Alastor just gazes back at her for a long moment. "What do you have in mind?"

"I happen to know something about you that even you can't fake."

The radio demon hesitates… before heaving a sigh and, to Rosie's surprise, giving a small nod of consent.

She breaks into a brilliant (and frankly terrifying) smile.

Before Alastor can brace himself, Rosie's hands have both found his sides and begun working into his waist. Having just watched him squirm around under Trudy's thorough probing twice (and adored every second of it), she already has a pretty good idea of where his worst spots are.

Which is made abundantly clear by Alastor's reaction. Within seconds he's gone from still trying to hold it all in by habit, to giggling into his hands, to cackling hysterically.

And it's the kind of laughter she's spent the last seven years missing. This isn't the confident, taunting chuckle he brings out for battles or brushing off rivals; this is bright, helpless, occasionally hiccuping laughter, the kind that is nearly impossible for him to stop once he starts - and the kind she only has the privilege of hearing when something truly amuses him.

"You can't sew your laughter on," Rosie reminds him. "This is all yours."

Rosie's fingers creep up under his shirt to scribble on bare tummy, adding a couple new sweet spots to her mental catalogue. This technique brings out even more of her favorite little quirks: the way he bats playfully (and completely ineffectually) at her wrists; his repeated attempts to speak around his laughter that only result in frantic spurts of incomprehensible, giggle-laced gibberish.

As she traces her nails across his lower belly she also finds a tiiiny layer of unexpected pudge. Which probably shouldn't surprise her - he's been out of the battle scene for seven years, after all. All those deer carcasses have to go somewhere.

Regardless, she finds it terribly endearing for some reason... and the surge of affection translates into a corresponding surge in the intensity of Rosie's tickles.

"AHaha! Ro- Rosie!" he blurts, his voice jumping a full octave higher than normal. "Stop!!"

Rosie removes her hands immediately. "Stop?"

"Aha- ah- well- I mean, er…" He stumbles breathlessly, and gives a sheepish cough.

"You didn't really want me to stop, did you?"

Rosie resumes with a chuckle, reeling herself in just a little. "How 'bout we say... oh... 'enough,' if you really want me to quit?"

Of course, she has to go and say it out loud.

"M-more of a reflehex..." he admits reluctantly.

Alastor tosses a shaky thumbs-up at her, already too lost in his own giggles to manage a verbal reply.

And he's gotta admit… Rosie was absolutely right. He wouldn't stop her right now for all the souls in hell. There's a reason Alastor has the most recognizable evil cackle of any other overlord. He can't help but find dissolving into laughter as cathartic and exhilarating as always - even if this time, it's not at some poor soul's misfortune. It's a result of his best friend's affection for her darling deer demon.

"As fun as getting your soft little belly is," Rosie muses, pausing to let Alastor catch his breath for a moment, "I can't help but wonder if you're ticklish anywhere else…"

Alastor may be off the air, but Rosie can practically hear the screech of microphone feedback just by the look on his face. "….I plead the fifth."

"Have you considered his ears?" Trudy pipes up shyly. While she'd managed to restrain herself behind an impeccably professional bedside manner earlier, it had taken everything in her power not to stroke Alastor's ears when she'd been close enough to do so. They were just. so. fluffy.

"Ohhh, heavens…" Alastor, for his part, curls in on himself at the mere suggestion.

Rosie grins. "Hey, 'no' is always an option."

A long pause. Alastor can't believe he's considering this. But the sensation of being tickled, as unbearable as it is, does feel awfully pleasant… and it's been so long since anyone has dared to touch him…

And what else does he have to lose at this point, anyway?

"I suppose if you're… very gentle…"

"Are you aware that your ears are the softest thing in the nine circles?"

This stipulation ends up backfiring. When it comes to his ears, gentle is worse. So, so much worse.

Poor Alastor is too busy clutching his stomach and snickering madly into his sleeve to reply.

"I should know, I work in retail. These right here-" Rosie traces her fingers down the feathery-soft edges, sending the radio demon into a new round of hysterics. "-Would fetch a pretty penny."

"They're nohot for saHA-ale!!"

"Nooo, I should say not." Rosie's hapless victim lurches back into the cushions as her fingers find the fluffy region at the base of his ears. Even without the microphone, his cackles have no problem filling the room. "You're the only demon classy enough to wear them."

"And don' you - GAHaha! - f-forget it!" He's so drunk on laughter now that he's beginning to slur his words. His careful elocution has gone the same place as his steady tone, and lack of stutter.

Luckily, he's also far too drunk on laughter to care.

...Right about there, Rosie notices that the faint hum of radio static in the air is no longer just in her head.

He is laughing his heart out for the first time in weeks. Genuinely laughing for the first time in decades. And laughing completely for himself, for his own enjoyment, without need for intimidation or control or image or audience, for the first time since long before he died.

While Trudy typically can't say much for her self-preservation instinct, she's got enough of one to feel hesitant joining her boss in tickling the most powerful overlord in hell (outside the pretense of medical intervention, at least). So she just stands back, watching fondly as The Most Dangerous Overlord This Side of the Pentagram utterly destroys the deer demon.

...At least, until she notices a flicker of green light out of the corner of her eye. Lying forgotten on the end table, the splintered ends of Alastor's microphone are sparking and crackling like live wires.

The surgeon creeps over for a closer look, staring in fascination. And then - just as Rosie gets poor Alastor behind the ears and delivers a scribble to his tummy at the same time - she ever-so-gently nudges the fractured ends closer to one another.

To her surprise, a bright green spark arcs clear across the gap. For a fraction of a second, the whole staff radiates a flash of a familiar green glow.

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

"Keep him laughing, Rosie," Trudy murmurs over her shoulder. It appears the Radio Demon's downfall will be nothing more than an intermission.

Thanks for being so patient with me y'all! Hope it was worth the wait 💕

💜- Cozy

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Struck by an Arrow from Eros

Author's note: Debut of Malum Caedo in Blueberry Pie

Summary: Malum is doing is duties- and heads from one place to another and spots a certain Serf and feels like some one just struck him in the chest near his hearts

Warning: Let me know if I need to add anything.

Next

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

You had heard of Sternguard Veterans, they are elite battle brothers who help cover their brothers when they have to do a strategic, fighting retreat.

Rare as it is for the Ultramarines to cede ground and not fight and win the day. But sometimes, for the good of the whole, a retreat is called in, and the Sternguard ensure that whoever it is that made the might 13th chapter retreat regrets it immensely.

You have heard that Sternguard veterans, once deployed on the battlefield have turn the tides from a fighting retreat to victory. You had heard of at least one Sternguard veteran who had fought and won against a planet full of Chaos.

That Sternguard veterna's name is Malum Caedo. He had finished a mission, that you had heard had been started by the previous Captain of the Second Company, Titus.

Who had been... acquired by the Inquisition for a while, but that had been before the Awakening of their Primarch. Who had insisted that all of the Sons of Guilliman who are Loyal be returned to Ultramar, to swear oaths to him.

You were but a mere Serf, but even you had heard that the Primach had gotten what he wanted. Even if some of the other factions in the Imperium had been loathe to give up the Sons of the 13th.

Sternguard Veteran Malum Caedo had been one such individual, or so you had heard. Because he survived what had been deemed unsurvivable.

The Inquisition demanding him, among others, a chapter of gleaming silver and blue helmed statues that watched them. Apparently, Primarch Guilliman did not like how many of his sons had been... ill-treated by the other factions for Surviving the battles with Chaos and still Loyal.

You are shaken from your thoughts when you hear the tromp of Ceramite on ship floors. You look around and spot the large for in blue and gold and you shift where you are to give the Lord Angel more room.

As you bow slightly to the Lord Angel, you continue to do your tasks. Humming to yourself softly, a song that you had been taught as a young child that helped the work go by faster.

You don't immediately notice that the Astarte has stopped moving and he is watching you. You feel something- a weight, lightly touching you.

You shiver and look around for the source, knowing that you aren't being squished by something you notice the Lord Angel watching you.

"Lord Angel," You say with a bow, "Is there something I can do to aid you?"

You notice his helmet has golden laurels gracing the crown of his head. That means an Honorable Veteran. Survivor of many battles, at least you think that's the case.

He is watching you, head tilted as he watches you and his voice rumbles out deep and smooth, "that song... it is familiar to me."

"If I bothered you with my humming, I apologize, Lord Angel," you reply nervously.

"Your voice is pleasant with music," Malum Caedo said, shaking his head a little. "It wasn't bothering me."

"Thank you for the compliment, Lord Angel," You reply flattered by the compliment.

Some of the Lord Angels could be highly temperamental, Lord Sicarius face coming to mind with his thunderous scowls and stinging words. You still don't know what it was that you had done to offe d the Illustrious Second Captain so.

Lord Ventris said that it was because his older brother, the Second Captain, Sicarius didn't know how to process... then he'd fade off and shake his head, and a spark of mischievous light would appear in his eyes, and the Lord Angel would scoop you up affectionately and nuzzle you. You would squeak and fluster at the affection, and then Captain Sicarius would stomp by and snarl at the younger Ultramarine for being uncouth.

[datlokibumtho]

EDIT: I said I'd add more, and so I shall. I swear, the more I rewatch it, the more abserdity crosses my mind. I forgot some, so I'll add those when I remember them.

Rewatching the Mugen Train Arc, and there are a few things I noticed that I shall now share with you. I will add more as I think of them.

▪︎Rengoku's mom is hot

▪︎You will never be able to convince me we didn't see Akaza's O Face during that final attack.

▪︎Why didn't Akaza just drag Rengoku along with him to escape? All that oomf he has, and you're telling me one dude is too heavy? Nezuko can carry someone easily while in baby mode and was strong enough to curbstomp Daki, and you're telling me Akaza, Upper Three, the fourth most powerful demon in existence can't drag one guy along for the ride while bailing? I'm calling that shit hard.

▪︎Tanjirou's VA knocked this shit out of the park.

▪︎I call bullshit that Rengoku didn't activate his Demon Slayer Mark during all that.

¤ Edit: I now know why that didn't happen, so nevermind this one.

▪︎While we're on the topic of Rengoku, can I just briefly express my confusion as to his dream of choice when Enmu put him to sleep? Out of everything he could have dreamed, all the scenarios his mind could have conjured up, he chose "that one time I did something extraordinary and my dad didn't give a shit" followed by any given day of the week. Tanjirou got his family back, Zenitsu got to spend time with the girl he loved, Inosuke got to do whatever the fuck that was...and Rengoku's got an alcoholic father who doesn't give a hair on a witch's tit if his kids live or die, a mom that's still dead from illness, and last Tuesday, the Tuesday before that, and the Tuesday before that, also known as his everyday life. Why? He could have had a father that was a presentable human being again, a mother that wasn't dead or ill, a happy life...and he bypassed all of that. Just. Fucking. Why.

¤Edit: upon further thought and some amateur analysis of his psyche, the dream probably revolved more around time with his brother, or his boundless optimism making him think every day is a gift or worth celebrating or special somehow. Or maybe he just has a really bad imagination.

▪︎Rengoku just gave Enmu his first brush with heartburn.

▪︎Look up the lyrics to Homura by LiSA, and I believe you will join me in saying fuck whoever chose the music. Why they gotta do that? Why?

▪︎Get you a man that's an absolute goober, a total badass, a complete and utter derp, a major sweetheart, and a super serious hot mess all at once. Get you a Flame Hashira. Get you Rengoku Kyoujurou.

▪︎"I'm a box lunch vendor" wasn't suspicious until he said it wasn't suspicious. Then it became suspicious.

▪︎Rengoku moving his ass like "Total Consentrstion Fuck You I'm A Hashira" speed mode activated. "Ecceleration Mode", for anyone that's up on older anine.

▪︎Pigtails runnin' her way through Rengokus dream world like the edge isn't invisible and she was at zero risk of slamming face first into it.

▪︎God damn, Tanjirou, right between the man-titties. Rude as fuck.

▪︎Tanjirou: smells blood in a snow storm, Muzan in the middle of Tokyo, identifies people by their scents after only meeting them once, can smell character traits

Rengoku: two cars down from them, chowing away at bento, unnoticed

Zenitsu: hears thing down to a celluar level and can figure out what something's species and intent are based solely of of their sounds of existsnce

Rengoku: two cars down from them, practically yelling "tasty" repeatedly, unnoticed

Inosuke: has super insane instincts and the ability to lock onto things miles away

Renkgoku: STILL just two cars down from them, living his best life with a crapton of bento, unnoticed

Tanjirou/Zenitsu/Inosuke: "Wonder where the Flame Hashira is."

▪︎Slasher demon: "No one's faster than me!"

The Other Speedy Stripy Boi Of The Mugrn Train Arc: "Destructive Death: Kick-Your-Ass-Faster-Than-The-Speed-Of-Sound-You-Scrub Type."

▪︎Rengoku's Dream World: sunshine, daisies, and fatherly rejection

Rengoku's Subconscious: flaming hellscape

Enmu's Lackey: "What the flip flap fuck is going on with this man?"

▪︎Enmu: shocked Zenitsu did anything while under his spell

The rest of us: "Yeah, it was always gonna go that way, chief."

BONUS: ORIGINAL WATCHTHROUGH THOUGHTS

▪︎My thought process through my original watchthrough eons ago: "Rengoku is a silly mans. Rengoku is kinda cool. Rengoku is utterly endearing. Rengoku is awesome. Rengoku is one BAMF. RENGOKU IS DEAD."

▪︎My almost simultaneous thought process through my original watchthrough eons ago: "I can't believe he dies, he's so amazing and wonderful and i love him. Ok, he dies in this fight, and now that i know the man, i instantly hate whoever did it. Oh no, he's HOT! My emotions are very mixed right now. My emotions are completely decided in their stance, and I am getting teary-eyed over yet another ficticious character."

▪︎My afterthoughts of my original watchthrough eons ago: "Akaza is the absolute worst, that pretty face, hot body and smooth af voice cannot change that. Wow, Muzan was mean to him after he did his damndest. My opinion can not change now that I have seen Senjurou, he is a wonderful little cinnamonroll, and Akaza must remain the worst. He can be terrible and still look good. I mean, are he and his utterly whorish waist and very lovely, somewhat delicately featured face really to blame or is Muzan or psychosis of some kind? Wow, that's a nice hourglass physique and horribly tragic backstory."

▪︎End conclusion from my original watchthrough eons ago: "My opinion of Rengoku has done a 180. I would die for Senjurou. I will probably never truly like Rengoku Shinjurou despite understanding that grief and disillusionment do strange things to people. Akaza is too hot, broken, and in a weird way endearing and lovable to hate. I loves me a tragic backstory and damaged man. I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP I DO NOT HAVE A NEW SHIP"

▪︎I had a new ship

[kipkoh]

Pre canon Hunter getting sick but having nobody to take care of him.

Also read on AO3.

Warning: Emotional Hurt/No Comfort

There was an orchestra inside his head; uncoordinated and cacophonic yet confident in their tone, pounding away at their instruments enough to oddly time their abuse of his skull with the sound of the rain hammering against the window.

Hunter wasn’t scared of stormy nights, per say, but there was something about being sick that made them feel more sinister. He was weak; vulnerable; pathetic; and the shadows cast by the unstable moonlight took advantage of that, wrapping around him and hugging his feeble form tightly enough to restrain him to his bed, making him barely able to move without them digging their claws into his skin to push him back down. The boiling rain set a putridness to the air that seeped through the cracks in his window and into his lungs, setting them ablaze as he continuously failed to choke out the smoke. The lightning outside was nauseating as it passed, bright and intrusive behind his closed eyelids at regular enough intervals to make falling asleep become a cumbersome task and ensuring he couldn’t just rest until the sickness finally subsided.

Sometimes, he wondered what dying felt like, and if it was much the same as to how being sick felt. As he lied there in bed, soaking the sheets with rolls of sweat and tears, he wondered if death might even be preferable. If he died, there would be no more suffering, no more pain, no more worry. If he died, he would never have to spend another miserable night in the still quiet of his bedroom, all alone with no one to feed him warm soup and tell him stories to keep his mind off the ice storm weathering through the veins beneath his skin despite the fact the room outside his diseased vessel felt just as boiling as the rain.

Sometimes, he envied kids in stories – kids with moms and dads who hugged them and kissed them and soothed their fevers. Sometimes, he imagined his mom, whoever she might have been, and wondered if she would have done those things for him had she gotten the chance. He imagined her wiping the sweat off his brow, or tucking him in, or lulling him to sleep like a baby with a soft, hummed lullaby that would reverberate around his head as he drifted off into a restful, dreamless sleep. He imagined her soft hands stroking his cheek and her lips on his forehead and could just almost trick himself into thinking it was real.

But Hunter didn’t have a mom. He had Belos, and Belos played a different role. Hunter understood that. The Emperor had been kind enough to take him in, shelter him, and feed him, but of course he couldn’t drop the weight of an entire empire on his shoulders in order to wipe snot from his nephew’s nose. That didn’t mean that Hunter didn’t sometimes wish he could. It didn’t mean there were never times when the door would crack open and he’d get his hopes up just for it to be dashed by yet another nameless scout bringing him his rations.

He’d tried once, and only once, to seek out his uncle’s comfort during a harsh bout of illness when he was much younger. He’d tiptoed across the castle and managed to evade the scouts somehow to slip into Belos’ room. He should have known better. It should have been obvious that disturbing the Emperor’s rest was disrespectful, especially for such a stupid and childish reason, and yet Hunter’s mind had been so clouded with thoughts and desires he had no right clinging to that he hadn’t been thinking clearly. Of course Belos wasn’t just going to let him crawl into bed and cuddle with him. Of course the Emperor was just going to send Hunter back to his own room, albeit with a new, searing pain on his cheek to add to his discomfort.

Hunter couldn’t keep wishing for someone to baby him. He was the Golden Guard, for Titan’s sake! He was meant to be strong willed, powerful, and brave, but everytime he got the sniffles it was as if he’d regress into a child. He certainly felt that way now as he curled into a ball under his covers and hugged his plush toy crushingly against his chest, the poor thing absorbing the wettened emotions careening out of his eyes.

He had to be stronger. It wasn’t like he’d never been in pain before, so surely a small fever shouldn’t be able to render him useless, right? His body would fight it off and in the meantime, he just had to power though and prove he was as strong as Belos wanted him to be. That was why he couldn’t see the healers, nor take any potions, because if he battled the ailment on his own and came out the victor on the other side, then he could confidently say he was worthy of… whatever it was he was meant to be. And, if he wasn’t strong enough, well, he just supposed it wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

He wanted to prove he wasn’t a child. Adults surely didn’t imagine their dead moms babying them over nothing more than a case of the sniffles. Adults could surely handle the waves of nausea and the blinding migraines with ease all on their own. Adults surely didn’t sob in agony over the hammer under their skin slowly chiseling away at their muscle. Adults surely didn’t hold tightly onto childhood toys for lack of other options in the hopes it would bring them even a minuscule amount of comfort.

In a fervent daze, Hunter sat up and forcefully chucked the stupid plush across the room, watching as it hit the wall and slid down to lie in a heap on the floor. He glared into its eyes until he realized what he’d done and immediately changed tone. He wasn’t sure if it was just the illness making his rational thought hazy, but he could’ve sworn the toy looked stricken by the abuse, and he understood the feeling.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he muttered, choking out the words past strangled sobs as he wobbled out of bed to go pick up the toy. He dusted it off and carried it back to the bed, carefully tucking it in beside him as if he were its parent. At least one of them could have that.

If he allowed himself more expression, he wondered if he really wanted to be an adult after all. It would make Belos happy if he acted like one, and his maturity would surely mean respect and adoration from the scouts and Coven Heads. But why couldn’t he have any of that regardless? Why did he have to age beyond his years just to gain anyone’s approval? How was it fair he was forced to become a man before he’d ever even gotten the chance to be a boy?

There was yet another crack of thunder outside and he buried himself underneath his covers as if the thin fabric would do anything to protect him from the monsters cast by shadows on his walls. The night seemed never ending, carried on by the storm, and Hunter wondered if it was possible to get through it alone. He’d done it before, but every time felt worse than the last, so it was impossible to say if he could persevere again. For all he knew, it was worse than just a mild bug and he’d somehow managed to catch a deadly illness. For all he knew, that night really would be his last.

Maybe he was more scared of death than he originally thought. He didn’t want to close his eyes and have to face the unknown. Would anyone even mourn him? Would Belos regret not taking the time to make sure he was okay? Or would no one care at all? After all, he was just some pathetic kid leaving behind no legacy whatsoever, sure to be replaced the second his body was extracted from his bed. 

He couldn’t die. He didn’t want to. He wanted someone, anyone, to acknowledge him – to help him like the child he really was. He wanted someone besides himself to care whether or not he survived.

He started humming to himself, low and out of tune, wishing he knew even a single lullaby. He’d never actually had someone sing him one, and so he just made up a tune and went with it, relaxing ever so slightly at the reverberations in his chest. He wondered what it would have been like to feel those vibrations from someone else as they hugged him close and swayed him to sleep. Would he still hear their voice in his dreams or feel their warmth wrap around him like a blanket in his sleep? 

Why did he have to be so alone?

He curled himself tighter into a ball and clenched his eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out the light of the storm. He forced himself to focus on his breathing instead of the itching of his flesh and prayed that the Titan would take mercy on him and allow him to recover. 

[blackknight-100]

Mahabharat AU: Draupadi does not accompany the Pandavas to the exile + Bonus Subhadra

This is a complementary piece to this Ramayan AU.

Warnings for mentions of harassment, and violence. Major character deaths. Possibly going to make you cry, but +1 should revive you.

1.

Yudhisthir may have lost everything – his kingdom, crown and coins – but he has not yet lost his thirst for justice. It is his folly that has brought this upon them, and he will not let Draupadi take the fall for it. Already once his royal wife has walked barefoot on rough paths, forsaking the joys of her father’s house for her husbands’ sake, and he will be damned before he allows that again. When Draupadi declares her intention to accompany them – and it shames him in a way no taunts or mockery of the Kaurava courtiers might – he turns to her and says, “No, you must stay.”

Yagyaseni, bless whoever named her so, flares up like the fires she was born from, and bares her teeth at him – a flash of lighting across midnight sky. “You would leave me here then, husband, at the mercy of your noble cousins?”

Krishna speaks before he can answer, “Take her, cousin, who knows what is on the way?” Then he smirks daringly and adds, “She is more than five of you put together, are you sure you want to court her wrath?”

Draupadi whacks him across the head. Yudhisthir wishes he had done that. But he will not be moved, and to his surprise, his mother touches his wife’s hand and murmurs, “Stay, little flame, do not leave me alone. Think of your children, of your sister-wives, and stay.”

Subhadra, only too happy at this turn of events, starts chattering about going to Dwarka, and Draupadi, never able to deny her best friend’s sister, reluctantly gives in. Yudhisthir is only glad he has won at least one match today.

2.

It occurs to them that Draupadi would have been the best keeper of the Akshaya Patra – for she had ever  diligently managed the Finances and Kitchens of Indraprastha, but she is not with them, so their eldest brother gives Bheema the vessel to keep. It is only meet, for when it comes to food, he is the most knowledgeable of them all. Every day, he takes care to serve his brothers and their companions and feeds himself last. Every day he wipes the dish clean, for hygiene is as important as the food itself, and Bheema will not have anyone ill under his charge.

Rishi Durvasa arrives with his proteges after he has finished his meal one afternoon, and Yudhisthir – after sending them for a bath – wrings his hands in dismay. “Oh, what shall we do now? How do we feed them?”

“The Akshaya Patra will give no more food, Jyestha,” he tells him, and Yudhisthir moans.

There is a knock on their window, and a peacock feather flashes outside.

“Madhav!” Arjuna exclaims, “Madhav is here. He has come to help us. Have faith yet, Jyestha.”

But the faith is for naught, for Krishna listens to their tale, leans over the empty pot, and shakes his head sorrowfully. “If only Krishnaa were here,” he laments, and Bheema heeds his words no more.

Durvasa returns from his bath and erupts in wrathful tirade, and flings at them a furious curse, “One day, you too shall be given hope, and have it snatched away.”

They bend their heads and listen, for what else is there to be done?

3.

Draupadi feels safest in her city in the hills, in her brothers’ arms, but her father has taught her of duty so she accompanies her twin to check on her mother-in-law. Not for the first time she wonders what keeps her there, in the shadows of the Kaurava’s might, cowering in her brother-in-law's house.

“This is my home,” Kunti says, when she asks her, “and they shall not drive me out of what my husband has left for me.” Draupadi supposes she can respect that.

Outside, Dhristadyumna stops to admire the flowers in the Prime Minister’s garden, ever flourishing under the ministrations of his gentle wife, and Draupadi leans against a tree to rest. A hand snatches at her waist, and before she can react, Jayadratha’s husky laugh tickles her hair. Draupadi does the only thing she can think of then – she screams.

Dhristadyumna barrels around the corner and throws himself at them. He is no match for most of the warriors who attend this court, but with Jayadratha he is equal.

Vidura comes running out of his house, and Jayadratha curses and flees, but not without leaving one last gift – a diagonal cut across her brother’s chest. Draupadi watches, and weeps.

.

.

Sahadeva has known premonitions all his life. Experience taught him to believe what they say, and this day, he knows, something ill befalls Panchali, miles away in the elephant city. But they are far away, and their hands are tied, and he must keep his silence, as he did all his life.

4.

Arjuna, now Brinnhala, loathes his- no, her new body, the strange vulnerability, the crawling sensation of lustful eyes trailing across her person as she walks. Nakula – now Granthika – teases her mercilessly, but calls himself her husband, reminds her to refer to herself as a woman, and wraps a loving arm around her when Keechak comes close.

It provides little obstacle for the burly man, for he is the King’s kin and hand, and there are few things he cannot possess. He grabs her when he comes to meet sweet Uttaraa and drags her uncomfortably close.

“Be mine,” he murmurs, hot and sultry, uncaring of his niece’s presence, and Brinnhala shudders. She suddenly has a lot more sympathy for her wife.

When she speaks of this to her brothers, Bheema bares his teeth and Sahadeva shuts his eyes in grief. But it is Nakula, sweet, dear brother that he is, who is the most furious. “I will kill him! I swear, I’ll kill him,” he seethes. “How dare he?”

Yudhisthir, however, shakes his head. “We can hardly afford to reveal ourselves now,” he says, sounding older than his years, “I am sorry, Arj- Brinnhala.”

She dips her head, and accepts that, for what else can she say?

5.

King Virat of Matsya is quietly apologetic when he hears of their true identities but politely refuses his aid. "We are a small kingdom, and can hardly afford to engage in family matters, Your Majesty,” he tells Yudhisthir. “Hastinapur has been ever friendly to us, and already we have offended them by hosting you."

Beside him, Keechak sneers. Perhaps it is the memory of Arjuna’s torment, but the Pandavas had hoped to have this kingdom's support, as if Keechak would ever owe them anything. Arjuna almost wishes Duryodhana would have attacked Matysa, for then perhaps they would have convinced this complacent king. Yudhisthir offers kind words and his farewells, and they leave Matsya with little to their name.

.

.

.

Drupada is eager to avenge his daughter's humiliation. For that they need an army, so the Pandavas call their potential allies to war. They arrive at Kurukshetra with their banners and standards, and Sahadeva sees Uncle Shalya in the Kaurava camp.

"I had hoped to have you fight with us," he cannot help but say, bitter and shamed. His uncle has no answer.

.

.

.

Yudhisthir is not quite sure what the Aacharya is planning. It seemed to him they were planning a chakravyuha before, but it never came to pass. Krishna says it is because Jayadratha has gained no boon. Yudhisthir cannot fathom what that means, but then, no one understands anything his cousin says.

“I have thought of a way to kill Drona,” Krishna tells him.

He had never thought of killing Drona, and he hears the plot with dismay. He has never lied in his life, and yet now he must utter words of deceit to the very person who taught him all he knew.

“It is not lying,” Krishna tells him. “It is not your fault if he does not hear.”

Yudhisthir clings to those words but hopes still that his teacher be spared.

They put it to action the following day. They are close, for already Drona has forsaken his weapons. Arjuna’s hands tremble, and Yudhisthir can sympathise. Dhristadyumna rushes forward and slices his throat. Somewhere close Jayadratha’s conch blows, and a single arrow strikes their commander’s head off his shoulders. Ashwatthama bears down upon them like Rudra come to earth. Krishna turns Arjuna’s chariot away. The rest of them follow, wondering what to tell their wife.

.

.

.

Yudhisthir gets away but Nakula’s day is far from over. Karna joins Ashwatthama as they chase him, and the King of Anga challenges him to a duel that he loses. He hopes he will be killed (for how could he live with such humiliation!?) but Karna – bloodied and vicious – laughs and mocks him, his lineage and his brother’s dharma, and leaves him sitting in the dust.

.

.

.

Arjuna grows weary of listening to Karna’s taunts sometime on the fifteenth day, and they finally face each other. The battle around them pauses, and the soldiers from either side give them a wide berth. Their enmity is inflammable, waiting for a spark to burst into conflagration. Both are eager to provide that spark, and no one wants to be in the way when the inevitable comes to pass.

He has to give it to Shalya, the man spews every imaginable insult at the King of Anga, and then some. He sees his ever-loathed adversary lift a simple arrow, and for a moment does not know what it is. Then, Ashwasena’s head appears at its tip, and for a moment, Arjuna panics. Madhav leans forward, forcing his chariot to sink to the ground, and the shot aimed at his neck takes off his diadem instead. Madhav gets down to lift the wheel, when Karna nocks another arrow. Arjuna stares. Surely, for all his rage, Karna would not attack him now? He had mocked Draupadi, true, but all others spoke of his kindness and generosity, and he had already spared his brothers.

But then he thinks of Vrishasena, and all his other sons they have killed, sees Karna lift his bow, and feels foolish for hoping otherwise.

(When he falls, he looks at his adversary standing tall and still, wrath upon his fair face like the sun on earth and is somehow reminded of Kunti after the dice game. ‘They could have been mother and son,’ he thinks, and then his eyes close, and he thinks no more.)

.

.

.

For all that has happened, and for all they have lost, Bheema cares only for this moment, when Dussashana lies dying at his feet, and he finally has a chance to fulfil his oath. “Call Panchali,” he tells his brothers – the ones that remain – his body thrumming with bloodlust.

Panchali comes upon the battlefield dark and fierce and beautiful. ‘If this is how the goddess Kaali had looked like,’ he thinks to himself, ‘then it is no wonder that Shiva lies at her feet.’

He rips open Dussashana’s chest (it is beautiful, but it hurts, oh how it hurts!) and lifts a handful of blood to pour down her open hair. Duryodhana is screaming, and Karna and Ashwatthama can barely hold him back. Panchali walks to him, her eyes alight, and Bheema finally sees some hope in this dire end.

And then, she stumbles and falls, mouth open in soundless cry. “Panchali,” he screams, and he hears his brothers echo his call. There is an arrow – a lonely, treacherous thing out of her back, and Bheema can think of only one who would do this.

“YOU COWARDLY SUTA!!” he roars, but Karna is as stunned as he is, and his bow is slung across his shoulders, his hands still restraining a struggling Duryodhana. He turns around wildly, and a raggedy soldier, a commoner, steps out from the Kaurava ranks, bow in hand.

“You killed a woman. Have you no honour?” Krishna speaks before anyone else can.

The man spits at his feet and then turns to spit at Duryodhana’s. When he speaks, his voice drips with scorn. "This is the witch for whom we must forsake home and hearth and come to war? Shame!"

Bheema sees red. 'She is no witch,' he wants to say. 'She is the kindest of us all.’

But Draupadi lies cold and lifeless, and her hair spread like starless sky mere feet away from her tormentor's blood, so he lunges forward and wraps his hands around the man’s neck, snaps it with a crack. The man falls, dead, and Bheema stands there, quiet and lost. Panchali is gone. Arjuna is no more. The throne is now a distant dream - more of a nightmare. Bheema sinks to his knees and weeps.

+1

Subhadra joins the exile

When Draupadi announces her intention to accompany them on their exile, Subhadra jumps up and begs to be taken along. No one wants her to come, but she will not be swayed, and never has any of the Pandavas or their Queen managed to deny her. So, with them she goes, much to Krishna’s dismay.

The two women share custody of the Akshaya Patra. When Durvasa comes to their place, it is Draupadi's day with the vessel. Already, she has eaten, and Yudhisthir frets. Subhadra pats his hand and goes out to meet the sages. There is but a small particle of food stuck to a corner, and when she places it upon Durvasa’s plate, Arjuna prepares himself to be cursed. But then Yogmaya's magic fills every plate with food, and there are singers and dancers in their forest glade, and the sages leave sated.

Things are bearable until Jayadratha comes to kidnap Draupadi one miserable morning. Subhadra stands before her sister-wife. When Dushala’s husband looks upon them, all he sees are grotesque rakshashis, and he runs all the way back to Hastinapur to tell tales of the company the Pandavas keep.

The Pandavas settle in Matsya for their year of exile in incognito, but all they need are new names, for somehow Draupadi and Subhadra are the commonest of women instead of their blue-blooded beauteous selves. It hardly stops Keechak, and when Bheema beats him to death, Subhadra runs her hands upon his bruised face and leaves it marred beyond recognition.

[friday-the-400th]

Michael Myers x Corey Cunningham x nb!Reader hcs (from my perspective/my version/better version) also my first time doing a few good nsfw hcs ੈ✩‧₊˚

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michael myers: -he absolutely adores you and corey. and its not like i “adore you tiny humans” its more like “omg i adore my sweet partners”...yeah i thought you'd be surprised. but for real...he the sweetest. i mean like his quote is “your mine. but im also yours. and im extremely proud of both facts”, yes, thats how sweet he is.

-im not good with nsfw but i can tell you he does it slow, because he doesnt want to hurt you, nor does he need or want to go fast. lots of kisses. hes very nice for aftercare aswell. hes what you guys out there wish your real boyfriends acted like.

-he’ll protect you and corey from ANYTHING. if someone throws a bag of skittles, and it MIGHT hit either of you? he grabs it before it can come close, then he’ll glare at whoever threw it. hes super protective, because he loves you.

-i guarantee that michael only had sex with both of you only once. dont ask why. and after, corey (that asshole) got a tattoo with his initials on his hip. since he got it, he offered to pay for it of you got one to. now you know.

-hes just nice. :)

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corey Cunningham: -SUPER sweet aswell. i could on for hours about you guys holding hands and cuddling with michael, but this is already long so ill just say you guys are a very wholesome poly relationship  :) -since corey can go out to the public, (unlike michael, because he is...you know...a murderer...?) coreys going to take you out to dates and cute stuff. also home dates with michael, since you cant leave him out :( im probably going to hc that you and micheal met because you moved into his old house, so micheal and corey always hang out there. with you :)

-you and corey and michael go out to killings on halloween and after...you all just cuddle on the couch :D and watch horror movies. and eat snacks. -you share clothes. you wore michaels mask a few times for fun. and his coveralls, he thought it was cute. michael got caught wearing your ac/dc shirt a bunch. he feels embarrassed but you let him keep it and told him hes handsome. because he is :3 (ill probably add more soon. i hope you like it.)

[drugstore-love]

So Long, London

so many people, including those who say they are fans dislike TTPD and refer to it as lazy but I find it to be some of Taylor's best work. I appreciate the metaphors and how vulnerable she is with the narrative. She's not hiding; it's poetry. It's about emotion and the musicality really does come second.

Here's my song by song break down of things that I enjoy (and don't like) about the album for my own future reference so that I do not cave into peer pressure and start to hate the album on principle. Here are my personal interpretations and what the songs mean for me.

In no particular order So Long, London:

This is a big one, the most Track 5 track five she's released in a while and I've seen a lot of commentary saying that it's not sad enough but honestly, those people must have never loved someone so much that you put everything you had into them and they were still so sad. Like take away all the nuance, mental illness, big words, reasoning whatever and at the end of the day it was a person who was just sad and nothing you could do would take them out of their emotions and everything you tried made them view you as the enemy. You were the opposition for not wanting to wallow, for wanting more and for wanting it with them. To the point where it really made you question yourself and the thought of leaving made you feel worse because then you'd just be like everyone else but then it ended anyway and you thought you'd feel better but you still feel awful because you really did love this person and want the partnership you dreamed of with them but they just couldn't see you past their sad....I'm rambling

also can we please touch on how the comma changes the phrase without even trying (thanks, angelica)

anyway, i like the way that this one starts, the dissonance makes it kinda haunting, and I imagine her voice as an echo bouncing around the empty house as she leaves a final time. Honestly, in my imagination she's not talking to anyone, her partner in this scenario isn't listening because they didn't listen during the relationship. Regardless of who ended it (unclear in the narrative) her partner blames her for the decline of this relationship; this song is her side for whoever will listen and I imagine it to be the empty house and the quiet car as she leaves their shared house a final time.

moving on, when the beat comes in with the trembling synth rhythm, it adds to the confusion for the listener. It makes us feel disoriented and like we're joining in on something during the climax. Another interpretation is that it's a a fast heartbeat, the bpm of the song is 160 which is a normal heartbeat for exciting situations like exercise, drug use, rollercoaster rides etc... I can also imagine it as the heartbeat of someone leaving a lover. This really ties the song into You're Losing Me which I would say is a prequel to this song in theme alone.

I'm always a fan of the way Aaron incorporates emotion into his accompaniments and what I really like about this is he let's Taylor's vocals really make up the melody and become the focus of the song and uses layering of her voice to create emphasis and drama instead of the music.

While extremely poetic I think the lyrics are rather straightforward in conveying just how much the author gave to this relationship and how they felt alone and used at the end so I just will highlight some key phrases here instead of simplifying the metaphor as previously done:

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away My spine split from carrying us up the hill Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill Thinkin, how much sad did you think I had Did you think I had in me? Oh, the tragedy ...

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out I founded the club she's heard great things about I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

And you say I abandoned the ship But I was going down with it My white knuckle dying grip Holding tight to your quiet resentment

Every breath feels like rarest air When you're not sure if he wants to be there

You swore that you loved me but where were the clues? I died on the altar waiting for the proof You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

And I'm just getting color back into my face I'm just mad as hell cause I loved this place

For so long, London Had a good run A moment of warm sun But I'm not the one So long, London Stitches undone Two graves, one gun You'll find someone ...

[sasukimimochi]

MCYT / DSMP FANFICTION-

His Forever Home

Hi! Warning that this is a discontinued series, and i only have about 3 chapters but i wanted to share it since people seemed to want me to post my abandoned fics regardless of status. I'm going to post 1/2/3 together in this same post because they aren't long chapters.

I'm not sure any warnings apply, but if they do i'm going to say to just read at your own risk. i don't remember actual violence being in this fic, but if there is, there's your warning: possible but unlikely violence pffpfp - actually, maybe terminal illness could be a warning? it's not really, it's a different thing, but it feels similar, so i will add the warning. [also, no! no character was planned to die, so just letting you know there's no MCD here].

This fic is obv supposed to be platonic so don't be weird if i have worded something not quite right, especially since i wrote this two years ago now and i dont wanna proofread it lmao. please excuse any writing errors as well. I hope you enjoy it for what it is!

Theme: Awesamdad / Tommyinnit centric (child tommy); Fantasy; Adoption?

-

So let's get into it! fic is under the keep reading line.

His Forever Home

[1] Soundless Voice

The usual trip home was late at night today. Sam could hear the quiet rustle of leaves, ears perked up to listen to the sound. It wasn’t usually quite this calm, but he found himself enjoying it, thanking whatever watched over them for the moment of respite.

Well, until it suddenly wasn’t so quiet.

He could hear what he believed to be crying. Not so loud that it felt normal, audible but weak and filled with little strained breaths.

Sam slowed his pace, ears swiveling and red pupils sharpened in an attempt to locate where it was coming from. It wasn’t what you would expect to hear from a cry, after all there were no underlying tones of voice. It was sniffly, wet, and breathy. Regardless, it was someone or something crying and he immediately veered off the path carefully to investigate.

He didn’t find the source immediately, but it gave the man time to deduct who it was to be young, judging by the sound of their cries. He’d been around at least one or two of the members of their server being raised, and crying was just something all children did at some point. Short, messy sniffles and voiceless sobs, where there should be loud, child-like wails. It was unusual to hear.

The hybrid slowly pushed branches aside, catching a glimpse of gold and paused. “…Hello? Are you okay?” He started to move aside the leaves, only for his hands to rapidly get swatted at and for the crying to become a bit more frantic. “H-hey, it’s okay…It’s okay.” He tried to placate whoever it was, voice low and soothing as he moved back some to give the little thing more space.

“I’m just here to help…are you hurt? Are you lost?” Sam waited patiently, hoping the kid wouldn’t be too afraid to move, or worse, dart off. “I’m not here to hurt you, I promise on my honor as a Guardian.”

He waited, listening to the soft sniffles and hiccups of this potentially lost lamb as he stewed over possible things he could do to help the kid once he was actually in his custody. He held his breath as a wide, silvery eye peeked out from behind the leaves, framed by messy, muddy, golden curls and reddened, puffy skin. The kid’s eyes looked like starlight, little fractals catching light and splitting the iris with fades of distant blue until it reached his stark white pupils.

“There you are…are you okay—oof,” Sam let out a surprised grunt as the boy rushed out and slammed into him, hiding his face into the only unarmored section of the man’s torso, which happened to be the nook of his arm. Surprised, He knelt down properly to make sure the kid had support, a sadness sinking into him when he actually came into contact with the boy. He was so thin. So, so thin.

Sam gently cradled him, slowly standing and making sure the kid had support under his legs and his back so he didn’t fall. “This might be difficult, but can you speak?” The kid had just done a lot of crying, and who knows how long he’d gone without water. Sam wasn’t sure he could speak.

The child slowly looked up at the man, though he kept his head pretty low and avoided uncurling himself from his little spot against the hybrid. He pursed his mouth, eyebrows furrowed and eyes moist as if threatening once again to burst into tears. “It’s okay…” Sam quietly spoke, “We’ll figure it out. How about we get you to my home and get you a bit of food and water. When you’re ready you can tell me what happened or where I can take you to get you home.”

Sam was tired from the long day, but he had enough energy to get him home and help the kid get fed, hydrated and in bed. He was pretty thankful they fell asleep on the way back, though it did make getting his armor off when he got home a bit difficult. This kid did not want to let him go. Eventually he managed to get his armor off, and melted into his armchair, letting out an exhausted sigh.

There was so much he needed to do, but he supposed he would need to start by getting the kid cleaned and changed into something else.  He would have to wait until the morning to contact anyone about the kid, though he knew a good handful of them would be up still, he didn’t want to be wrong and disturb someone’s sleep. He could handle this for the night, just a few more hours.

“Hey…?” Sam gently rubbed the kid’s back, continuing his softened tone. “You okay to get cleaned up? After you get clean you can have a bit of food, some water…” He paused, letting out another deep sigh when the child tightened his grip and pressed his face more firmly into the other’s shirt. “I can hold you again after. I’ll be right there if you need me, too—but you’re covered in mud. I can’t put you to bed like that.”

Sam felt Fran prop their legs up onto the couch and place her head onto his knee, causing the man’s ears to perk up slightly. “Do you like Puppies?” Sam was glad to see the boy eventually give a little nod. “Okay, Fran can come with us then and help keep you calm; she’s a lovely support dog.”

The kid lifted his head and stared apprehensively at the dog, but did reach out in the end to give her head a little pat. The positive response the boy received had him relaxing slightly, watching as she nuzzled his hand and booped her snoot up against his arm. “That’s it…Fran is the best lady.” Sam smiled, clicking his tongue to signal for her to get down so he could get up.

“You can pet her as much as you want while we get you clean. Would you like that?” Sam chuckled softly as the little boy nodded, glad to see him opening up little by little.

He sat the boy down on the toilet lid, finally getting to take a good look at the kid. There was no way he was 10, he must be 7 or 8 at the most, if the kid was smaller than he should be. Instead, he nearly looked like he was 6. After getting him undressed, Sam lowered him into the warm water, watching as Fran kept their nose within his reach while he gently washed the boy in little swirling circles.

What he started to notice though was a marking on the boy’s neck. It was so caked in mud that he hadn’t even noticed it at first glance, but now…as he carefully pulled away dried flakes of mud and rinsed it away, Sam’s heart dropped.

This wasn’t normal.

But what was worse, once the mud was gone, it was bleeding. Thing is, it should not be. There were no openings in his skin, no cut, merely darkened marks in a swirl-like burn. Inwardly, Sam shuddered in horror at the thought someone could do something like this to a child.

Sam paused when the kid touched his face, eyes focusing back on the little, now clean, face of the boy. Angry, but worried. That was an interesting expression.

“I’m okay, kid. Did I worry you?” Sam smiled a bit, draining the very dirty water so he could finish cleaning the boy with fresh water from the shower head and one of the goat milk soaps he owned. The kid huffed softly, but closed his eyes as water ran back over his head.

In a matter of moments, they were wrapped up in a big fluffy towel and on the couch. “Okay, let me patch that neck of yours and then I can make you a bit of food.” The boy watched as Sam wandered to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, hands buried in Fran’s fur.

Sam wasn’t exactly a nurse, but he was able to successfully patch and wrap the marking loosely, just enough so that blood wouldn’t get everywhere wherever he went. “That feels better?” Sam hummed, pleased with the nod of affirmation. “Alright, you just stay here with Fran a little longer, okay? I’ll make you something to eat and then I’ll see what we can do about something for you to wear until later.”

And he needed to figure out the kid’s name. While the kid wasn’t able to talk, hopefully he was old enough that he knew how to write a little.

After a good long moment of staring at the fridge, eventually Sam started to make tea sandwiches. Sam really hoped the kid liked cucumber and cream cheese because he really needed something in his stomach, even if he started small. He reheated soup for himself, soon settling back on the couch next to the two.

Sam started by helping the kid drink some cold water, but moved to the sandwich relatively quickly, holding it up for him. “Here…try this?” He moved it to within reach of the boy’s mouth. “It’s really good, I like having these when I’m sick, or can’t eat much.”

The boy looked very unsure, but eventually did take a bite. Slowly, he held it himself and started to work through it bite by bite, until he’d finished one half and the entire glass of water. “Good job.” Sam praised, “Do you want the other half?” He paused and upon receiving a shake of the head, he continued, “That’s alright. I’ll put it away for later.”

Sam worked on eating his dinner while the kid tangled his hands into Fran’s fur. By the time he was done, the kid was dozing again, head pressed against her brow. Like the wonderful dog she was, she supported the child, adjusting her head as needed to keep him from falling.

Sam didn’t have children’s clothes. Not something small enough to fit the boy at least. He sighed at the clothes he owned, gently pushing hanging clothes to the side as he tried to find something he could maybe work with. Nothing was that small though. He furrowed his brow, staring at the closet and letting out a deep sigh of frustration.

Well, I could probably tear up an older shirt and make it smaller somehow for the night…

He dug into some old boxes, eventually pulling out one of his old tees from when he was younger, dark blue and grey and in no way fitting him any longer.

“That’ll do…” He stared at it, wondering what he could do to make it smaller, before draping it over his arm and wandering to his workshop. Soon, he’d pinched the cloth together on its back and sewn along the line, so that it would at least not completely fall off his little body when he put it on.

The kid didn’t seem too entirely interested in getting up at this point, but once Sam came back he had his hands up as if begging to be lifted. “Put this shirt on and we can tuck you in, if you want Fran can sleep with you tonight, too.”

After a bit of squirming, the kid was covered and once again saddled on Sam’s arm while he carried them to the bed. “Fran? Come on, good girl.” He petted across her head after she hopped onto the bed, then pulled back the blanket to tuck the boy in. “There we go…comfy now?” He sat beside the bed, starting to dig through the drawer on the side table to find one of his memo books.

Sam could feel the kid’s eyes on him, boring into the side of his head as if he wanted something, so he wasn’t surprised to see the kid staring at him when he moved back to face him. “Can you write? At least your name, and if you can manage anything else, maybe how you’re feeling…?” Sam held out the little notebook, glad to see the kid actually start to use it once he had it in his hands.

T O M M Y.

S L E E P Y.

Tommy’s writing was all uppercase, and very messy. At least he didn’t seem to be in pain though, that was always a plus. “Hello Tommy…it’s nice to meet you. Since you’re sleepy I’ll go ahead and let you be, Fran can stay here with you—“ Sam had moved to get up, but stopped when Tommy grabbed onto his arm and looked up at him with pleading eyes, he doesn’t have it in him to pull away.

“Alright…I’ll stay, I’ll stay.” He moved his hands to instead card through the boy’s damp curls, watching as he relaxed and leaned into his hand. Sam had a small thought, but he decided to promptly ignore it. He was not getting attached; he didn’t even know where the kid came from.

As the child fell asleep though, Sam’s chest was warm and his smile soft.

He was probably doomed from the start.

[2] The Six Swans

Sam woke up feeling somewhat suffocated. He lifted his head off the bed, and very quickly realized why. A certain boy had wrapped himself around his head and he had a face full of shirt and bony torso. “Mmm?? Tommy…?” He wriggled himself loose and took a deep breath, laughing quietly as they instead wrapped their arms around Sam’s shoulders and nuzzled into his collar bone.

Sam gently lifted the boy, gently clicking his tongue to alert Fran while he cradled Tommy to his chest. “Alright, alright…Sleepy boy is still quite tired I see…” He stretched his own legs as he walked, yawning quietly as he dug in a drawer looking for something he could sling the boy in. “This’ll have to do…” As it turns out, his apron was a really good sling if he tied it right. Good thing the kid wasn’t a newborn, only thing Tommy needed was a little support to stay clung to his neck.

“How about some breakfast, hm?” Sam gently petted the top of the little boy’s sleepy head, smiling quietly as he opened the freezer to grab some frozen fruits. “I wonder if Dream is too busy at this hour…” He sighs, chopping the fruit a little bit so they were more manageable for his blender. “Do you like bananas?” He gently asked, waiting for the feeling of their little head moving to confirm the nod. “Alright, banana berry smoothie it is. Sorry the blender will be a bit loud…”

After he added in a splash of milk, one hand being used to help cover the other’s ears while the blender runs. The boy squirms slightly from the noise, burying his face further into their shoulder and huffing. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled, sooner than later hitting the off switch and moving to get something that he could eat out of while humming a quiet tune.

The familiar tune had Tommy’s hands tightening and relaxing into little fists. God, someone was going to have to pry the child away from him at this rate. He hoped once he found out who the kid belonged to that he could at least come visit from time to time, maybe baby sit.

“Alright…can I put you down so you can eat?” Sam took the bowl over to the couch, managing to get Tommy to let go and sit bundled in one of the throws he usually had laying over the cushions. “Think you can eat a few bites of this?” Sam got a small spoonful and brought it up to the others lips, pleased when the boy took a few tentative sips.

The sleepy boy looked all rosy in the morning, hair a messy mop of curls and cowlicks, cheeks bright pink and eyes half-lidded with drowsiness. Sam’s ears lowered, letting out a low, concerned warble when Tommy started to refuse more after only a few sips. “It’s okay…we’ll try again around lunch.”

It didn’t take long for the boy to reach up, silently asking to be carried again. Sam smiled sadly and gently pulled him up to nestle into his shoulder again.

Awesamdude: Hey, Dream? You too busy rn?

Dream: mm. not really, just woke up though. whats up?

Awesamdude: I found a kid on my way home last night.

Dream: you what? they ok?

Awesamdude: Sort of. I need you to come look at his code, like there’s a mark on his neck.

Awesamdude: he’s not said a word to me since I took him in, and I’m concerned he might be like…I don’t know, something seems wrong and without him being able to speak to me I can’t figure out what it is.

Dream: A mark?

Awesamdude: It’s not like a scar, but it bleeds and it kinda looks like a burn. It…I don’t know, it could me an intentional thing placed on him.

Awesamdude: I have managed to get a little food and water in him, but he’s thin. I don’t know how long he’s been out there.

Dream: something intentional… okay, I’ll be over soon, alright? I’ll let Niki know you need some clothes for him. How big is he?

Awesamdude: He’s about the size of a 6 year old. Really thin, he’s probably just shy of 3 ft tall so he’s still really tiny…

Dream: jesus they’re just a kid…

Awesamdude: yeah, I butchered an old shirt of mine so he wasn’t running around in his birthday suit.

Awesamdude: Anyway, see you when you’re here. Little guy is really clingy, think he’s got some separation anxiety.

Dream: right, see you soon

Sam let out a deep sigh and dismissed his comm, leaning back against the couch while rubbing gentle circles into the boy’s back. His ears turned up, tilting his head down slightly to listen to their breathing.

The boy’s lungs were crackling quietly, breath warm and shallow. It was almost like… Sam’s heart dropped and he carefully swaddled the boy in his make-shift sling again, hand supporting the back of his head as he wandered to the bathroom to forage in the medicine cabinet. “Under your tongue,” He whispered, gently poking a thermometer into his mouth, and waited.

Sam furrowed his brow, letting out a worried sigh as he shook the thermometer. Tommy had a fever, and while it wasn’t too high right now, he guessed it would get worse before it got better. In his weak condition, he didn’t like those odds.

Awesamdude: please bring a fever potion, if you can get more I’ll pay you back

Dream: will do

For now, Sam went about blending more fruit smoothies and putting them into popsicle molds. If the kid’s temperature got worse, he’d need ways to regulate it as much as he could—freezing little trays with water for ice cubes if he couldn’t stomach the smoothies, and putting water and juice into the fridge to keep it nice and chilly.

“Tommy, a friend of mine will be here soon…he’s going to look at your code and see what’s wrong with your throat…” Sam felt the boy move slightly, indicating he’d been heard. “I can keep holding you for now, but realistically I can’t keep you on me all the time…” He felt the child’s grip tighten, and he deflated slightly, ears drooping a bit. “Fran can keep you company while I use the bathroom and stuff.”

Sam sighed quietly as he felt their little hands tighten on his clothes and release. He needed to have someone around to help him curb this separation anxiety.

A knock had his ears perking up, setting aside the rag he was wiping the countertop with and moved towards the entrance to hit the opening button with his foot. “Hey, thanks for coming so early in the morning…” Sam shook the man’s hand briefly yet firm, as they usually did.

Tommy curled up more, pressing his face into Sam’s neck as if trying to escape the noise. Sam gently made a ‘shhhh’ noise and rubbed circles into his small back, looking up with a pleading expression to the man. “Did you get the potion? He’s got a fever…” He speaks softly, not wanting to disturb the boy more than he already had.

The shorter man pulled his hood down and removed his mask, giving a soft hum of concern. “I did, I’ll take a look at his code first though before we introduce that to his system.” Dream walked in and then sat down the satchel he’d been carrying, removing a string of tied potion bottles from the bag and hung them on a hook above the counter.

“You said you found him last night?” Dream’s brow furrowed, forest green eyes with hints of sun-kissed lime scanning over the two.

“Yeah…in the forest, on the way back from my current build.” Sam sat in front of Dream, letting the smaller male hover his wrapped hands over the bundle in his arms. The glow coming from his hands flurried with numbers, pupils scanning the child’s figure as he slowly moved his hands over different areas of his form.

Tommy’s eyes opened slightly, giving a soft breath that sounded a bit scared, and right after little hands flying up to hold onto Sam’s ears and pulling. “Ow! Ow, owow, Tommy, Tommy, easy—“ Sam gently pulled the other’s fingers off his ears and frowned slightly in concern, gently rubbing their little palms with his thumbs. “It’s okay, I’ve known him for a really long time, he’s not gonna hurt you…he’s just checking your code. It’s confusing, but it’ll help us figure out what’s happening with you.”

Tommy made a few noises with his breath that Sam deducted as what could be silent whimpers, really wishing at that moment he didn’t have a giant bulky mask on so he could nuzzle their hair.

“Shhh…shh, shh,” Sam gently ran his fingers through the little boy’s hair, doing his best to calm the boy so Dream could finish. “Do you want to pet Fran again?” He clicked his tongue, said dog trotting up to the two, partially hopping up on the chair, then weaseling her snout in between their two bodies so she could lick the boy’s cheek and make little huffs in his face.

Tommy seemed to get into a better mood, wrapping his arms around her snout and resting his head against hers. Sam let out a relieved sigh, gently petting his back but avoiding Dream’s hands until he was done.

“…Sam, uh…” Dream rubbed the back of his neck, brows furrowed so much more tightly than before. “I don’t…know if he’ll…” He cleared his throat when Sam’s face dropped. “Uh, he’s…cursed, Sam. He hasn’t said anything because he can’t, and it’s not doing anything good for his body, either.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, voice uncharacteristically sharp, yet soft. Not angry, but on the edge of despair. Dream wasn’t surprised, Sam cared a lot about his friends and family, but…this was a stranger. To Dream, it sounded the same as if Sam would have been told one of his close friends was terminally ill. This kid had certainly wiggled into his heart quickly…

“Sam…” Dream looked hesitant for a moment, then opened up his comm to give Sam a private message, which the man promptly opened.

Dream: The curse is killing him. He’s too young to properly recover from it- an adult could survive it and just live mute, or live long enough to break it, but…he’s going to get a lot worse.

Dream: Sam, I think he’s too delicate.

Sam’s hand shook on the communicator, swallowing thickly with glassy eyes. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let it happen, there had to be a way—another ping came through.

Dream: The best you can do is help him stay comfortable. I’ll try to find his family, and I’ll try to figure out if there’s any way to lift it…Don’t let yourself get more attached. The hopes aren’t high.

He knew what Dream said was true. But that didn’t stop the tears running down his face. It didn’t stop how much it hurt. It didn’t stop the ache.

Don’t take my child away.

[3] Summertime Sadness

Sam slowly moved his thumb across Tommy’s back, very aware of his hand as he stared at the small, sleeping boy.

“I think he’s too fragile.”

“The best you can do is help him stay comfortable.”

Sam’s eyes welled up again, breath catching in his throat. Cursed…the child he’d found was cursed and dying. He gently stroked the child’s spine, letting himself feel the little bumps and dips and watching as he breathed.

Why should a child have to die? Nothing he did, as a child, would deserve this kind of punishment. Tommy was so sweet, tired, but so sweet and soft and…small.

He barely had it in him to do what he needed to, making sure the kid got a bit food and water in him, kept him comfortable, carried him around close with his little head pressed into the man’s shoulder.

I got that summertime, summertime sadness—

Sam had the radio playing quietly on the counter as he gently swayed in the center of his living room, humming quietly along to the lyrics as he listened to the little thing breathe shakily on his chest. He found out quickly that Tommy slept the best when he laid over his heart, something about the rhythmic beat soothing his bones.

Dancin' in the dark, in the pale moonlight—

Sam’s voice cracked softly, trying his best to keep himself together but failing miserably the longer he thought about the small child’s fate. What could he do? He was just a hybrid.

Think I'll miss you forever, Like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky—

Sam tucked his head over those soft, golden locks, eyes closing as tears slipped down his cheeks and onto the new cotton mask he wore. He really was gonna miss this kid.

I got that summertime, summertime sadness Summertime, summertime sadness—

Sam let out a soft sob, feeling the curls rub against his chin as Tommy moved to lift his head. Wide, silver hues matched bright green and blues, the overflowing tears falling onto his little cheeks. “I’m sorry…” Sam whispered, “I-I didn’t mean to wake you.”

The kid raised his hands, small palms and little fingers holding his clothed face. His face looked sickly, but he had that fiery look in his eyes again, that—that determination, that look that was just so Tommy, like nothing was ever going to take him down.

Sam’s features softened, and his ears lowered as this kid comforted him. He didn’t need to hear a word to understand that this child was telling him to stop giving up.

It felt special. He’d been in love before, but not like this. It felt like he was holding sunrays, blighted by rain clouds but never losing its light. He loved this kid, he wouldn’t let him fall to this.

He was going to find the way, even if he had to give up part of himself to do it.

“Thank you, Tommy.” Sam let his smile reach his eyes, leaning in to rest his mouth against the other’s curls, hand supporting the child’s head. “One way or another, we’ll make it through this. You’ll make it through this.” Sam smiled slightly as he felt the other tug on his ears, finding that it hurt less and became more endearing when Tommy did it.

Even though he was still scared for what could happen, he’d try to keep up hope. He’d be the pillar Tommy needed.

Got that summertime, summertime sadness Oh, oh-oh, oh-oh

Sam was helping Tommy hold an ice pop to eat when he heard a knock on his door. “Oh…” He wandered over to the door and kicked the button gently, watching as the door opened to reveal his smiling, pink and blonde haired friend.

“Niki! Hey, I was wondering when you were coming by.” He welcomed the girl in, careful not to bring his voice up too much so that Tommy stayed comfortable. “How are you?” He asked, making sure the door closed properly before turning back to her.

“I’m doing very well, thank you.” She smiled, rosy irises giving a bit of a sparkle in greeting. “I heard you needed some baby clothes, so I have delivered.” She held up her bag, stuffed to the brim with possibilities. “I had to do some guesses in size, but I can adjust things if they’re too big.”

She giggled when it looked like Tommy frowned at her for the baby comment, “I’m sorry…they’re for a big man like yourself.” Tommy nodded a bit, continuing to make a mess on the towel Sam had placed between Tommy and his chest to make sure he wasn’t getting covered in juice.

Sam smiled, tail flicking behind him. “Thank you so much Niki…I really appreciate it, I feel bad making him wear nothing but my big shirts.” Niki waved a hand and placed the bag on the counter, starting to sort through it, one article at a time.

“I got this little sweater here, it’s pink because I had a lot of that laying around, but it's pale enough to not be too extreme.” She held up a small sweater, soft and adorned with a golden sun in the middle. “My favorite is this light blue one with the sunflowers though—“

And soon, Tommy was cleaned up and in a new set of clothes. Along with that, Niki had brought a new sling that would work much better for supporting Tommy while he was being carried around.

Sam had decided on him wearing the sunflower top with dark blue shorts, and luckily it wasn’t so big it fell off of him, so they decided the others could be adjusted while he wore this outfit. “You look handsome,” Sam gently informed, chuckling softly as Tommy, now exhausted, nuzzled back into his shoulder. “Thank you Niki…cash in a favor from me anytime. I owe you.”

Niki smiled brightly and waved her hand. “It’s no problem. When he gets better you should take him to the bakery so I can spoil him.” Niki giggled, finishing folding the clothes she needed to adjust back into her bag. “Do you need any help? I can watch him for a bit while you have a shower.”

Sam debated, hand quietly petting Tommy’s back. “I would like a shower…but he’s got quite a bit of separation anxiety. He might be okay if Fran is here with you two…we could try it briefly?” He didn’t really want to leave Tommy, but he hadn’t showered in a couple days. It would be nice.

“Sure…we’ll take it slow.” Niki took off her extra top, approaching the two as Sam untied the sling and helped Niki get situated with Tommy. Tommy seemed a bit too tired to really fight it, but when Sam pulled his hands away, he furrowed his small brow and held out a hand in Sam’s direction, letting out a whimper-like breath.

“Aw, Tommy…it’s okay, I’ll be right back I promise…and Fran will be here, and Niki. Niki is really sweet I promise.” Sam let the other hold his finger, ears lowering in an attempt not to make too big of a display of affection in front of Niki. “I’ll give you all the nuzzles you want when I’m back.” He gently cooed, flushing slightly as Niki smiled knowingly at him.

Fran came quickly when called, joining Niki and Tommy on the couch and gently laying her muzzle over Tommy’s lap, which soon became the boy’s pillow. “If he gets feverish give him a small dose of the fever medicine. There’s ice in the freezer if it gets bad, oh and I made him some snacks—“

“It’ll be okay, Sam.” Niki chuckled softly, “It’s okay. You’re only leaving to shower, he should be fine, and I know how to take care of kids, even sick ones.”

Sam paused and laughed nervously, “Ri-Right, sorry Niki…I’ll try not to be long.” He turned, glancing back at Tommy to make sure he wasn’t anxious before he disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Sam wasn’t the one that was supposed to have separation anxiety.

So why was he so anxious without that little weight on his shoulder? He sighed, forehead pressing against the shower tile as lukewarm water ran down his back.

Focus on the soothing things.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching as water pitter-pattered onto the deepslate tile beneath his feet. He closed his eyes, imagining what life could be like if Tommy’s curse gets broken.

He imagined warm summer afternoons, faces buried in watermelon rinds and giggling when fireflies fluttered by. Leaf piles in the fall, flurries of laughter and warm apple cider. Snowmen and sledding in the winter with hot chocolate and sweet marshmallows. Springtime puddles and croaking frogs on lily pads.

It was warm, cozy and potentially theirs.

And best of all, he wouldn’t be alone anymore.

He’d have a kid.

He opened his eyes, moving his hand to the shower handle so he could shut the supply off. “…” He stared at the drip from the emptied spout, eventually releasing it and stepping out of the shower so he could get dry.

He ruffled his hair in a hand towel, throwing on his usual style of clothes before stopping to look at himself in the mirror.

He was supposed to be the calm, cool, and collected one. More like a big brother than a…

Father.

He stared at himself, slowly placing his hands onto the counter and staring at his features. Realistically, Sam shouldn’t be taking on this kind of responsibility. He was in his 20’s, barely legal to drink and certainly had been mostly focused on having fun at this point in his life.

He stepped back, slowly squeezing his dripping tail in his towel and looking at what he was presenting himself as. He looked cozy, like someone his loved ones could lean on; at the same time he looked professional, like he could take up his guardian duties at any moment and protect the settlement like he was trained to.

He was a guardian to protect everyone in their server.

He stood straight, but soon relaxed back into his somewhat slouched state.

Do I even need to be a father? There’s still a chance we’re able to find his family.

He ran his fingers over the stubble on his jaw, thoughtful expression on his face. Did it matter how he felt in this situation? Well, it did. But, what mattered more here is that Tommy needed family. And he could be that until further notice.

He flicked his tail, the damp and wet fur flinging from side to side as he dumped his dirty clothes in the nearby hamper.

When he finally left the steamy room, the two starlight hues met his, and his worries melted away again.

That’s my kid.

Tommy’s face brightened, lifting his head and pushing his arms against Fran’s head even when his hands shook from the effort.

Sam smiled, walking over to the three cozy individuals and kneeled beside them, patting Fran and nodding to Niki. It was such a relief to have the little bundle tucked against his chest again, causing a quiet, low warble to roll in his throat.

“Couldn’t stay gone long. I missed my big, brave man.”

---

So thats it!

i just realized i used a speech-to-text for the outline LMAO i do not think you guys will wanna read it. i did a challenge of drawing and writing at the same time and that's what i did, but it was poorly LMAO

Um, if you guys really want me to clean it up let me know and i'll post that separately. It won't be super fantastic but i'll go over the main points!

find the companion fic "Boar Brothers" [which is also not finished] here.

[cozycompositions]

@febuwhump Day 7: Forced to Watch

Hello, Lovelies! Big thanks to @that-gal-kay for helping me with this idea! Many many a credit to her!

The fever was ravishing the camp like a new plague. The doctors tried to quarantine it, that didn’t help anything. Eventually the doctors ended up sick, as well. Whatever this sickness was, it was fast and aggressive. Men were dropping like flies, it seemed as though this illness was taking more lives than the entire cause.

General Washington pleaded with Congress, for more medicine, more doctors, anything. Congress did nothing.

So the anger Washington felt when Alexander Hamilton fell ill was entirely directed at them.

And at himself. And at whoever Hamilton got the fever from. And at Alexander for not staying inside, where it’s safe.

Washington was sat in the chair next to Hamilton’s cot. He hadn’t left Alexander’s side since the news of his illness had reached him. One of the last remaining medics, a transfer from Albany, had tried his best to keep Washington away from the boy, (no force on Heaven or Earth could ever do so) Washington would catch the fever himself. They could not afford to lose the general.

Nevertheless, Washington had rushed to the boy’s side, taking care of him as only a father could. The boy was laying in Washington’s own room, he would not allow Alexander to catch even more if his death in the medical tent. He had been asleep for nearly eight hours, occasionally spasming or moaning softly in pain.

Washington did what he could; keeping a cool cloth on the aide’s head, changing his sheets often, holding him. George didn’t have a care in the world for his own health - he just wanted Alexander to be okay.

Hamilton stirred, for the first time since he had been moved to this room. Washington perked up, quickly lighting a candle on the bedside table. Night had long fallen at this point.

“Mn… Sir?” Hamilton groaned softly, his voice hoarse with sleep.

“Hamilton,” Washington smiled. He was thrilled to see his boy awake.

“Wh’a time’s it?” Hamilton worried, attempting to pull himself into a seated position, “I can work… din’t mean to fall ‘sleep… sir.”

Washington gently pushed the boy back down. “No work for you, dear heart. Just rest now, it’s okay,” he cooed.

“Sick?”

“Sick.”

“Like Jack?”

John Laurens, Washington cringed. Laurens has been taken by the fever a mere month prior. Washington remembered how Alexander had shut himself away, literally and metaphorically. He became even more withdrawn and distant than usual, everyone could tell the death of his best friend took an incredible toll on the boy. They all knew it was just another loss to add to the list.

Washington recalled how Hamilton had sat by John’s bedside just as he was now.

“Yes,” Washington ground out. “Like Jack.”

Hamilton was already asleep again.

He didn’t wake again for another few hours. It was just before dawn when Washington felt the small hand in his own shift. He lifted his head, gosh how his neck ached from sleeping in this chair, to see Hamilton stirring restlessly in his sleep, tossing his head side to side with his sweaty brow pinched together.

“Alexander,” Washington gently shook his aide. “Time to wake up son, come on. You can do it.”

Alexander jolted awake with a gasp. In the candlelight, George could see the tears that burned in his cloudy eyes.

“Oh, dear boy,” Washington sighed. He took the now warm cloth from where it had fallen next to Alexander’s head, and rose to soak it in the basin.

“Pa…”

Washington froze at that. He spun around, and yes, Hamilton was looking at him. He was delirious, Washington knew that, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart swell for Alexander to call him that.

George made his way back to the bed, drawing the cloth over Hamilton’s skin. Alexander sighed at the cool water.

“I’m right here, Alexander,” George cooed softly.

“Pa, it hurts.”

“What hurts, dear?”

“Everything. And… and here,” Hamilton moved to touch his chest.

“You’re sick, Alexander, it’s okay. The pain will be gone soon. You just need to rest.”

Alexander recovered quickly after that. When he awoke the next morning, he had no recollection of their previous interaction. For George, it was a blessing that Hamilton did not remember, lest he become cross over the attention he was receiving.

Despite Washington’s protests, Alexander was back to work within the week. George told him, he had told the stupid boy he should rest more, that he was no good to the war if he worked himself ill again.

“I’ve pressing things to do,” Alexander would always respond.

There was one day, six evenings after their conversation, when Hamilton’s condition worsened again. It had just been a small cough at first, no more than the boy inadvertently clearing his throat. Then it became coughing fits, teary eyes. His writing never stopped. By that evening Washington was done watching the poor boy do this to himself.

“Time for bed, Lieutenant,” he said with no aggression behind his voice.

“I cannot possibly rest now, sir,” Hamilton said without looking up, the movements of his quill never stopping. Washington sighed and moved to grab the boy’s arm to pull him up himself. As soon as George’s hand touched Hamilton’s arm, the boy heaved a sudden sob and shot out of his chair.

“Don’t touch me!”

Washington took a startled step back. Hamilton’s chest was heaving as he dissolved into another fit of coughing - choking. George reached out to steady the boy, only to be pushed back again.

“Please, sir, you may get sick,” Hamilton pleaded. Washington was mildly offended at being shoved away, not realizing it was Alexander’s fear of losing him the way he did John, his mother…

Washington did know the boy was not in his right mind, because he had tears running down his flushed face. Hamilton would never allow Washington to see him cry.

George moved the chair out of the way and grabbed the boy’s shoulder’s to stop his swaying (and hold the child still when he fought against his hold).

“So you are with fever, yes?” Washington asked gently. Hamilton sniffed and nodded. George turned and entered the hallway, stopping a servant boy and requesting for him to bring the medic to his rooms, Hamilton was ill again. When he turned back, Alexander was pressed against the back wall, crying still, but staring at something beyond Washington.

“Come to me, son. Let’s get you into your bed,” Washington prodded, moving closer to the delirious aide. When Hamilton didn’t respond, Washington’s brow furrowed in concern. Hamilton had never failed to answer his call before now.

“Son?”

Hamilton tilted his head and furrowed his brow, still gazing over Washington’s shoulder as if that wall was so interesting.

“John…?”

Then suddenly, he was pitching forward into Washington’s arms.

[rogertaylorshbb]

studio stress, Roger Taylor X Reader [part 2]

“I'm guessing you're more mature now,” you snickerd. “In some things” he raised his eyebrows. 

He casually slid his arm around your shoulder. 

You both were silent as he stared into your eyes. You looked down nervously fiddling with your hands. 

“That's cute,” he said, gliding his tongue under his front teeth. “What” you blurted confusingly.

“Your bracelet” he nodded “it's nice”. You blushed “well I have good taste, thank you”. 

“Just in jewellery?” he raised his eyebrow giving a slight smile. 

“What do you mean-” before you could finish your sentence he needily slammed his lips into yours. 

He shifted his body to face yours, pushing his fingers through your hair. You placed your hand on his chest and backed out of this kiss catching your breath. 

You chuckled “wasn't expecting that”. 

“Oh- oh i'm so sorry y/n- I don't why i even-” 

You shook your head and slammed your swollen lips back into his. you could feel his proud and happy smile as he hungrily kissed you.

You two were getting hot and heavy, he grabbed your hips and you you confidently moved yourself onto his lap, cupping his face in your hands. he moved your hair over your shoulder to your back gliding his hands softly over your back, gripping gently on your shirt.

"if you want me to take off my shirt you can ask" you smiled. he just looked up at you innocently as he sat there with his hands traveled and rested on your hip bones.

you took your shirt off as his eyes widened with delight. "your so incredible".

"me? I can barley handle two jobs, your recording an album for the whole world to hear" you sighed and continued to kiss him.

just as he began to kiss your neck the door slammed open. "AND I TOLD HIM "FUCK OFF" Freddie laughed waltzing into the studio.

"oh- shit" you jumped grabbing your shirt.

"wow woooo naughty" john slurred putting his finger in the air stumbling into Brian, Brian widened his eyes and held his stomach laughing.

you hit yourself slightly in the head "fuck" and roger shouted at john to stop laughing.

oh don't worry y/n, were all to drunk to care".

hey, hope you enjoyed, I know this is pretty short but I feel like if I add anymore ill just be dragging it. also I need to get on with writing chapter 6 of friends, so to whoever is reading that sorry I haven't posted on there in 2 days.

@sarcastic-sourwolf

[thetoaddaddy]

Meme: questions. If (instead of dying) Jiraiya had passed out at the end of his final fight, and had been swept away by the current to wash ashore somewhere else... and missed the war... then what would he have done after his recovery period? Where would he go, what would he do?

Hmmmmmmmm i Really like this prompt/idea/question and it got my small brain juice going. So I think we can cover a few changing factors here.

Amnesia. Given ya boy got absolutely fucking wrecked its not a stretch to assume he gets amnesia. Shit ton of blood loss, severe trauma, got thrashed a bit in the water is bound to have some ill effects. I reckon he got washed up to farmland and thus taken in by a family. Despite having no memory he’s personality would be the same if a bit more naive now without his years of experience. He’d probably simply live life helping out the people who took him in. Of course its a struggle without an arm. Even if he recovers his memory some day I don’t think he’d go back. If he doesn’t I don’t think he’d go venture to discover who he was before with that gut feeling of he won’t like it. But it would be quite interesting to see his old friends’ reactions to stumbling across him(especially if he has 0 memory of them).

With all his memories in tact I think he’s haul his ass to the shore and tend to his wounds. Once he could move he’d find the nearest house and raid it for supplies. Given he’s half dead he’d probably reluctantly let whoever caught him being a goblin stealing their first aid take care of him until he’s well enough. Still I think he’d at least repay his debt for their help before moving on. Idk if he’d really go back. He has an opportunity here. He can live a peaceful life. It’s without anyone he loves sure but he figures they’ll be just fine without him. He’d settle somewhere quaint, remote, and quiet. He’d let go of his old life, chalking it up to they’re fine without him and he didn’t really add much while he was there anyhow. Again interesting if Naruto or someone stumbles across him and he’s got like a whole ass family and new life he built. He didn’t pick them after all and I think Naruto and/or Tsunade would take it really hard.

[napsaps-archive]

Hehehe just for you Ill give you a happy ending to this story :3 enjoy!

Its a few years after that faithful class and a few months after you graduate. But no matter how hard you try, you couldnt get that southern beauty out of your head. You tried your luck when applying for other classes, but your schedule never seemed to line up. Asking around didnt really help either, she didnt live on campus and wasnt particularly close to the people you hang out. Whatever, it wasnt a big deal! Its not like she haunts your daydreams when you should be paying attention in class and back in your room while youre sleeping. Its ok, really.

Anyways, you had the most exhausting week youve had since graduating, so you decided to treat yourself to your favorite coffee shop/bookstore. Its been awhile since youve been there. Putting on your most comfortable but still cute outfit, you head out of your apartment and set out.

Once you arrived, you got hit with the bitter coffee smell and the soothing jazz playing on the speakers. Its wasnt terribly busy, but there was still a decent line for the register. So much for an easy day. You sighed and made your way to the back of the line. You couldnt see who was manning the register but you could tell it was definitely someone newer cause usually it goes a little faster with seasoned workers. No big deal tho, you'll be sure to tip them a little extra for having to deal with customers all day.Slowly but surely, you made your way up to the register counter. You already had your order in mind, so there was no need to look up at the menu. So that left you being face to face with the cashier. Who had a...familiar face. You couldnt pin out how and where, but she looked so familiar. Gorgeous brown hair pulled back behind her cap, beautiful light green eyes, full lips that had a shine from gloss, and perfect manicured nails on top of her tablet. All in all, one of the most beautiful girls youve ever seen. But where have you seen her?

"What can I get started for you, sweetheart?"

Just from hearing her voice, all of it came rushing back to you. The biology class, being paired up and initially dreading it, fearing she would be another case of dropping all the work into you while still getting credit, actually turning out to be one of the nicest people you ever met. The girl that plagued your mind for months even after the class ended. The one you were too nervous to talk to and regretted that you missed your chance. Now shes here standing not even a foot away from you.

"Uh..you on, doll? Youre holding up the line."

Quickly breaking out of your thoughts and yelping out your order, you handed her some cash and sped walked to a empty table before groaning into your hands. Of course you had to embarrass yourself in front of her and the entire shop. Goddammit, why cant things go your way?

Eventually, your name was called from the front and you stood up to grab your cup. You took a sip and, wow. It was perfect, exactly how you liked it. Kudos to whoever made it. Lowering your cup, you noticed more writing next to your name. Confused, you turned the cup around to read what it said.

'I thought I remembered you from somewhere! LTNS cutie! Maybe we can catch up sometime? ;) xxx-xxx-xxxx'

Your cheeks burned up as you looked over at the workers counter. The two of you made eye contact and she gave you a quick wink before moving on to help her customer. Butterflies fluttered in your chest and your cheeks burned hotter. But before you could forget, you made sure to add the number to your contacts list for later.

Maybe some good came out of all this after all.

immgoinggsto theoww up shes everything to me

[laeorinel]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 14 - Clear

Minor Endwalker spoilers. Sort of continuation of this piece Once bitten, twice shy

You don't need to have read the other piece but it adds a little bit of context I guess.

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

Thancred paced around the small inn room as Urianger tended to Samara, his jaw clenching and fingers digging into the leather of his coat every time he heard her cry out as the elezen tried to purge the remaining poison from her body. 

It was a wicked poison they could not easily remedy without knowing precisely what it was. Magical purification was their only option, but that came with the downside of being a more painful treatment. Whereas most assumed healing magics were always kind to the body, it could not be further from the truth when it came to poisons. Forcing aether into a body to purge a toxin from every ilm of tissue was neither pleasant for the practitioner nor the patient. 

After a torturous amount of time, the flow of Urianger's aether slowed, the treatment coming to an end. Samara lay twitching on the bed, faint whimpers and sounds of discomfort mingling with her shallow but even breathing. 

"I have done all I can. She must needs be watched for any signs of decline. Should the night pass without incident, she will be beyond the worst of it." With a weary sigh, Urianger sat down on the small stool by the bedside as Thancred made his way over. "'Tis fortunate you were so swift in your rescue. Had she been left to the mercy of the poison for much longer, I dare not consider the consequences." 

"Yet not swift enough to prevent this from happening to begin with. Clearly, there are some voids in my information network. There was nothing, not even a whisper, of any ill will towards Samara." he pulled out his water canteen, offering it to Urianger while he kept his gaze on the Auri woman.

"An attack of opportunity?" questioned Urianger as he accepted the canteen, greedily drinking the contents. 

"Perhaps..."

Finishing the canteen in one swift go, Urianger glanced up towards Thancred, already aware the elder Hyur was plotting something. "I can tell from thine countenance you wish to take action. I would counsel caution lest we be removed from the city before our friend is fully recovered." 

"Whoever is behind this will likely not give up on their prize. They will prevent us from leaving the city. Given there were Samurai with the group trying to capture her, I imagine the Sekiseigumi are already on the payroll of the person responsible."

"Then what does thou suggest?"

"The moment Samara can be moved, we take her to the Sharlayan embassy. It is the only place in Kugane she will be safe. Not even the most arrogant Hingan Lords would dare cause a diplomatic incident. Once she is there...I will take care of the problem." 

"Thou realises the protection afforded by the embassy does not allow us to conduct ourselves as we please. Should thou be caught-"

"Caught? Me? Come now, Urianger."

"I am being most serious, Thancred. Scion or not, we cannot act with impunity." 

"I know, and under normal circumstances, I would not elect myself to be judge, jury and, if needs be, executioner. But there is a present and clear threat that must needs be dealt with. If they are targeting Samara, it is entirely possible they will target any or all of us."

"And were anyone else the victim, I would believe thine words were born purely out of concern and pragmatism, yet we both know that is a half-truth at best. Retribution is unbecoming of you."

Thancred sighed, pulling the sleeves of his white coat free from his gloves before taking it off and laying it over Samara, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as the Auri woman curled up beneath it. 

He ran his fingers gently through her tangled mess of hair both to soothe her as well as himself. "It has nothing to do with revenge. I-...we have come so close to losing her so many times, and each time, there was nothing I could do." 

"When she returned to us on the Ragnarok, her body broken and bleeding with only the faintest flicker of life...I could only watch, wait and pray to every God in creation. I was useless. Powerless. But here...? I can do something here, Urianger. I can protect her." 

"Even if thine act of devotion ends with thou stained in blood and shackled in a cell? 

"It would not be the first time..."

Thancred moved away from the bed and over towards his travel bag, pulling out a long red scarf that would easily hide his face among the crowds of Kugane. 

"I've failed too many people, Urianger. I've failed her too many times. I will not fail her again."

Thancred then collected a pair of daggers from his bag, ones he had not used in ages but still carried out of habit. No further words were spoken between the men; a silent agreement had been made as Thancred left Samara lightly dozing under his white coat, safe in Urianger's care. For once, he stepped out into the shadows dressed almost entirely in black, the red scarf the only shade of colour to be seen and not a shred of white present. 

[aizenat]

@giftinguava What’s funny is I’ve been thinking a lot about kpop and why I don’t think it will ever be a staple of western/international music. Despite how big it’s blowing up rn, kpop companies are going to try to market more aggressively in the west and it’s not going to work for a host of reasons. I mean, just the other day, one of the stylists for Twice dressed one of the girls in a QAnon shirt. Their complete inability to understand westerners is going to be their biggest downfall.

But even more than that, the FANS are the biggest thing in the way of kpop being able to blow up genuinely and organically. It’s great to love this music and have fun with it; I was a huge jrocker in the 2000s and it also helped me connect to my hs crush when I was young. And being able to play songs from anime and belt it out with my friends is some of my favorite memories.

But this attacking behavior where you literally can’t say anything other than staunch praise is psychotic. It’s literal mental illness. It’s funny because when I was young, being an anime fan was cringe culture but now anime is mainstream and most anime fans do NOT act like…that. Like don’t get me wrong, there are still issues and they’re not perfect. But I feel like kpoppies have replaced weebs as the cringe youth culture, and yet they have none of the self awareness of everyone seeing them as cringe.

Like, when I was an anime fan as a kid, because there was so much dunking on weebs, I always kept myself in check so as not to be “like that.” It’s why I’m not into shipping and fanfiction and don’t make anime my entire identity; it was self policing so that I never crossed the line. It’s why when I learned about cultural appropriation, I didn’t have to make major adjustments because I wasn’t doing that shit from jump. I was always respectful towards Japanese culture. I sometimes say Japanese words, but I speak more French when I’m saying random shit in another language lol.

But kpoppies don’t do any of that. They do whatever they want, say what they want, harass whoever they want, and think they’re valid. There is no “am I being cringe” question through their minds. Like it reminds me of big mouth and the season the shame wizard comes to town. Obviously you shouldn’t live your entire life in shame, but a little bit if it IS good. It’s what stops you from harassing people all in the name of stanning. It stops you from walking your partner outside in public in a leash. If stops you from making these things so un-fun for casual fans that they just turn away from it instead of indulging more.

And that last point is the biggest thing. This rapid behavior turns people AWAY from kpop. Some people might listen to a blackpink song and like it. Some people might see Twice perform on the Kelly Clarkson show or where ever and want to check them out. Some people may see someone share a dance cover if a llesserafim song and want to check out the original music video. But you make people disinterested when they can’t even add comments without fear of getting harassed and attack. Fans like this don’t make kpop fans look good; they make them look cringe and most people won’t engage with something that feels and looks cringe. They just wont. They’ll write it off as kid shit the 12 year olds will get over and then they’ll ignore it and move on. This current hallyu wave won’t matter in the long run for kpop (and other Asian) artists being able to make it in the west if we cant even criticize them without insane amounts of harassment afterwards.