#chicky notes

[chick-it-out]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Thanks as usual for reading.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Things don’t become comfortable, but familiar. You get into a routine, one which smears the days and nights into the other. The landscape helps with that. The sun is fleeting, even in July. The days are longer but it’s not anywhere as stifling or humid as New York. Like everything else, it’s different. 

The man at the fish place, Frederik, knows your name. His wife, Inga too. When you walk in the door, they put your order to fry before you even get to the counter. They’re friendly and warm. It’s nice to have some smiling faces when you can hardly muster the same.  

They like to ask you about New York; they’re finally planning a big trip to America after twenty-five years together. They remind you of Marigold and her bakery. You long for one of her eclairs and her chatty demeanour. Just another thing to miss. 

As you sit down at a table near the window to eat in, your phone goes off. You answer as you read Sam’s name across the screen. He’s the only one you’ve talked to in the last month. Nearly two now. August is close. 

“Yo, yo, girly pop,” he sings from the other end. 

“Girly pop? Sam,” you chide as you hover a thick cut fry before your mouth. 

“Chicky poo, nope. Girly pop, nope. I’ll get there,” he teases, “finally got a hold of you.” 

“Uh, yeah, the site is far. No signal,” you shrug and take a bite. 

“I know, I'm just needy,” he kids. “So, you hitting the spa? Summer’s going fast.” 

“Not yet,” you swallow. “Sam, there’s a lot of work here and it’s just me. The only help I get is from a local student volunteer and they do three hours a week.” 

“Oof, why does your work sound so boring?” He groans 

“Hey!” 

“Well, I mean, digging up dirt all day, tell me you’re not going mad. You making friends? No one to cool, I hope. I’m still your number one guy.” 

“Not really. It’s tough. Long hours. I don’t know,” you stare out the window as you toy with the bamboo fork.  

“If you were going to hide all day in a hovel, you could’ve stayed in New York,” he sighs. 

“Sam, I’m trying. Really. It’s... It’s going to take some time.” 

“Right,” he agrees grimly. “Time. A year is not that long.”  

You hum and lean back in the chair. You’re not as hungry as you were. You close up the container and stand. 

“I know, alright?” You sniff as you tidy the table and grab your food, “but this isn’t a vacation.” 

“It’s also not a missionary trip,” he retorts. “I’m not tryna be a dick here, I’m helping. You need this.” 

You push out into the street and cluck. Silence. You don’t know what to say. He’s right and just like ever day, the conversation is the same. Over and over. It’s going to drive you crazy. 

“More sunlight this time of year, good for work--” 

“No more work talk,” he interjects, “if you don’t got anything fun going on, I'll just have to make you jealous. Some good old fashioned FOMO. Hm, me and Bucky went to Jersey.” 

“Jersey? Why?” You take the bait, happy for the distraction. 

“Oh, yeah, I told him there was a vintage bike for sale there.” 

“You told him that but...” 

“There wasn’t. I just wanted to see him interact with the locals. The old ladies love him but the men... well, I think he might have a warrant out now.” 

“No, Sam, what the hell?” You exclaim as you stroll along. “Are you trying to get him killed?” 

“Hey, I got his back. Just like I got yours. It was just a prank.” 

“Wait, Sam, where exactly did you take him in Jersey?” 

“Some cribbage club, I don’t know. I saw a page for it online. Thought he’d fit in--” 

“They were old?” 

“They match his energy,” he snorts. 

You can’t help but laugh. It feels good. Just that little bit of home. Your amusement is dampened as your heart sinks. You really were so stupid. You didn’t see what you had all around you; Bucky, Sam, more than just Steve. Now it’s all behind you and going back won’t be the same as before. 

💟

There’s tension in the air. It’s going to rain. You suspect your day will be cut short by the gathering clouds but your persist. No use in running. Again. 

The last time you left in fear of a storm, it waited until the next day. So you sit, boots set in the dirty, hunched over as you carefully trace out the strange lump. It’s more than sediment. Bone but not a skeleton. Likely animal and bent into some tool. You have to be delicate. It’s not like the movies, you can’t just dig your hand in and rip it out. 

Your earbud drones as a retro R&B playlist keeps your mind at focus. You wipe your forehead with the back of your glove, feeling the flecks of dirt cling to your skin. You ignore it and press on. Just a little more, a little more. 

It’s bigger than you expect. Just as you think it might come free, you find it goes further down. You can make out the jagged break and the hide wrapping at it’s base. A spear of some sort.  

You roll your shoulders out and put your tools down on the open role. You peel of the gloves and reach for the tall insulated bottle of water. You gulp, your throat cooling nicely at the flow. You cap the bottle and clear your throat, listening to the silence of the mountain. 

Yet it isn’t quiet. You glance around at the subtle scratching, a strange tapping across the ground. It could be vermin. It’s not unusual to disturb a nest of one thing or another on a dig but they usually leave early on. 

You put the bottle down and shove your hand back into a glove. A puffy breath comes over the scratching. Several breaths in quick succession, as if there’s something sniff. You keep your other glove in your grip and stand. Your legs are so cramped that your steps are stiff and stunted. 

As you search for the source, there’s a yipe and a fuzzy shape catches your eye. You tilt your head, thoroughly confused at the barking beast. You’re not certain that chihuahuas are native to Norway. At least, you wouldn’t assume so. 

The ashy blond dog has longer fur along its ears and chest and a white bolt down its chest. You can tell it isn’t wild despite its behaviour as it is finely groomed and wears a bright red collar. You approach the fence as it hops, stopping only to try to dig beneath with its dirtied paws. 

“Hi, buddy,” you near the eager dog, “how’d you get up here?” 

You stop just across from the dog and poke your fingers through the fence. It stops, you think a ‘he’, and sniffs your fingers. His cold nose tickles you and you wiggle until you can pet his head. The little thunderbolt emblem on hiss collar peeks through his mane. There might be some information there. 

“Thunder!” The booming voice sounds like the very thing it decries, “Thunder, you pest, where’re you off too?” 

There’s a crunching of soil and rock along the mountain pass as the dog growls and barks again, turning to face the skewing of a towering shadow. You watch in shock at the approach. You didn’t think there was life so far up. That or someone has chosen a rather treacherous hiking trail. 

The dog, you assume ‘Thunder’, bounces back and forth in anticipation of his own, calling to him with his pitchy yaps. The man appears around the jagged rock and you feel the air knocked from your chest. You slowly reach to take out your earbud and tuck it in a pocket.

Wow. You blink to make sure it’s real. To be certain this isn’t some trick of the mind or this ancient land. Maybe the gods are real here. 

He’s tall and broad and handsome. His canvas jacket does little to conceal his muscular build as his jeans are snug to his thick thighs. You think he’s even bigger than Steve. You wince at the reminder of the man but it quickly flits away. You can’t ignore the man before you with his golden tresses twisted back into a low bun, stray strands wisping forward to frame his stony jaw and stormy blue eyes. 

You stand gaping through the fence as the man flinches in fright. His gaze meet yours and his cheeks tinge pink as he gives a crooked grin, “ah, Thunder, my darling, you’ve found a friend.” 

He whistles and the dog lunges forward. He picks up the chihuahua, their size difference almost comical as he cradles him in one arm. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can barely think.  

You snap your mouth shut and clear your throat. Work. That’s what you should be doing. 

“Hello,” the man nears the other side of the fence before you can move away, “I’ve been wondering what this is all about. The signs...” he points with his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh,” you peer around as if lost. You sort of are. “A dig. Er. Grant,” you stammer out. You take a breath and still your mind, “I work with an archeological society in New York. We’ve been sponsored by your national board to exhume this site.” 

“Ah, yes, makes sense,” he lowers his brows thoughtfully as the dog squirms in his hold, yiping and biting at his sleeve. “Forgive me, she is rather uncouth.” He raises the dog higher and she wiggles in his arm. You see it now, definitely a pampered girl. “This is Thunder. She lives up to her namesake, eh?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you give a brittle smile, unsure. 

“Thor,” he dips his chin down, “I live just up the pass.” 

“You do?” You wonder curiously. “All the way up here?” 

“Oh yes, if you saw the old haunt, you might just want to dig that up too,” he jokes. “We usually go up the pass, towards the river.” 

“The river?” 

“Yes, you mustn’t stray far from here,” he remarks as he raises a hand to lean on the fence, only to nearly tip the unanchored grating. “Oooh, apologies,” he rights himself with a laugh, “anyhow, it is nice to see a new face around here. Better to have a name for it.” 

“Right, uh,” you offer your name and giggle nervously, “it’s just me on-site, guess I forget my manners.” 

“Not to worry. As the resident mountain man, my etiquette does lack,” he winces as Thunder chomps on his thumb knuckle, “eh, you monster, alright.” He holds her up and she pokes her nose through the fence, “she loves new people. Not so keen on the old.” 

“She's cute,” you scratch her nose and she licks your fingers. “Not exactly a native species.” 

“Who knows where she came from? Found the little dragon in the woods. Suppose someone left her there. She was covered in mud, so small I though she was a bloody toad,” he muses as he brings her back against his chest and rocks her, “it was only her thunderous barks which told me otherwise, isn’t that right, darling?” 

He makes a kissy noise at her and her fluffy tail wags wildly against him. You smile more genuinely. It is nice to have another living thing around after digging up the broken and dead for so long. 

“So you’re from New York?” He asks abruptly, his blue eyes rolling over you like a tide. 

“Yeah,” you utter breathily, “yes, New York.” 

“You’ve been here a while?” 

“Couple months,” you shift and twist your glove. 

“Wonderful, and you’ve done much exploring? You must live in town.” 

“About three hours,” you point towards the gravelly road, “haven’t had much time for sightseeing but I found a good fish shop.” 

“A shop? That’s no good. We catch our own fish, fry ‘em up over the pit,” he says, “that’s the way we do it up here.” 

You nod, “sounds fun. Well, er,” you turn halfway and look around, your eyes skimming up to the cloudy sky, “I should probably hustle. Looks like rain.” 

“That it does but it won’t be ‘til midnight,” he assures. 

“You think it’ll hold out?” 

“I know so,” he affirms and lingers by the fence, trying to see past you, “what exactly are you uncovering over there?” 

“Not much so far,” you pull on your loose glove. 

“You must know what this place was. A raider’s camp.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mm, yes, the raiders would camp upon the pass away from those who might come ashore, then go off themselves to find a coast to reap,” he explains. 

“And how do you know all that?” You ask as you tramp back to your place in the dirt. 

“Suppose some of my ancestors camped here with them,” he offers casually, “for so long as we’ve been up here. Once the viking scamps settled, they had to find a home somewhere. Some fellow named Agmundr or another built a stone house further up.” 

“Admundr? Family?” You prompt. 

“Distant,” he assures, “been some time and that stone house is now a foundation.” 

You get down to your knees as you grab your brush and peek over at him, “thanks for the information. I’ll have to add it to the land report. Have them crosscheck in the archives.” 

“Not at all. You won’t find it all on your paper, you know? We carry or history on our tongues here.” 

“Sure,” you say as you bend over the spearhead and start again. 

“You don’t mind if I watch? I always did love history and I’ve never seen a proper dig before.” 

“Not much going on, I’m afraid,” you shrug, “but if you want.” 

“Thunder will have a tantrum if I go,” he chuckles, “she likes you.” 

“Hm,” you scoff, “she is very outspoken.” 

You set your eyes on your task but can’t shake the awareness of your audience. It’s not too unusual. There were a few digs you did early on in the heart of the city and people loved to ogle you. This is different. Just the two of you. A stranger even. Friendly as he is, you’re happy for the fence, even if it is rather flimsy. 

“Those bones aren’t for you,” he says to the dog as she wriggles in his grasp. “Let’s find a stick then, you little pest.” 

[camiinoa]

Persona 3 Log. 🌕💙🔫

Notes in the read more below!

First and last drawing here were done for chickies/my supporters. I am not sure what’s the pairing name between Fuuka and P3 protagonist. OTL

The Fuuka swimsuit piece was done for a friend!

Yuko is one of my favorite social links in the games and was really happy when a chickie requested her for their reward.

The outfit Mitsuru is wearing is the one musician Amaarae wore for the Teen Vogue interview in July 2023:

[glyhpsrfvckincol]

Random owlhouse hc idea fo you

Reader barely gets called their actual name and is called a nickname to the point no one really know their name til someone asks if their name is actually the nickname and reader is like “ ha no”

My main thing is their nickname is a animal Mabye because their palismen is it

Nicknames || The Owl House

Synopsis - Various TOH characters asking if your nickname, which corresponds to your Palismen, is your real name.

Warnings - Many references.

Okay, side note.

My Palismen, he’s a frog with axolotl gills. 100% contemplating if I should add a shark fin. I don’t know what to colour him yet:(

Anyway-

A/n - If you want a part with the adults, let me know :D

Requests are opened; headcanons only

A list of nicknames corresponding to certain animals:

↳ Ferrets = Ferry (pronounced - fairy), kit

↳ Frogs = Froggy, Froppy, Mcfly, Kermit, Amphibia, Sprigs

↳ Birds = Chickie, Chica, Beaks, Fumikage, Ellie (I dunno know, your palismen might be an eagle), karasu (crow in japanese, according to google), Hedwig

↳ Duck = Ducky, Duckus, Qaucker, Waddles, Snickers

↳ Pig = Mabel, Waddles

↳ Cat = Garfield, Sphynx, Ghoul (corresponds to amity’s Palismen), kitkat, whiskers

↳ Deer = Antler, Specks (some deer have white dots on there fur, and it’s super pretty!), velvet (for when their antlers regrow), Bambi

↳ Spider = Webbs, Charlotte, Fang, Silky

Amity Blight

↳ You got your palismen when you were relatively young. Like 5 or sum-

↳ And your parents had given you a nickname based of your palismen. Cause the both of you are absolutely adorable.

↳ So, basically the only time they used your real name is used when you were in trouble. (Good luck, lol)

↳ Anyway, Amity has known you as N/n for years at this point. You introduced yourself to her as N/n, everyone has always called you N/n, and you even write N/n as your name on tests.

↳ So she had no reason to suspect your name was infact different from what she and everyone else knew it as.

↳ Until you had been called in as a suspect of being involved with the human girl by Belos, where he had written your birth name on the letter you’d been sent.

↳ Amity was shocked. And very confused.

↳ Amity when she read your name on the letter:

↳ So she questioned you.

↳ “N/n, has one of Belos coven scouts messed up who the letter was for?”

↳ You: ”???🤨 no?”

↳ ???

↳ “But, N/n, I’m almost certain your name isn’t Y/n, or did they just mix your name up?”

↳ And now we’ve found the problem.

↳ Amity doesn’t know your real name!!

↳ “Amity, I’ve just realised I’ve never told you my legal name is Y/n.”

↳ “But, you write N/n on where you sign your name, even school work.”

↳ “Oh, right, when my parents put me in Hexside, they were given an option on the paperwork that I would be able to have a preferred name, and they put N/n as the optional option.”

↳ “Oh.”

↳ Amity questions everything now. Mainly things to do with you and Luz.

Edric Blight

↳ He dumb, but it’s okay cause so am I. ✊😔

↳ He thought your Palismen was based off of your name so…

↳ Emira slapped him upside the head.

↳ He felt bad, cause he thought he was the only one who called you that.

↳ “I’m really sorry if you felt offended by me calling you P/n, I just thought they were based off of you.”

↳ :(

↳ Our poor boy 😭😭

↳ “Edric, it’s okay! I kind of told you it was my nickname, so I can’t blame you.”

↳ It’s best to tell him you prefer being called N/n, seeing as he will continue to feel like shit if you don’t.

↳ Now, he will either call you Y/n or N/n, just depends what comes to mind when he is either addressing you or talking to you.

↳ It confuses a lot of people, human and witches alike.

Emira Blight

↳ Asked you after a few days of being your friend.

↳ “So your Palismen, you have a nickname that matches it?”

↳ “Yeah.”

↳ “Cool.”

↳ Will tease you about it though, telling you it’s the cutest thing she’s EVER seen.<3

↳ Fastest to figure it out, everyone else took at least a few weeks.

Gus Porter

↳ Depending on the timeline, and wether you’re a witch, human or some other specie, also impacts how you got your nickname.

↳ Gus learns your name when you and him get put in detention.

↳ Principal Bump has caught you, Luz and Gus sneaking around Hexside, and throws you 3 + Matt into detention.

↳ Detention shrieks your names, before attempting to catch you and lock you in its pods.

↳ Gus is to terrified to question it about right then and there, but he does after Luz is accepted into Hexside.

↳ “Detention called you Y/N. How come?”

↳ “It’s my name??”

↳ *insert little dorky smirk*

↳ Gus just nods, also smiling.

↳ “Both your name and nickname are cool.”

↳ He gives you a fist bump, partly cause your names are awesome, mostly cause surviving detention is not only difficult but equally terrifying and it’s respectable you got out with him and Luz.

↳ Rip Matt.

Hooty

↳ He gives you a nickname within a nickname.

↳ And then forgets your nickname.

↳ But it’s okay cause we love him all the same!

↳ Hooty is always shocked when Luz or Eda call you by your nickname, cause that’s not your name!

↳ Was even more shocked when he learned your name was actually Y/n.

↳ “But I call you H/n (Hooty’s Nickname), and everyone else calls you N/n! How are neither your real name!?”

↳ Ensues him beating the coven scouts harder the next time they try to arrest Eda.

↳ Hooty forgets your name again btw.

↳ Just let him think H/n is your name to avoid maximum chaos.

Hunter Noceda

↳ He meets you during the hunting Palismen episode. You and Luz had been sitting in the little house the bat queen had for the babies so she could have a Palismen.

↳ You had gotten your Palismen the day before along with the rest of your class and Luz gave you several nicknames, trying to figure out which ones would suit you and your baby best.

↳ It took her 20 minutes I shall add.

↳ Anyway- when Hunter came to take the Palismen back to Belos, he heard Luz use your nickname, and just assumed it was your real name.

↳ This dork however, didn’t bother using your ‘name’ and instead called you ‘wild witch’. Any witch associated with the human is known as a wild witch.

↳ Basically up until you’re all in the human realm, Hunter only knows you as N/n, and doesn’t really question you about whatsoever.

↳ Then Luz introduces all of you to Vee and Camila, where she uses your real name.

↳ “And this is Y/n, but we all call them N/n cause it matches their Palismen.”

↳ Hunter just stands there, processing the information.

↳This boy is so clueless, that he asks you about, wanting you to confirm it.

↳ “N/n isn’t your real name like Luz said, right?”

↳ “Yeah, it’s actually Y/n, Luz is the one who gave me the nickname.”

↳ “Oh.”

↳ And then he continues on with his day.

↳ Will use either your nickname or real name, it’s just whatever comes to mind when he talks to you.

King

↳ Met you through Luz, as one of her first friends:D

↳ He just called you a puny mortal. At first at least.

↳ He slowly shifted into calling you N/n, as he got closer to you.

↳ King knew that your name was odd, but he didn’t question it. Mainly cause last time he questioned something, Tinella Nosa appeared.

↳ And with Eda giving you nicknames, as well as Luz, it just confuses him a tad bit more.

↳ King wants to ask you, just to stop being confused.

↳ But he’s shy, and ask Luz for help.

↳ “Conejito, what was the inspiration behind N/n?”

↳ king is just sitting on her shoulder.

↳ “P/n. When I first got them, my dad just started calling me N/n. I guess everyone caught on cause no one calls me Y/n anymore.”

↳ King: 😲

↳ King just stares into your soul. He didn’t actually think N/n wasn’t you’re real name, just thought it was an odd name.

↳ For a little after this, he’ll switch between your names, sounding very unsure whenever he says it, u til it just becomes natural again.

Luz Noceda

↳ Eda definitely gave you the nickname.

↳ Eda’s probs given you near to a few 100 by now.

↳ So Luz knew you as N/n.

↳ Because that’s how Eda introduced you to Luz.

↳ Luz found out what your real name was when Gus used it to greet you back in “I Was a Teenage Abomination.”

↳ “Wait, is N/n just another one of Eda’s nicknames?!? 😱

↳ You: 😊

↳ You just smile innocently at her, like Dustin Henderson when he was 12-

↳ Luz just questions life. Forever. Will give you her own nickname.

Matt Tholomule

↳ He got so annoyed when he found out. Like how dare you >:(

↳ Only he was supposed to lie about his name.

↳ “Neither of us lied though? You have everyone call you by your full name and I just had a nickname related to my Palismen.”

↳ But he don’t listen to reason. He a petty bitch-

↳ Matt found out via Steve.

↳ Let’s set the scene.

↳ You and Matt, hanging out, and it just so happens to be Steve’s off day.

↳ He walks past Matt’s room as the two of you are arguing over what a humans favourite food is.

↳ He thinks it’s normal for humans to eat actual eggs. As in the shells.

↳ You’re probably friends with Luz, which means it’s more than likely come up in conversation when you’ve offered her food.

↳ “Ohhhh, you’re Shiba’s nibling, Y/n, right?”

↳ “Huh? That’s not her name Dumbass! Now get out!”

↳ “I’m not in your room though, I’m standing outside it.” 😌😌

↳ Which lead to a conversation about you lying to him.

↳ As if HE didn’t lie either.

↳ “Matt, shut up, and stop telling people your first name is Mattholomule, you sound dumb.”

↳ “Hypocrite.”



The Collector

↳ He never asked your name. Just called you play date, or best friend.

↳ Doesn’t even fathom the idea of you having your own name besides the one he gave you.

↳ Until King accidentally used your birth name.

↳ King knew you from adventures he had with Luz, seeing as you were his friend too.

↳ You just got unlucky, and got very stuck in the demon realm.

↳ Yes, you’re forced to call her ‘mom Odalia’-

↳ And when Collector found out, he was so confused.

↳ Like ??? What do you mean the name I gave you isn’t your real name?? You’re so mean! :(

↳ How dare you! >:(

Vee Noceda

↳ She figured it out on her own. (Cause she smart🤓)

↳ When she first met you, she also met your Palismen.

↳ “You and your Palismen match really well!”

↳ Yes, that is how she starts the conversation, give out baby a break >:(

↳ Vee is smiling at you, rubbing her hands and is swinging back and forth on her feet.

↳ “Uh, yeah! P/n really cool! They can do this thing! It’s-“

↳ And your dorkly explain every cool thing your Palismen can do!

↳ “That’s epic! It’s also really cool you’re nickname matches them!”

↳ God bless you a-dork-able nerds!

Willow Park

↳ Willow suspected NOTHIN’.

↳ Just thought it was a coincidence or that your Palismen was passed down to you! This depends on the timeline.

↳ For a very long time, she knew you as N/n.

↳ But when you, her, Gus and Luz get called to principal Bumps office, that changed quickly.

↳ “Y/N, I taught your parents, I know they wouldn’t approve of this behaviour.”

↳ You may or may not have set fire to one of the school rooms…

↳ Y/n?? Huh?

↳ Since the 4 of you were being lectured, Willow made sure to ask you later.

↳ “Uh N/n, do you have another name? Cause I’m principal Bumps office he called you… something else.”

↳ She forget what Principal Bump addressed you as, but that was fine!

↳ “Oh! Yeah, my legal name is Y/n. Boscha started calling me N/n in a teasing way but others thought it was meant to be affectionately and also started calling me that. It’s a cute nickname so I don’t mind.”

↳ “Oh… are you comfortable with me calling you N/n?”

↳ My sweet baby!

↳

[sunsetkerr]

TWINGED | s.kerr

summary: when sam twinges her calf at practice, you urge her to tell her coach, but she's not going down without a fight [965 words]

pairing: fem!reader x sam kerr

notes: first angst piece!!!

"IT DOESN'T EVEN HURT that bad," sam winced as she hobbled into your car. as soon as you pulled up and saw sam practically limping over to the car, you were out and helping her over. 

"are you fucking kidding me?" you asked, watching as she put on her seatbelt.

"i just twinged it, i just need a physio appointment and an ice bath," she shook her head. "i'll be fine for the next game," she told you.

"you won't be playing in the next game if you don't tell someone," you told her. she was first off the pitch after training, when she was usually last. trying to hide the fact that she had definitely done something to her calf. the fear of missing a game fuelled her determination to pretend she was fine, until she was out of everyone’s line of sight.

she knew she could let down her façade in front of you, but that you would be letting her have a piece of your mind. 

“i can’t fucking miss a game, y/n” sam snapped, a hand on her head. you were taken aback by her tone. you stood still for a moment, before closing her door and going around to the driver’s side. 

you drove back to the hotel in silence. the brisbane cbd was buzzing on the thursday afternoon, late-night shopping just beginning. it filled the car with some noise, other than your anger. 

entering sam’s hotel room, you put your bag down on the bed, sitting down with your phone. sam mumbled something about going down to the pool before leaving. you shook your head at her, a scoff leaving your lips. “ridiculous,” you sighed. 

you knew how much pressure she had on her shoulders. captain of the australian team, during a world cup on home soil. she wanted this more than anything. but you also knew how much she would regret playing if she damaged her calf more. 

you shook your head before doing something you knew that sam wouldn’t want you to do. you walked down the hall and knocked on the front door to the room, macca opened it shortly after.

“hey chicky babe,” she smiled, “what’s up?”

“i need to talk to you,” you sighed.

her smile quickly fell. “why, what’s happened?” she asked, “are you okay?”.

“it’s sam,” you said. she quickly stepped to the side and made room for you to enter the hotel room. she sat you down on the couch and turned to face you. 

“what’s she done?” macca loved sam, with her whole heart and soul. but she knew that sometimes she had a tendency to be irrational or make rash decisions- and that wasn’t just applicable to the football pitch. 

“her calf,” 

that wasn’t what mackenzie was expecting to hear.

“you’re fucking joking,” she whispered, her face deadpan. her skipper was the glue of the tilly, on and off the field. she knew the team would struggle without her and not just emotionally. 

“she hobbled out to my car after prac,” you swallowed, “and lost it at me when i said she shouldn’t play”.

mackenzie scoffed. “of course she shouldn’t play, she’s such an idiot sometimes,” she shook her head in disappointment. “where is she now?” macca licked her lip in thought.

“the pool,” 

“i’ll go talk to her,” 

you sat up as mackenzie stood up to leave. “no, don’t. she’ll be upset i talked to you,” you said.

she raised her eyebrows, shooting you a look. “if she gets upset because you care about her, she really is stupid” she chuckled. 

you and macca went your separate ways. you headed back to yours and sam’s hotel room, hoping her friend might be able to talk some sense into her. you knew it would be better coming from macca anyway, she was an athlete. you would never understand the pressure she faced daily to the same extent that macca could. 

you just wanted sam to be okay.

around an hour and half later, sam came back into the room and sat down on the bed next to you. she tried to hide her wince as she sat, but you noticed to no avail.

“you okay?” you couldn’t help but ask. sam didn’t respond, only rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. you didn’t move over to her until you realised she was crying. she let out a sob before taking a breath and breaking down.

“sammy,” you frowned, pulling her back into your arms. she rested her head on your chest, soaking your t-shirt with her tears. “i’m so sorry,” you shook your head, “everything’s gonna be okay. i promise”

“i told tony,” she cried, you felt her shake with each sob. “i’m out,” she looked up at you. it broke your fucking heart. to see someone you love so defeated and broken. “i’m out for at least two games,” she shook her head. you tried your best to wipe the tears falling from her eyes, but they just kept coming. “i’ve fucked it, y/n” she said, “i’m done”.

“sam,” you shook your head, “not once in your entire career have i ever seen you done,” you chuckled, tears now welling up in your eyes. “you’re gonna be okay. you’re gonna captain your team, get them two wins and then get back on that pitch for another,” you told her. “you’re sam kerr,” you smiled, “in no world are you ‘done’.”

“i’m so sorry i spoke to you like that,” she shook her head, wiping her tears. “i’m so sorry baby”.

“it’s okay,” you smiled, “i just want you to be okay.”

sam rested her head back on your chest, nestling herself in your embrace. “i love you,” she whispered.

“i love you more.”

[hybbart]

Rancher Apocalypse AU Directory

Here is organizational tags and information for the Rancher Apocalypse AU. If there is any other information you would like linked or added feel free to ask.

Tags

rancher apocalypse au - Reverse chronological

rancher apocalypse au - Chronological (Desktop only)

raau ask

raau notes

raau notes: art - behind the scenes process

raau notes: setting - setting, timeline, and plagues

raau notes: technology - machines and equipment

raau notes: character - characters and their side stories

raau notes: ranchers - Tango, Jimmy, Revy, cats, chickens, and horses

-----

Ranchers

Nomadic

Power: Portable Generator, Portable Solar Chargers, Batteries

Ranchers: Tango, Jimmy, Rancher’s Revenge, Norman, Bullseye, Pancake, Big Chicky

Transportation: bike trailer/coop

-----

Characters

Children’s Hospital (Sculk Infested) - Cub (Warden)

Gas Station - Keralis, xB, Hypno

Hunting Grounds - Katherine

Grove Park - Doc

Gem’s Cottage - Gem, Impulse, Pearl, Tilly

GGG’s Inn - Scott, Cleo

Scar’s Hospital - Scar, Grian, Zedaph, Oreo, Arrow, Pizza, Flick, Puddle, Dexter, Boop

Lizzie's Ranch - Lizzie, Joel, Sausage, Hermes, Tom, Mandy, Beandog, Bubbles, Adequate, Beatrice

Broadcast Station - Pixl, Lyarrah, Zloy

Downtown - Etho, False

-----

Bdub’s Stables - Bdubs

Renchanting - Ren, Martyn, Bigb, Skizz

FAQ

What caused the apocalypse?

The apocalypse was the result of a zombie disease and the sculk fungus which caused the death of approx. 80% of humanity. More Info

What is Jimmy wearing on his face?

Jimmy wears a portable oxygen concentrator during the day and a CPAP machine at night to help him breathe. More Info: 1, 2, 3

How do the ranchers power their devices?

The ranchers have accumulated various sources of power during their travels, including generators and solar chargers. More Info

[petarabbit2]

Realistic Ace Trappola + Headcanons

Ace headcanons + realistic artwork done with Art Breeder and edited in Clip Art Studio:

Okay so getting straight into it, this is my first post about my headcanons and realistic versions of twisted wonderland characters and the first one being introduced is *drumroll* Ace Trappola! Ace fans, you eating good tonight my chickies (that sounds so weird if u dont think of chickens right away LMFAO).

Sidenote: When headcanoning Ace and all my other characters, I take both factual and some of my personal thoughts/beliefs of the character to construct my headcanons.

So for Ace, its evident that I gave him acne due to reasoning such as his diet (fav food being cherry pie and mentioning his liking towards burgers) plus he is literally a teen boy that also has no women in his life and stereotypically the mother is the one to bring up looks as an issue, so without this Ace probably would have never gotten the right treatment for his acne. 

He’s already a red head so I added on that by giving him freckles. Also, it's known that redheads are more prone to acne, so another note as to why I gave him acne.

For his features for a realistic rendition, I went with a heart shaped face (because Ace’s card suit is hearts) but his widow's peak is hidden beneath his bangs. He has a snub nose shape which is quite round and slightly upturned. He has thicker eyebrows cause we all know bro don’t give a shit about his appearance.

For his hair I went wild, it's extremely fluffy, a bit curly and like shoulder length when wet. Bro has had like two haircuts his whole life and probably smells foul. I also tried to keep to the original style pretty closely without it looking really weird like bro came straight out of an anime. 

I didn't draw the bodies for any of them but Ace is more lanky with long legs and a rectangular body shape, but he has pretty big feet and hands.

Yeah and he's got a light British accent gang I’m sorry 😭 – he uses slang often as well.

Without & With Face Makeup:

Personality and backstory headcanons + a bit of character analysis:

Okay so Ace is one of the very first characters we meet in the game and a good one at that, a lot of people just put him in the category of “dumb friend with one brain cell”, and yes that's kinda true but every person had a reason to be the way they are due to personal experiences. We know in canon that Ace has always lived with his father and older brother but due to the literally no backstory on his mum, I’m saying his parents are divorced which he has much more time with his dad, also by his mannerism being so straight to the point and not sugar coated, this could be due to him being raised in an only male household. Which could also hint to why he “didn't feel committed” to his former relationship in middle school, he was so new to this type of love and got scared. After all he is just a teen, cut my boy some slack. (#1 Ace defender) 

Due to this relationship with his mother and seeing how his parents fell out of love, fought or similar, he’s very bad with women which is why he has only male friends. The only way he would have a girlfriend (or woman friend) is if they were not sensitive to his zero-filter way of speaking and even tell him off for it. (not me doing this since my yuusona is a girl 💀)

It's still mentioned that the whole family gets together around holidays (although this could possibly just mean his grandma and such and not the mothers side) so maybe the divorce wasn't messy and they just didn't love each other anymore, which happens all the time with quick relationships.

Ace is also pretty immature and not into deep and emotional conversations which is common with teen boys (especially around his age group). So not trying to hate, but all those scenarios made up with him comforting the reader and helping them feel better, in reality, he probably wouldn’t have gotten why you're so sad and not really know how to comfort you. Which is completely fine! He's not fully grown in body or mind and people need to accept this.

He definitely makes your mum jokes and sex jokes, bro cannot stop himself laughing when a teacher says anything sex related. He's highly competitive and will sulk if he loses a basketball game or bet with a friend.

Also despite being not very empathetic (not on purpose though), he appreciates the little things. For example, he’d appreciate you remembering his birthday or always having a spare pencil for him in class as you know he always loses his. He really appreciates those friends and even though he lacks in some areas, he will always protect them and stay by their side no matter what.

In conclusion, he's just some teen boy who's still learning about life and people. I had a lot of fun making the realistic design and giving him more depth as a character and I'll be doing this for the rest of the cast and after that maybe side characters?? Only if you guys want it though, I’ll also one day release my yuusona 😞. (she’s my queen get ready yall (hi i’m the 10/10 editor and assistant 😋)) (together, we are big brain)

My editor/assistant cause I can’t grammar or spell to save my life: @cyb3rpnnk 

SIDENOTE: DO NOT REPOST MY REALISTIC RENDITION OF ACE OR ANY OTHER CHARCTER I DO AS YOUR OWN. EVEN THOUGH THE BASE WAS MADE WITH AI IT IS STILL MY CREATION!

However you are permitied to use my headcanoing as your own for art or stories or whatever, just not my realistic rendition.

Hope you enjoyed my take on realistic Ace and my headcanoning!

[kiwiraccoon]

One Last Dance

Chan x reader

Summary: he meets you in your dreams to dance with you one last time before he moves on to wait on the other side for you.

Notes: paranormal, sad topic, grief, soft and fluffy moment, honestly just super cute but also sad.

Word Count: 2205

“Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” Felix asks, standing in the doorway of our, my home. Concern shows on his face that screams he will stay if I show any sign of not being okay alone. 

I give him a small smile of reassurance, “yes chickie, I will be just fine. I’ve lived alone before I can handle it.”

He steps closer to place a hand on my shoulder, “that was four years ago. It’s only been three days, are you sure?”

I chuckle and feel warmth in my heart at the care I can feel suffocating me in the most perfect of ways. “I know, but I promise. I need to heal on my own, I’ve spent the last three days healing with you all. I am so thankful for you guys, but I can handle it on my own too. I’ll call you if I can’t or need a hug, okay?”

Felix sighs before pulling my smaller body into a bone crushing hug that we both need even if we’ve shared a million over the last few days. He has been my rock this whole time, they all have. I wouldn’t be smiling if it weren’t for them. “I know he is so proud of you right now, I am too.”

His words cause tears to fill my eyes, the ache in my heart will probably be there for the rest of my life. That’s what happens when you lose the love of your life suddenly and unexpectedly. What I would do to make sure nothing happened to my Chan. While hugging Felix I can see my wedding ring sparkling in the light making a smile appear on my face as I remember our big day. Especially our dance to the song he wrote for me followed by the one I wrote for him.

We didn’t write our own vows, instead we wrote our own songs to listen to for the rest of our lives. I didn’t know I wouldn’t be able to live out my life with him. But I couldn’t be more grateful for the years I had him by my side.

“Seriously, call any of us if you need us. Or even drive over, you still have the keys right?” Felix says pulling away from the hug and pulling me out of my mind. 

I lean over to the table by the entrance and grab my keys to dangle them in front of us, “right here, I never forget them.”

His smile brightens before he pulls me into another quick hug, “I love you.”

“I love you too, now get home safe, eat well, and call me if you need me too. Oh tell the others that too please.” I say while ushering him out of the house before we spend hours hugging and saying sweet words. Our friendship has always been the strongest out of all the members, we never knew why. Until now, we both were exactly what the other needed during the grieving process.

He laughs while walking out the door and quickly turning the walk backwards while saluting me. “Yes ma’am.” He calls back before he makes it to the car waiting for him and I close the door locking it.

I sigh at the silence I hear within the empty house, remembering that it belongs to only me now. I slowly make my way to the kitchen to make a comforting cup of hot chocolate to help me sleep. Chan used to make them for me every time I dealt with my insomnia, he would always make sure it wasn’t too hot before he gave it to me and even then still remind me that it might be hot. Sometimes he wouldn’t give it to me until it cooled off for a few minutes and spent that time showing me the music he worked on.

With the warm cup in my hands I make my way to our room, and set the cup down on my bedside table to cool down while I change into clean sleepwear. Instead of walking to my closet I go to his and grab my favorite hoodie of his to sleep in. His smell swarms around me and creates a blanket of peace that reminds me of the love he always gave me and kept giving me. He never thought he could love me enough, so he showed me in every way possible. I always did the same, we were the couple full of love and happiness. The guys always told us to get a room even though we were just cuddling on the couch in the studio.

Chan would always laugh with his cute little chuckle that made my heart flutter and pull me in closer saying “this is a room.” I would laugh and hide my face in his chest which he would then kiss my head and the boys would groan but secretly they loved seeing us both so happy.

Laying in our bed I move to the center to smell him enough but not take his place and sip on my hot chocolate while daydreaming about all of our happy moments. A small smile never left my face, he was and will always be my happiness even if he isn’t here anymore.

I set the empty mug on my bedside table and turn off the lights before snuggling into our blankets and his hoodie. I fall asleep to the smell of him and our memories floating through my brain.

“Baby come here please.” Chan’s voice calls out through the house causing me to turn away from my mirror. I catch a glimpse of the dress I’m in and how I look. The dress is his favorite one I ever wore, a dark red that reached the ground with a slit up the left to show my left leg. The dress hugged my waist, and only slightly tapered out but not too much. It flowed with the wind of my movements perfect but not too much that I had to worry the slit would show something it shouldn’t. 

My hair was exactly how he always loved, brushed out curls that were airy enough for him to run his fingers through and not ruin the curls. He would always ask for me to do my hair like that saying “you look like a goddess all the time but I swear my eyes feel unworthy of seeing you like this.” I would just slightly hit his chest while laughing and calling him a dork but my dork. 

“I’m coming love!” I yell back out to him before turning back to the mirror to make sure I look perfect for him. We would do this occasionally. Dress up our best to just dance around our house. It was a way to keep our love alive when he worked so much as an idol, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. My black heels click against the floors letting him know I’m on my way to him.

The music starts playing, our favorite songs to dance to but this one catches my attention. Ghost of You by 5 Seconds of Summer plays through the air rather than our speakers, letting me hear it perfectly no matter where I am. A smile takes over my face, one that shows slight sadness but full of love and adoration. When I walk into the room his eyes are on me, and only me.

While mine look over him entirely, looking at every detail of him and the attire he is wearing. My absolute favorite. Black slacks, black belt, black shoes, and a black button up. All black, but the tiny detail of his dark red nails catches my attention. I’m matching him with my heels and he’s matching me with his nails. His button up is left open over his chest, letting me see his skin and muscles. He knows I would have unbuttoned them while dancing either way, skin to skin is my love language.

His right hand extends towards me, while his face shows a grateful and sorrowful smile. Without thinking I grab his hand with my left and let him pull me into a dance in our bare living room. We would push our furniture out of the way when we had these nights to give us all the space we needed. Now the house was bare giving us room in every space of our house to dance around.

“Hi my baby.” Chan says pulling me close with an arm around my lower back to press my body against his while the other places my left hand on his back under his arm so he can place his hand in the side on my face and neck. He moves my head to let our eyes lock so they never break contact. My right hand holds onto his shoulder gripping him for dear life.

“Hi honey.” I smile back at him letting us both fall into the dance that we always do, one that we don’t even have to think about because we are so in sync. 

He leans his forehead against mine while keeping our eyes connected, “I just wanted one last dance with you my love.” At his words a sigh breaks through my body allowing me to sink into the moment entirely. Everything else doesn’t matter besides this last moment together, even if it is just a dream. I lean into him more as we move around.

In each room we whisper our favorite memories together that took place there. In the kitchen my favorite memory was when I woke up after a long night of depression that he helped me through. I went into the kitchen and saw him cooking my favorite breakfast. I watched him from the doorway until he finally had enough of the distance and walked over to me only to tug me along and place me behind him so I could hug his back while he finished. 

In the dining room his favorite memory was when I walked into the room wearing my onesie, the one that resembles my favorite animal. He couldn’t stop laughing but only thinking about how absolutely adorable I was. He took off to our room and left me standing there confused until he came back in a onesie of his own. That night we had dinner in our onesies while looking up fun facts about the animals. 

In the living room we both agreed our dancing dates were our favorite memories until I remembered him freaking out and hiding behind me while we watched a scary movie. “I remember telling you ‘I’m supposed to be the one hiding behind you.’ And you just said ‘well not tonight baby hold me.’ You were so cute while scared, I still have that picture in my favorites album.”

“Next time you decide to watch a scary movie look at that picture and remember you were brave enough to hold your husband instead.” We laughed together before dancing our way into our bedroom.

We both sighed together remembering our memories here, the fun nights, the sad nights, the hard nights, and the happy nights. His favorite memory was the night I learned I couldn’t have children.

“How could that possibly be your favorite memory?” I asked pulling away only slight to give him all of my attention.

He chuckles at my response while moving his hand through my hair. “Because baby, we didn’t care. We still tried and still had hope. It showed me how strong you were, that nothing could hold you back. You would stop at nothing to get what you wanted. You consoled me that night even if the news was telling you your body wasn’t strong enough. I remember you saying ‘my body isn’t weak, it’s too strong. Our baby would just be too strong for this world and the world can’t handle that. But we can prove them wrong.’ And then you jumped my bones.” He laughs pulling me closer while I look at him with shock.

“I did not jump your bones.” I say in defense but also laughing along with him knowing I definitely did jump his bones. He just didn’t have to say it that way.

He pulls me into a hug so that our heads are buried into each other's shoulders. Letting us both embrace our final moments together. “If that’s what you want to believe baby.”

Before I knew it we had danced around the entire house multiple times and listened to many songs, even our own. Now he pulls away from me while You Are The Reason by Calum Scott plays. He stands in front of me holding my hands. “Never forget that I have loved you and always will love you with my entire heart. I’ll never be gone, I’ll always watch over you and make sure you stay happy. That’s a promise. If you ever miss me just know I’m around and I hear you, okay baby?” 

We both cry together while he pulls me into one last hug. When he pulls away he gets down on his knees and kisses my stomach before I wake up in confusion.

[small-duckie]

Could you write something with little Fizzarolli and caregiver Asmodeus?

Title: The Sleepy Imp

Fandom: Hevulla Boss (regressor! Fizzarolli, x caregiver! Ozzie)

Content warnings: small melt down mention at the end, but no sort of punishment, just comfort

Authors note: thank you so so much for requesting this anon!! I hope you like it!!

Fizzarolli had been an age regressor for as long as he could remember, though for the most part it was kept a secret.

At least until he began dating Ozzie, and it had ended up slipping out by total accident. But Ozzie didn’t seem to mind in the least, he enjoyed taking care of the tiny imp.

Tonight was no different, Fizz was feeling extra clingy to Ozzie since the other had to work all day.

“Papa papa!” Fizz crooned, excitedly waddling over to Ozzie, he was always a bit clumsy when he regressed.

“Hello my sweet baby!” Ozzie chuckled, scooping the small imp up into his hands. Holding him close to his face as Fizz nuzzled him.

“Missed you papa!!” Fizz exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air with a giggle, beyond thrilled Ozzie was back.

“I missed you too Fizzy~” Ozzie crooned, placing a gentle kiss on the Imp’s cheek, cradling him in the crook of his arm.

“Would my sweet baby like some dinner hmm?” Ozzie asked, brow raised as he heard the others tummy growl.

Ozzie had been trying to keep him on a proper eating schedule, but leaving Fizzy alone for the day usually met the other just snacked until he got home.

“Yeah papa!” He nodded, “can we has.. chicky nuggets?” He asked, giving Ozzie his best puppy eyes.

“Of course we can Fizzy~” he hummed, already grabbing the bag from the freezer.

“Would my precious baby like anything else?” Ozzie offered, raising a brow.

Going silent as he thought it over, Fizz gave a shake of his head.

“No thank you papa!” He spoke before perking up. “Can I has milky? In my baba?” Fizz asked, slipping a thumb into his mouth, watching as Ozzie began to prepare the oven for the chicken nuggets.

“Yes you can baby~” Ozzie hummed, gently replacing his thumb with the pacifier that was hooked on to Fizzarollis onesie.

Fizz gave a whine at the sudden loss of contact with his thumb, but had quickly settled once the pacifer was in his mouth, resting his head on Ozzie’s shoulder.

Giving a soft coo, Fizz began rubbing at his eyes as Ozzie cradled him a bit closer.

“Is my little imp getting sleepy?” Ozzie crooned, stroking the top of Fizz’s head as the imp blinked slowly, looking up at Ozzie with a grin.

“Nuh uhh!” He huffed, stretching his legs out.

“Oooh I guess not-“ Ozzie laughed, kissing the top of his head.

After feeding Fizz his dinner and getting a bite to eat himself, Ozzie had carried the very sleepy imp to their shared room.

Despite how sleepy he was, Fizz was fighting to stay awake, wanting to spend some time with Ozzie. He missed his papa terribly today!

“Let’s get you ready for sleepy time hmm?” Ozzie had settled on the bed, Fizz laying on top of his chest with his horse plushie and oversized blanket draping his tiny body.

“No sleepy-“ Fizz huffed, rubbing at his eyes.

“Yes yes, it’s sleepy time-“ Ozzie cooed out, a bit surprised as Fizz started whining loudly.

“No sleepy!” Fizz cried, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Oh baby-“ Ozzie was quick to sit up, holding the little imp in his arms.

“Shhh it’s alright, it’s alright-“ Ozzie crooned, slowly rocking side to side as Fizz let out another frustrated cry.

“It’s quite alright my baby~” Ozzie cooed, rubbing Fizz’s cheek, wiping the tears away.

“You and I can just cuddle, how does that sound hmm?” Ozzie spoke, voice soft as always.

That seemed to settle the imp down, sniffling as he hid into Ozzie’s warm chest.

“There we go~” Ozzie hummed, gently patting Fizz on the back.

That had finally pulled the imp into a peaceful sleep, his blanket being tucked around his tiny frame.

“Night night papa..” he mumbled, cracking an eye open as Ozzie cooed fondly.

“Goodnight my sweetheart~”

[chick-it-out]

[siribaes]

crusin’

han lue x (oc) [ black!fem! ]

a late night, open road, passenger side driving around los angeles with her favorite guy.

contents: fluff. some angst. smutty thoughts. brief smoking cigarette mention. brief mention of death. rival gang dynamics. mild peril han drives fast ofc <3. nothing too major.

suggested tunes📻: protect my heart by kelis, it’s whatever by aaliyah, luxurious by gwen stefani, run to the sun by n.e.r.d., boogie 2nite by tweet, try again by aaliyah

author’s note: just a little somethin’ featuring my number one guy han <3. this was heavily inspired by romeo must die, i loved jet and aaliyah’s dynamic & this takes place after better luck tomorrow and before fast and furious/tokyo drift. y’all lmk if i should make this into a fic…🤔 / not edited or proofread

. . . ZOOOOM!

an electric blue, 1995 mazda widebody fd rx7 flys down the street. driving through lights, regardless of the color change. the wind brushes against chickie’s cheeks as the car veered left. she stretches her arm out the window, she hummed. the air is a bit chilly but it feels good against her skin. the mazda slowed down at a red light.

“i thought you said you wanted to cruise. it feels like you’re racin’,” chickie murmurs pulling her arm back inside. she turned toward the driver’s side.

he glances at her, his lips forming into a lopsided grin. “was cooped up, haven’t been behind the wheel all day, let me flex,”

flex he did.

chickie’s heart fluttered watching his skillful hands maneuver the gear shift with ease. his nimble fingers tap on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the music. a part of her mind wonders how his hand would fit into hers or how the rough callous on his palms would feel against her skin.

“can we stop at the store? i want some snacks,” chickie spoke aloud. she focused her eyes on the road and away from from his hands.

“it’s one up ahead,” with one hand, he effortlessly maneuvers the wheel, his palm gently guiding it as the car turns at a right corner.

so smooth.

the madza slowly pulls into a spot across from a brightly, colored convenience store. chickie unbuckles her seat belt.

“you want anything?”

“nah, i’ll just share with you,” chickie playfully rolls her eyes. she steps out of the car and heads straight into the store.

chickie comes out minutes later with a boat load of snacks and drinks. already, half way done with her snickers, she almost chokes, from she sees. her friend, her favorite guy.

han leans against the car, his body, totally relaxed like he doesn’t have a care in the world. a cigarette hangs from his full lips, as han rakes a hand though his inky, black tresses. the street is quiet as the plastic bag swishes back and forth. with every step, chickie feels like her heart is gonna leap out of her throat.

she can’t really pin-point when it happened or how it happened but it just did. it was like chickie went to bed one way and woke up another. every little thing han lue did set her a flame, even simple things like tonight, calling her up at 1:00 AM asking if she wanted to go for a ride. she all but leapt out of her bed room window when heard the engine of the madza coming down the street.

as exhilarating as her crush on han was she knew that it wouldn’t go anywhere. he was her best friend and on top of that the growing rivalry between his crew and her cousins, both vying for control over parts of south-east la, didn’t add much to the equation. in fact it subtracted from it. so chickie just settled for her mushy, unrequited feelings and distracted herself with other things. this time, nitpicking han’s smoking habits.

“i thought you were quitting,” chickie hoists herself on the hood of han’s car. she digs into the bag, pulling out soda and a pack of twinkies.

a week prior, han told chickie that he was going to quit, cold turkey. that and some other ramblings of needing to get out of “this place”. over the course of their friendship, chickie can tell when han is tired or sleep deprived. typically a man of few words, he becomes talkative and super rambly when exhausted. there was a small part of that was happy han was quitting, but she should’ve known better, old habits die hard.

han takes a long pull. he blows the smoke away from chickie’s direction. “i am. haven’t had a cig in three days,”

“but you said you went cold turkey,” chickie takes a bite of her twinkie.

“listen,” han leans towards chickie, “i’ll go cold turkey when you tell y’re pops about your new jewelry,” he reached towards her stomach and lightly flicked her belly button piercing.

chickie squatted his hand away. “boy, please another piercing isn’t gonna hurt anyone. my body, my choice. besides, cigarettes aren’t good for you,”

han chuckles. he takes another pull, blowing the smoke up towards the sky. he shrugged. “does it matter? health isn’t my priority. especially the way i’m livin’,”

chickie frowns. “i don’t like when you talk like that,”

han take another pull, longer than the previous. the cigarette is a nothing but a stubby bud now. he flicks it away. slowly, he turns and faces her.

“you worry about me too much,”

“i feel like i don’t worry enough,” chickie said quietly. she avoids his eyes, keeping them toward the lights of the convenience store.

“you hoggin’ all the snacks,” before chickie could respond, han pulls her hand towards him. a prickly, chill runs down her spine. The roughness of han’s callouses feel good against her skin. frozen in place, chickie watches han lean down and bite the twinkie in her hand.

she feels everything.

the slight, soft-wetness of han’s mouth on her skin. his nimble tongue as it gently slides and swirls around the tips of chickie’s fingers. her works in over time, completely thudding against her chest, as han pulls away from her. for second, chickie sees a certain glint in the deep, brown pools of his eyes.

he chews. han smirks at her.

“there’s a race on saturday. you should come,” han says, leaning back, casually.

chickie took a sip of her soda. hoping for the coolness of the drink to cool her down. she takes another sip and thinks, if he could do that, so could i.

“i dunno,” chickie trails. she innocently, fiddled with her bracelet, playing with the race-car charm, the same one han got her a year ago, in honor of the mutual love for cars. she looks at him, batting her eyelashes, subtly, “i might be, busy,”

han’s eye brow rose. “busy?”

“yeah, i might have plans, or something,”

“what, like a date?” chickie notices a slight change in han’s demeanor. his jaw tightens, emphasizing the angles of his cheekbones.

chickie attempts to channel her best han impression, shrugging her shoulders in the most nonchalant way. han grows quiet, slowly nodding his head. he leans off the car and positions himself in front of her. in quick movements, han pulls chickie close. fingers flutter across her exposed stomach.

han tickles her.

“han! stop, please! o-okay, okay, okay! i’ll come, i can’t breathe,” chickie squeals, attempting to push han away from her.

“say you’ll come,” han somehow managed to snake a hand to the back of chickie’s neck. he gently holds her in place, while he continues to tickle her.

“ooo-okay! i will come, please,” han eases off of her. he watched as chickie caught her breath. she shoves han’s shoulder, “asshole,”

they laugh.

“seriously though,” han rolls his shoulder, keeping his gaze on chickie, “i need you there. i wanna see my favorite girl,”

chickie smiles, gently. the flames of her unrequited crush roaring back inside of her. han loops an arm around chickie’s shoulder, she leans her head against him. savoring this moment, allowing herself a little leeway to dream about what could’ve been.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: why am I so anxious all the time?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

If Peggy’s party promised everything would change, the ‘yes’ you give to Arturo pays on that promise. Almost at once, everything is different. Your boring, orderly life is suddenly thrown into chaos. You have a hundred worries at once and not enough times; passport, visa, packing, flights. Not too mention all that you’re leaving behind; apartment, furniture, and... friends. 

It’ll be good. You keep telling yourself that, just like Arturo, just like Sam. They seem more excited than you are. You struggle to see past the grief of saying goodbye to the life you built there; the life you built around Steve and false hopes. It’s foolish and naive but it still hurts. 

And you’re scared. Norway. It’s far away. And you’ll be all alone. You survived college because you found Steve; you could stomach the furor of the city for Sam and Bucky, but on your own, what could you do? You’re not brave or bold or anything like that. 

It doesn’t matter. You’re going to work. To forget. Focus on the dig, don’t think about everything else. 

You’ve already lost so much. Steve’s busy, you are too. Maybe that’s good. You have to condition yourself for the trip. For a new life. A year is a long time. You feel like the newly graduated teen heading off to college, the one who walked into the wrong lecture hall on that fated day, the one he picked out and put firmly in her place; a friend, just a friend. 

As you sort through your closet, tossing fabric into one pile or the other, your music stops playing and your phone buzzes loudly against your nightstand. You hurry to pick it up as that noise makes your neck bristle. You hate it. 

You pick up without checking the display. You hope it’s the visa office. No, it’s Sam. 

“Hey, chicky poo,” he chirps from the other end. 

“Chicky poo?” You echo flatly. 

“Hm, you’re right, I’ll keep workshopping,” he chuckles, “so you’re leaving in a week?” 

“As long as my paperwork shows up,” you sighs and cross your arm over your middle. You sway as you look around at the clutter of your bedroom. “And I can get all this shit out of my place.” 

“When’s your flight?” He asks pointedly. He’s not subtle. Men never are. For years, you’d hoped Steve was being subtle and look how that turned out. You know now he was so obviously not into you.  

“Thursday, 5am,” you answer. 

“Ah, that’s pretty early to be hungover but it will be worth it.” 

“Hungover?” You wonder as you slowly sit on your bed, “why?” 

“You’re leaving us so obviously, you need a final hurrah,” he insists, “I’m throwing you a going away party. Just the four of us, unless you have any plus ones?” 

“Going away party?” 

“Neither of the other jerks are gonna do it,” he scoffs, “nothing fancy, promise. Just some drinks.” 

“What about Tuesday? Give me a day to recover?” 

“Wednesday works. Steve’ll be back by then.” 

“Back by then?” You must sound like a parrot. 

“Oh, yeah, the lovers went up north to look at venues for the engagement party. Too bad you won’t make it. I’ll have to drink myself into a stupour all by myself,” he intones. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you grumble and pick at a wrinkle in your pants. 

“Don’t be sorry. You deserve this. I’m so fucking excited for you,” he chimes, “you have to tell me everything. I want pictures of vikings and castles and stuff. All of it.” 

“Sam, I’m just going to be digging,” you mutter. 

“And? You can’t just go over there an put your head down. Go sightseeing, go out on the town, have a wild one-night stand--” 

“Sam,” you drone. 

“You need it,” he cackles, “it’ll be a story to bring home with ya. Make us all jealous with your wild Norwegian adventure. Hey,” he pauses and sucks his teeth, “you’re like Uno reversing a whole country. Vikings used to invade others, this is your chance to go right in there and raise hell.” 

“You’re stupid,” you laugh and shake your head. 

“Never said otherwise.” 

“Hm, fine, Wednesday,” you agree, “if I'm gonna be there, I gotta get all this shit packed.” 

“Did I not say if you need anything? I can help,” he offers. 

“No, no, I got it,” you say, “really, it’s not that much.” 

“Right, well, I should get back to it and let you do the same,” he says in a resigned tone. 

You hang up and heave. You put the phone down and drop your head into your hands. You feel like you should cry. You’ve felt that tide of tears pushing on your eyes since the party but they just won’t come. All that tension is driving you mad but you just can’t dislodge the nail driven deep into your chest. 

💟

Your life is hectic but you’re not surprised Steve isn’t part of the whirlwind. Why would he be? He has so much going on. A wedding is much more important than what could possibly be the most spontaneous and naive decision of your life. Impulsive more than anything. Cowardly when you think about it. You’re running away because you can’t face the truth. Because it’s just easy to leave your emotions in New York. 

Still, you thought you’d hear more than this. More than a thumbs up emoji or hearsay from Sam. Even after your conversation on the balcony and his reassurances, you still feel his discontent. Will he really miss you that much or is he just upset you won’t be there to celebrate the love of his life? 

It doesn’t matter, does it? 

It’s gone so fast and you hope the next year goes just as quickly. That all this passes. Not just the trip but everything else. The sadness, the pain, the fear. You try to be positive. You thought college was scary and look how that turned out. 

Ugh, you’re really doing this. You're leaving is all behind. You’re leaving your friends and your family and your home. You have no one to blame but yourself. You could’ve gotten over Steve Rogers a decade ago. More than that. You couldn’t rip the band-aid off, you had to pull it slow so ever hair rends painfully from the flesh. 

The GPS guides you between the shining marquee. You can see the pulsing dot of your destination on the screen. You don’t drive towards it, instead hunting for a parking spot among the cramped lots and lined curbs. You should’ve taken a cab but you’re only having one drink and you’re saving for the inevitable expense of hurling yourself halfway across the world. 

You get out and grab your phone, your purse hooked over your elbow. You raise the small screen and get your bearings, squinting as you set yourself in the right direction. Just across and at the end. 

As you approach the bar, you stop short. This isn’t exactly the flavour. Well, not for them. You peer up at the neon light in the shape of a martini, a bright pink beacon, under which a large group of women cluster. Whoops and hollers go up as they enter and leave you standing out in the technicolour-tinted night. Did you get the address wrong? 

You check your messages with Sam. No, it’s correct. Strange. Maybe he didn’t know. 

You pull open the violet-shaded glass door and peer around as you step out of the way of the patrons behind you. You text Sam to check if he’s there already. You can’t seem to keep up with the clock hands these days.  

As you wait for a response, you glance around. It’s like a Sex and the City reenactment. The guys always teased you for your rants about Carrie Bradshaw’s selfishness. They weren’t much for the genre. With them, it’s sports bars and beers and what ball game is in season. They never notice your cute new earrings or your efforts to spruce up your work clothes with a flashy belt. 

‘Here. You’re looking cute.’ Sam’s response comes.  

You narrow your eyes and stand on your toes to look around. He’s sitting at a tall table with Bucky, the two of them looking out of place before the feathered centerpiece and glitzy wall art of high heels. You can’t help a grin. This is absolutely ridiculous. 

You weave through the tables and bodies, past the bar of gabbing girl groups and a few men mixed in. You near your friends and claim one of the tall stools around the round table. You use the bottom bar to haul yourself up onto the seat and hang your purse from your knee. 

“Hey, this place is... sparkly,” you look around with a dumb smile. You can’t help it! You never get a girls’ night. 

“It is,” Bucky agrees in a grit. 

You stop short. You look at him then at Sam. You didn’t notice before. They’re wearing bows on their heads. Sam has a head band with a gregariously big pink ribbon, whereas Bucky has a glittering purple bow pinned into his thick locks. You laugh and smother it behind your hands. 

“What is this?” You snicker. 

“We are your ladies tonight!” Sam announces and shifts to stand, bending under the table, “and you get to be queen bee!” He reaches to the floor and you lean to see the huge tote underneath, “here is your tiara!” 

He pulls out the plastic tiara with fake pink gems and white feathers. You giggle again as he places it on your head. This is too much. 

“Sam! How—this is so stupid. You didn’t have to do all this.” 

“What? It’s about time. Don’t worry about us. It’s all about you,” he snaps his finger and points at you, “we’re going to order girly cocktails and dish on the cute dudes.” 

Bucky shakes his head as he fixes the bow in his hair, “I wanted a flower.” 

You bring your hands down to your next and wiggle on the seat giddily. This is amazing. Your eyes sting and your throat locks up. You’re going to miss these idiots. 

“You guys,” you breathe. 

“No crying!” Sam claps his hand, “I already got this guy moping around.” 

“I’m not moping,” Bucky sniffs. 

“We have to decide who’s who. I know you hate Carrie so we’ll save that for Steve. He is the stuck up blond, after all,” Sam smirks, “I’m definitely Samantha, it’s already in my name. And you,” he points at you, “Miranda. The level-headed one who has to put up with our BS. That means Bucky--” 

“Charlotte?” Bucky frowns, “can’t I be Stanford?” 

You nearly gasp, “Bucky, are you a stan?” 

“I’ve seen some episodes,” he shrugs. 

“Well, that’s decided,” Sam checks his watch, “where’s that bozo?” 

You frown and look around. You look at your phone. You were just on the cusp but Steve is late. Bucky takes out his cell too and all three of you scroll through your screens. 

“Whatever, we don’t have to wait for him, drinks,” Sam blacks the screen and sets down his phone. He reaches for the pink pleather drink menu, “I was looking at the Paradise Punch. Sounds interesting.” 

“Mm, I’m just having one,” you state, “I gotta drive home.” 

“Pfft, don’t worry about it. You can get your car tomorrow.” 

“Sam, I leave at five in the morning.” 

“Fine, I’ll take care of the car. You’re storing it, aren’t you?” 

“I wouldn’t expect--” 

“Tonight is going to be fun. No arguing,” he points a long finger at you. 

The phone jitters and his phone lights up. He picks it up as your cell remains lifeless in a rare moment of peace, though it’s fraught nonetheless. You peek over at the empty fourth stool. 

“He’s not coming,” you utter. 

Sam huffs and puts his phone down, “he’s not. Peggy has a work dinner and he’s invited.” 

“Oh,” you nod and try not to deflate entirely, “that’s... that’s fine. He said he’d come to the airport but I wasn’t counting on that either.” 

“Asshole,” Sam sneers. 

“Hey, no,” you shake your head, “he’s busy. He has a wedding and all that--” 

“You’re going away,” Bucky surprises you with the emotion in his tone, “and he can’t be here.” 

“Really, it’s not--” 

“It is,” Sam insists. “How long are you gonna let him walk all over you? Isn’t that why you’re leaving?” 

“It’s work, it’s nothing to do with Steve.” 

“Sure,” Sam accepts hotly, “keep telling yourself that.” He cringes and swallows, “tonight isn’t about him. For once. It’s about you. Us. Having fun. Saying goodbye. It’s gonna be terrible without you. I hope you know that.” 

You could laugh at his rebuke. The conflict between celebratory and reproachful is amusing. You exhale and put your hands up. 

“Alright, I got it.” 

“Buck,” he gestures to the other man, “go.” 

You turn to the Bucky and he slides off his stool. He reaches down under the table and brings up a gift bag. Your mouth falls open. Your chest tweaks, a mixture of glee and guilt. You’re happy to have friends with them but you feel so bad for not seeing it earlier. For being so tunnel-visioned that you couldn’t appreciate them fully. 

“This is so—you didn’t have to,” you say. 

“We did. Obviously,” Sam scoffs, “don’t worry, my gift is the grand finale.” 

“Right,” you smile and accept the bag from Bucky. You push through the tissue paper and pull out the heavy shape inside. You reveal it and just as quickly hide it back in the polka dot bag, “Bucky!” 

You let go of the taser and retract your hand. Sam guffaws and Bucky gives a confused grimace, “you need it.” 

“What?” You hiss. 

“You’re going to be all alone over there. You should be safe.” 

“I... appreciate the thought but it’s a bit extreme.” 

“He’s right,” Sam adds, “you know, going to the land of the vikings, you can never be too safe. I’ve heard they like to carry women off in their boats.” 

“You two,” you roll your eyes. 

“My turn,” Sam says, “you’ll love this.” 

He once more searches under the table and the tote crinkle. He pulls out an envelope and you tilt your head. Really? 

“Money?” You wonder. 

“What am I? Your grandma?” He snorts, “here.” 

You take the envelope and turn it over. You pull the flap open and reveal a pamphlet within, along with a second slip of paper. A reservation... 

“I found this place over there. It’s at some coastal castle, there’s a spa and all that. They do like ancient types of treatments, hot rocks or whatever,” he explains, “I made sure you can adjust the dates too if you need. You just have to call.” 

“Wow, that’s... Sam, I’m going to be so busy--” 

“I told you not to work yourself too hard. That’s a good excuse for you to get your head out of the dirt. Literally. Just think of me when you’re in a mud bath with a glass of champagne.” 

You put the envelope next to the gift bag and drop off the stool. You open your arms to them. Sam is up first and Bucky drags himself to his feet. You wrap them in a hug and they do the same in turn. It must be an absolutely ridiculous sight but you don’t care. You tuck your head against Sam’s arm and feel a rumble in Bucky’s chest. 

“Sam, that’s my ass,” Bucky snarls. 

“I was just making sure you didn’t forget your wallet,” Sam chuckles. 

“You’re a moron,” Bucky pulls away and shoves him. 

“Peas in a pod, bud,” Sam lets you go as the hug breaks up, “now, I need a drink and you...” he points in your direction, “need a double.” 

[sagesolsticewrites]

aaand "I can do your hair if you want" for Brady and Jules <3

Thanks again for the request chickie!! I had so much fun with this one 🥰 domestic Brady & Jules my beloveds!!!

from this prompt list; as always, inbox is open if y’all would like to see more! 🥰

"I can do your hair if you want" for Brady and Jules

Juliet Brady is pulled gently from the warm arms of sleep by a series of kisses pressed up her neck, pausing just below her ear and continuing along her cheek. A soft hum of a laugh escapes her as, eyes still closed, she tilts her head, opening her eyes only when her nose brushes her husband’s.

“Good morning,” John Brady hums, sweet blue eyes tracing reverently over her features in the dappled sunlight brightening the room.

“Good morning, my love,” Juliet smiles, sleepily leaning to brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Husband and wife stay there for a few moments longer, basking in the slowness of a Saturday morning; no lunches to throw together, no last-minute lesson plans to go over on the way out the door, just the two of them in bed, legs tangled, for once able to wake up after the sun rises.

Reluctantly, Juliet drags herself out of bed to make herself somewhat presentable for the day, John moving to sit at the edge of their bed, meeting her eyes in the vanity mirror as she unties the silk scarf from around her pin curls.

“I can do your hair if you want.”

She turns in surprise at her husband’s voice, John looking utterly enraptured at her.

“I— really?”

He gives a sheepish shrug, “I’ve seen you do it enough times by now, I think I can manage.”

Juliet’s sparkling green eyes go soft. Though the request was rather out of the blue, there was something so earnest and sweet in his expression that she just couldn’t resist.

“I’d love that, Johnny.”

Grinning, he moves to stand behind her, dropping a kiss to the crown of her head as he gently works the curls free, dropping pins into the little dish Jules indicates on her vanity.

“I’ll never understand how you’re able to do all this every night,” he says, a note of awe in his voice as the pile of pins grows.

“Magic,” she teases with a grin, though it turns into a wince as the comb now in her husband’s hand snags on a knot.

“Sorry, honey, sorry…” he murmurs, dragging it more gently through her dark tresses.

She lets out a soft hum to assure him she’s alright, her eyes going half-lidded in relaxation thanks to his ministrations.

In what seems like no time at all, he’s running his fingers through the soft waves to ensure he didn’t miss any tangles.

“Done,” he murmurs as she opens her eyes, inspecting his work in the mirror, “So? How’d I do?”

“Perfect, Johnny,” she beams, turning to press a tender kiss to his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, honey.”

[autismhellhole]

Hello everypony, you are all sick in the head,

Jeon Jung-kook (전정국) -

you imitate the feline friends, you ignored your responsibilities as a military soldier, and you left your friends. (BTS - Bangtan Boys)

translation :

"당신의 고양이 친구들을 흉내낸 군인은 당신의 임무를 무시하고 떠났습니다. (방탄소년단-BTS)"

Papyrus (Sans' Brother) -

you've played the foolish game that I play and kidnapped a child, and tried to unalive an innocent newborn. (Frisk Undertale)

Lord Boxman (John [NOT canon] ) -

hate crimes (will not elaborate). You are an active danger to the civilians that roam this basement so I tied you up like a doggie.

Barney Calhoun ( Half-Life [not HLVRAI DON'T mix them up] ) -

not patriotic to the free American States, how sickening. I actually can't think of anything else right now so I'll come back to you (maybe).

Kowalski (Penguin of Madagascar. The Smart One) -

Kowalski, Kowalski, Kowalski. You're a nerd dork, and endangered the entire world. But your worst crime was becoming an internet meme. And you're bi.

Jerma985 (Jeremy Elbertson. The SUS guy from the game Among Us) -

Oh, Jerma. Sweet, sensual Jerma. The crimes are infinitely endless, like the formula to Pi. (I don't know if that's correct). You threaten 'chat' and to 'ban' members on the platform Twitch™. My ink is travelling hold on oh it's smudging holdon.

Oh, Jerma. Your worst crime of all is being so handsome and delectable. However. I'm currently not on the market.

Shadowy Venomous (Professor Venomous' heterosexual repression) -

My, Oh, My. My Sweet Darling. You are so Yaoi and Sugoi. I'm bethrothed by your immense dedication and passion, and I would like to further our relationship. I'm handing you this note, please tick yes. *hands him a note with 'do you like me' on it, with 2 boxes, one being yes, the other being no* please say yes. I am YANDERE AND YOU DO NOT WANT TO MESS WITH ME!

The scene is set with a large group of individuals ranging from short to tall, from all different section of the Fandoms (#Tumblr). Please BTS fans do not come for us, this is just a bit of tomfoolery. From left to right: Stinky gay homeless, Stinky gay homeless again, Tied up chickie (stinky gay homeless), Jungkook (BTS stans please dontgetmad at me) saying 'What the FLUFF!' because he is a kawaii catboy, Skeleton (Sans' Brother), and Half Life the game smoking a fat blunt (I don't know why.)

Please refrain from any comments about the accomodation, I am short on funds (The government has cut my benefits). We are in an economic crisis. I'm hashtag WOKE.

I'm writing this with my Glitter Gel pens and feelin' girly! ₊˚୨୧·₊ ♡·₊

YOU ARE ALL HERE TO BE PAWNS IN MY BIG GAME OF HUMAN CHESS (plus skeleton and catboy and chicken and snake and penguin). Enjoy the RIDE because it's BUMPY. You must ALL post on the torturous HELL that is TUMBLR.COM. buhehehehehehe~

I will KILL you if you do not OBEY.

- Billy ꔛ‬♡

[catsafarithewriter]

Been a bit since we had some angst 👀

"How much more do you need? How much more do you need me to give?"

"All of it. More than you could ever give."

A/N: How dare you throw this angst at me when you know I'm already looking at Slay the Princess AU angst?! How much angst do I need to offer to satiate your thirst?? Anyway, this is not a StP AU, but is loosely based on Moonlighter, an indie game where you play as a merchant moonlighting as a dungeon delver to collect stock for your shop.

I've been eyeing this particular AU for a whlie, so thank you for inadvertently giving me an in for this.

(This, uh, hit 10K, so heads up for a lot under the readmore. I'm gonna post this to AO3 in time, but for now, enjoy this monstrosity here.)

Happy birthday, you menace <3

x

Baron has been gathering dust in Moonlighter's cellar for longer than he cares to count.

This, however, is less remarkable for him than it might be for another; he is built of magic and wood after all, ageless in a way that makes noting the passage of time meaningless.

There is also precious little to mark such time, down in the cellar. There are no windows, no sunlight, not even the changing breeze that might denote seasons. All he has are the brief sightings of Moonlighter's owners – a man and a woman, and in his early days he had seen them come and go often to the cellar, but now their hair has greyed and their limbs have slowed and their detours to the basement are brief.

Recently, it's been only the woman.

Until one day it's not.

"I'm telling ya, there's nothing to be worth selling down there, Chicky."

The voice isn't young, but it is new. From his vantage point on the shelf, Baron can see the light spilling from the doorway is almost entirely eclipsed by the man on the threshold. Another light – that of candlewick rather than sun – bobs past the man and a significantly smaller form begins the descent.

"Maybe not, but it has to be worth a look."

"Your ma told us everything in here was either impossible to flog or cursed."

"Yeah, my mother also worked herself into an early grave trying to run this place solo," the other voice retorts, "so forgive me if I want to deviate somewhat from her teachings."

The second figure nears Baron, and now he can make out a face notably similar to the woman he has watched grow old. Her hair is darker, and her skin is clear of not only wrinkles, but also the scars that had marked even the younger years of the previous woman. Only her eyes show signs of wear – red rimmed and tired.

"Moonlighter was never meant to be run alone," the man says. He begins a cautious descent after his companion. "It was manageable when your pa was alive; then he could delve the dungeon for artifacts during the night, and your ma could sell them in Moonlighter during the day."

"And people wondered why I was an only child," the woman mutters.

"Moonlighter has been in the Yoshioka family since it started–"

"I know. But a lot of those inheritances were sideways along the family tree for good reason."

"Look, Chicky, if yer need any help, Toto and me can run the shop a few days so you can rest between delving. We used to help yer ma out when Daichi passed–"

"You and Toto have your own shop to run though," the woman says. She opens up a chest and finds only moth-eaten breeches. "And I can't just rely on the kindness of others to make this work, Muta."

"'Course you can."

"There's got to be a way to make ends meet – properly." The woman stops before Baron and looks – really looks. There's a fire in her eyes that Baron hasn't seen in a long time. "You're different," she says, and lifts him off the shelf.

The man joins her, and he eyes Baron with distrust. "Don't bother with that one, Chicky."

"Why not? It looks like fourth tier – and no one's been able to get as far as the fourth tier in decades. Someone's gotta be willing to pay up for it."

"Yeah, yer ma thought the same. Only it kept coming back."

The woman turns Baron over, running calloused hands over the immaculate morning suit and painted fur. The callouses are unfamiliar to Baron, earned from daily chores rather than wielding a sword. "Coming back? Coming back how?"

"Depends. If she sold it to a hero, they'd usually enter the dungeon, do pretty well for themselves, and then one day never be seen again." The man rubs a hand across his chin. "They'd always get... weird towards the end, too. Reclusive. And then yer ma would find it abandoned in the upper levels of the dungeon and no hero in sight."

"And if she sold it to someone who wasn't a hero?" the woman asks.

"Then they'd usually complain about hauntings and return the damn thing. In the end, she gave up on it. Guess she could've kept selling it to wannabe heroes, but she felt bad about it."

"Bet it paid the bills though," she mutters, but without any real rancour. She sets Baron back on the shelf and moves onto the next artifact.

That's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

He sees the woman half a dozen more times before he makes his approach.

The second time she enters the cellar, she sets to work furiously dividing the room's contents into possible sales versus the lost causes. Some of the latter she removes – presumably to be thrown – whilst others she leaves to gather dust.

She stares at Baron for a good long while before setting him into the final category.

It is some time before she returns. Baron wonders whether she followed in her mother's footsteps and attempted to run Moonlighter solo. Sometimes he wonders if she sold the shop and left for greener pastures. And sometimes he wonders whether she's died, ending Moonlighter's Yoshioka line once and for all.

But return she does, and she looks all the older for it.

Not older in a temporal sense, although Baron would be the first to admit difficulty in recognising that, but life has been unkind in ways other than time. Her skin is sallow, untouched by sun, and a scar clips her jaw. She moves such a way to make him question when she last truly slept. She doesn't stay long, just long enough to gather up some of the less hopeless causes, and haul them into the upper belly of Moonlighter.

He sees her sooner after that, and the following descents into the cellar become more frequent – and each time, she looks the worse for wear. Every time she looks a little bit more like her mother, and every time he wonders if this will be the last time he'll see her.

On the sixth visit, she collects him up and he sees sunlight for the first time in decades.

The light is low outside – either dusk or dawn – and she sets him onto a display stand. There are no sign of the artifacts previously claimed from the cellar; instead the other stands are filled with low-quality offerings, items foraged from the upper levels of the dungeon. Their prices are notably lower than the value she sets before him.

After writing out his price, she leans against his display stand, staring into his gemstone eyes and evidently seeing something else reflected in them. "Oh, don't look at me like that," she says. "If I sell you, I'll make enough to cover this month's rent and be able to skip a few night's delving in favour of sleep." She sighs, and Baron notes a new scar, running along her throat. "And goodness knows I can't keep this up."

"There are other ways, you know."

To her credit, the woman doesn't scream. He's usually found that to be the most common response to his initial greeting – occasionally paired with a clumsy swing of the nearest makeshift weapon – but, then again, she looks too tired to scream. She merely blinks, once, twice, and then says, "Oh goody, the cursed cat doll talks."

He sweeps his hat from his head and gives a once well-practiced bow. It's a little rusty after all these years, but whatever passes for muscle memory in him remains. "Greetings, miss. I think you'll find that I am no cursed cat doll, but a Creation. When someone creates something with all their heart, then that thing is given a soul, you see?"

"I see that the sleep deprivation is already on the hallucination stage."

Personally, Baron thinks the sleep deprivation is probably a few notches further along than that. But, then again, what would he know? He's immortal. "I assure you, I am no hallucination, Miss...?"

"Haru." She yawns, and there's a tremble in her limbs that the yawn exasperates. "And that's just what a hallucination would say, Mr...?"

"Baron. Call me Baron." He sets his hat neatly back between his ears. "And if I am a hallucination, what harm could come of merely listening to my proposition, Miss Haru?"

"Time. In case you weren't aware, I don't have much – or any – of it going spare."

"And if I were your hallucination, I should know such things."

She blinks slowly. He can visibly see her try to comprehend his words. And fail. "I'm too tired for this. I'm going back to..." She falters, brow furrowing. "No, I'm not. I've got a shop to run."

"And then a dungeon to delve," Baron hazards, "and then a shop to run, and then a dungeon to delve, and so on and so forth. Tell me, Miss Haru, when exactly is sleep scheduled in this busy life of yours?"

"Never. Sleep is for the broke."

"It is going to break you, Miss Haru."

"I don't have much choice," she says. "The pittance I make from dungeon artifacts barely cover a day's rent. I don't have the money spare to skip a day." She grimaces. "Or night."

"That's because you're only selling the artifacts from the very highest levels of the dungeon," Baron says. "If you went deeper the artifacts would fetch enough to tide you over for longer." He pauses. "Long enough to sleep."

"Nice theory, save for one fact." Haru gestures to herself. "I'm a librarian. Or I was, until I inherited this place. If I go any deeper than the shallows, I'll get myself killed." She brushes a hand, subconsciously, across her throat. "Quicker than I'm already likely to, anyway."

"As you are, there's no doubt," Baron agrees. "Not without help."

She blinks again – but this time it's laden with suspicion. "Muta said you only stick around with heroes."

"I do."

"I'm not a hero."

Baron cocks his head. "And yet you enter the dungeon."

She snorts. "For artifacts. I'm a merchant. Heroes go into the dungeon for glory, fighting monsters and suchlike, while merchants are just doing a job. Or, at least," she adds off-handedly, "that's the idea. In theory, a job pays."

"I have little interest in glory," he says. "All I'm looking for is someone who wants help in exploring deeper into the dungeon. In the past, that's only ever been heroes."

"Yes, and look what happened to them."

"Yes, indeed."

Her gaze narrows. "What did happen to them?"

"They pushed themselves too far, too fast. My aid can only do so much; they sought monsters too powerful too soon and were killed in the encounter. But, as you said, you're not in it for the glory. Perhaps your survival instincts will be stronger."

Haru snorts. "Given my life choices so far, that's a bit of a leap."

"Maybe," he admits, "but I've been offering my help to heroes for long enough to no avail. Maybe a merchant is exactly what I've been looking for." He offers a hand. "What do you say?"

Haru eyes the tiny gloved hand. "What kind of help did you say you give?"

"I can unlock a human's potential for magic," he says, and it's true enough. "Over time and practice, your power will grow, enough to face even the monsters of the fourth tier. So long as you take it slowly, you will be at no risk."

The first lie he's told but not, he knows from experience, usually the last.

Still, Haru doesn't take his hand. "Why help?" she asks. "What's in it for you?"

"It's what I was made for. All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

For a moment, he fears he's misjudged, that she's going to refuse. But then she glances to the windows, where the sun is steadily rising and the flicker of shadow denotes people passing by, and a fresh wave of fatigue passes over her. Baron wonders just how close she was to breaking.

"Fine," she says, and drops her hand against his. Her palm dwarfs his. "I only need to go a little deeper anyway."

Baron smiles. He's heard that before, and no one has ever kept to it. "Good," he says instead. "Now, lock up the shop and tidy yourself to bed. We have a big night due."

x

The entrance to the dungeon is much the same as Baron last remembers it. The dirt track opens out into a dirt courtyard, and a large stone doorway is built into the hillside. Seated on Haru's shoulder as she pushes the door open, Baron can see the interior is also much the same – wooden beams outline the tunnel, deceptively manmade, with lanterns set at regular intervals. It almost looks like a mining shaft, except mining shafts don't usually echo with the sound of tiny skittering feet further within.

Haru falters before entering – as if she's tempted to flee – but enter she does, even if the hand that holds her rusty blade shakes.

"Alright, you promised me magic," Haru says, "so how does this work?"

"Magic works through intent. You must focus your desires and manifest them through intention." He thinks of previous would-be heroes. "Start small; that's all you'll be capable of at this point."

"So don't try running straight to fourth tier, otherwise I'll end up barbecued," she says.

"No, the fire monsters are on third tier. If you go up against fourth tier monsters unprepared, your remains will be less the charred type, and more the type best left to a dustpan and brush."

Haru glances Baron's way, eyebrow raised. "Are you speaking from experience or...?"

"Just take it slowly." He's spent years, possibly decades, sitting on a shelf. If he loses this mortal, there's no telling when he'll next find another willing.

Haru raises a hand, and Baron can feel her focus narrow. He converts the magic as needed, unlocking just enough potential – and a smidgen more – to fulfill her request. It's a modest affair, just a sphere of light that chases away the shadows that the lanterns cannot reach. It surprises Baron – but maybe it shouldn't. He's learnt from experience that too much magic, too soon, can burn out a mortal, but that hasn't stopped previous heroes from attempting more than they ought on day one. He's learnt now to keep a tight rein on a mortal's magic level, but Haru is a merchant, not a hero. Her priorities are based in survival, not glory.

Still, too restrained can be as dangerous as too ambitious.

"You can do more, if you so wish," he prompts. "You'll feel it when you reach your current limit."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." After all, he has no interest in burning through a mortal so soon.

Haru focuses again, and the light dissolves into dust. It hangs, suspended in the air like stars, and then begins to dance.

Baron blinks. He's never seen the magic used for that. "What is the purpose of this?"

"Light," Haru answers, and she starts down the tunnel. The lights bob around her, still not using up her current magic potential. "And they're pretty."

"Beauty is rarely advantageous in survival."

"Are you going to be so judgemental the entire time we're working together, or are you just getting it out of your system early?"

Baron begins to reply, but then hesitates. He's never been called judgemental before – but, then again, his own goals have usually aligned closely enough with his current mortal that such remarks are unnecessary... or, if they are spoken, usually readily agreed with. "I don't mean to be judgemental," he says eventually. "I merely am accustomed to a different nature of dungeon delver."

"Yes, and they all died," Haru reminds him. "If I'm gonna be going out the same way, I intend to have some fun with it." She tilts her head enough so that Baron, still seated on her shoulder, can see her grin. "Come on, Baron. You can't say you don't like them."

The lights cascade around him, and from the eddies twirl forms that might be birds. An unfamiliar emotion skitters through his heart.

He suspects it may be bewilderment. Perhaps he had kept with heroes until now for good reason if merchants are all as impractical as this.

He's saved from the indignity of trying to find an answer by a monster dropping from the ceiling.

Each tier has its own biome and, by proxy, its own breed of monster. The first tier carries its facade of man-made origins in both environment and monster, and the creatures here are oft the animated remains discarded by humanity. The monster that attacks Haru appears to have once been an umbrella.

And not a moment too soon.

Baron braces himself for the inevitable overreaction, for the blast of offensive magic and the smouldering remains. Humans always underestimate their power on the first attack–

Haru smacks the flying umbrella with her rusted sword and sends it slamming into the far wall.

It flaps weakly, and then goes limp.

A beat passes. Haru is breathing hard, her face flushed and her sword arm shaking.

"You have magic now," Baron says, eventually.

"I forgot."

Baron glances to the light show, still dancing above their heads. "You... forgot?"

"I've been doing this job a lot longer with a sword than I have with magic," she reminds him.

Yes, Baron thinks, and the sword is definitely showing its age. It looks like it's seen several generations of Moonlighters.

Haru approaches the fallen monster and kneels down beside it. Baron is prepared to believe she's about to perform last rites – he'll believe anything of this not-hero at the moment – but instead she begins to strip it down for parts.

"Most of this will sell," she says, as if she can sense the raised eyebrow. "Attach a piece of the wings to an arrow and it'll fly farther, or use the rods as arrows and they won't break so easily. But the best part to sell is pretty much impossible to get–"

As she reaches further into the monster, the umbrella-creature twitches, and Haru jolts back. Finally – finally – her magic flares into action, and those dust mote lights fire into the beast, where from its body they erupt into vines, twisting and tightening, contorting the monster until it ceases to struggle.

Baron releases a breath he hadn't, until then, realised he'd been holding. "See?" he says. "It's so much simpler with magic."

Haru rocks forward on her heels, and gingerly drops a hand into the mess of vines and umbrella. The greenery parts ways and both wings and rods are mangled beyond use. "Dang it."

"Oh, what a shame," Baron says. "It's for the best, though; anything worth selling is going to be a good deal deeper–"

"Maybe not." Haru cracks open the centre of the main shaft, and a tiny blue stone falls free. "It's a crystal. I've never been able to break open one of these things to get them, but they're meant to be pure magic. Look."

She passes it up to Baron and he does, indeed, look. It emits a gentle warmth, uncomfortably familiar, and he wonders if his own crystal pulses the same steady beat. "Then all the more reason to keep going–" he starts.

"Keep going? This thing will sell well enough to tide me over for a couple of days. No," she says, and straightens up, "I'm going back home so I can catch some sleep while the sun is actually set."

x

Baron's never had this kind of problem with previous humans. It's infuriating. It's ridiculous. It's... stumped him, honestly.

Usually the promise of power or fame or treasure is enough to lure even the most reserved of heroes into the dungeon's depths, and a merchant should have been no different. After all, everyone knows the deeper one delves, the more precious the artifacts.

And yet Haru is frustratingly, impossibly content with the meagre findings she retrieves from the first tier. The gold she makes is just enough to give her days off and a little to spare.

But that's okay.

Baron can wait.

x

The push Haru needs comes from an unexpected source, when the town's herbalist approaches Haru with a peculiar request.

"These roots you sold me," the woman says, setting dried tubers on the counter, "I need more of them."

"They're only to be found in the lowest levels of the first tier, and even then only sparsely." Haru picks up the roots. She hadn't even been sure they would sell, but had taken them on the assumption that curiosity would trump common sense and purse strings. "How many do you need?"

"As many as you can get your hands on. Julian's daughter is sick, and nothing I've tried has helped – but these. She's making a recovery, but I fear she'll worsen if I don't get more."

Baron waits for the gentle refusal – the explanation that such plants are too deep for reliable sourcing, the apology – but instead Haru's mouth curls into a stubborn twist that Baron will come to know well. "I'll see what I can do," she promises.

x

"It was only chance that brought you upon those roots originally," Baron tells her on their next dungeon delve. Usually Haru skips a night and savours the sleep, but tonight she has gone straight from shop to dungeon. "If you want to be sure of finding them, you'll need to descend into the second tier."

"Then that is what we'll do." She glances his way. "Only for as long as it takes to find them, mind you. No more."

He smiles. "No more," he agrees, knowing the oath will never keep. She's already proven a willingness to break such promises, even if she takes longer than most to alter her priorities.

By this point, Haru's magic is strong enough to make the journey down to the second tier almost an afterthought. The monsters that dwell on the upper levels can sense her power enough to steer clear, and most only attack now if cornered.

The monsters on the second tier are a different kettle of cave fish altogether.

The mine shaft tunnels become more natural, more roughly-hewn on the second tier. Here, light is sourced not from ever-burning lanterns, but from glowing moss that clings to the walls and bioluminescent fungi sprouting at the edges. The monsters also alter in appearance, offering threat in the form of carnivorous plants and thorny poison. They are bolder, stronger, than their first tier brethren, and it doesn't take long for Haru to encounter one.

The vines that snare her are uncannily like the ones that spring from her magic, and they are little defence against her new opponent. Baron is quick to leap free – the plants ignore him, as they always do – and even if he was inclined to help, there is little aid he can offer at his current stature.

What he can do is transmute a little more magic her way, strengthening her power.

"You'll never defeat it like that!" he calls. He watches a new wreath of greenery spiral out from Haru and immediately be throttled by the snaring vines. "You must tailor your fighting styles to your opponent! Try fire!"

She stumbles backwards, trying desperately to kick her feet free. "If I lose control of that kind of magic, I'll set everything aflame!" she shouts back.

"You don't have the power to do that!"

"Once it gets going, I mightn't be able to stop it!"

The plant monster lashes out and strikes lucky. Its vines catch around Haru's waist and she is dragged off her feet.

Dammit.

"If you don't do something, you won't need to worry about losing control!" he shouts. Dammit. No other human has ever needed such coaxing; usually he's the one preaching the virtues of restraint. "Attack it, Haru!"

She swings at it with that ridiculous sword, its blade too dulled to do more than dent the monster, and the vines tear it out of her hands almost disdainfully. The vines curl up along her arms, around her shoulders, towards her throat, and Baron remembers vividly the mangled mess Haru's own plant magic had made of that first umbrella monster.

Lesson learnt: next time he sticks with heroes.

All he can do is watch as her feet kick uselessly against the monster, nails scrabbling in vain, face reddening, hands reddening...

Wait.

Hands?

Her fingers dig into the vines about her neck, and now he can see her palms are molten-red. He catches the smell of smoke and firewood, and suddenly Haru is thrown free from the vines. She rolls to the side as a thorn-lined vine slams where she had been only moments before. It hits the ground with enough force that Baron feels the floor shake.

"Baron! In the bag!" Haru yells. She pulls her satchel open and lingers only long enough for Baron to follow her instructions, before she's off running along the corridor.

Thankfully, what plant monsters have in thorns and vines, they lack in the way of feet. Haru outruns it with ease, even injured as she is. When they reach a secure corner, Haru slumps to the floor. Her breathing is heavy, irregular in a way Baron recognises to be pain.

Baron is out of the bag almost before Haru has sat.

"What happened back there?" he demands.

Haru doesn't answer immediately. She has her right arm close to her, her left hand tight just above the elbow. "Plant monster," she says eventually. She proffers a thin grin. "Or weren't you paying attention?"

"Not that. I meant with your magic." He gestures to her obviously injured state. "At your level, you shouldn't have had any such issue with it. Your magic is strong enough, trust me. So why didn't you use fire back there?"

"You're made of wood."

"And?"

She blinks. "You're made of wood," she repeats, slower this time like he's missing something obvious. Like that comment should mean anything in this context, like it should explain why she nearly got herself killed instead of–

Oh.

There's blood seeping through the sleeve of her shirt, ruby-red staining the hand pressed to it. Thorns, most likely. Poison, possibly. And all because she feared she would burn him.

He steps forward, and as he does so, he shifts into a human height. Haru balks, but isn't really in any state to do much more than stare.

"Since when have you been able to do that?"

"I always have. But my role here isn't to fight; yours is."

Her mouth sets into that stubborn line, and he suspects she's thinking of all the time that having another body beside her would have been useful in traversing the dungeon. There's a reason he rarely shows this ability to humans.

"You shouldn't have worried about me," he says. "I'm hardier than I look. But you, it appears, are not." He collects the healing kit out of the bag and passes an antidote to her. "Drink. Not all monsters on this floor are poisonous, but we can't risk it."

She takes the vial and downs it with a wrinkled nose. "These things always taste foul."

"Would you rather risk dying a slow, painful death?" Baron asks. "Or perhaps being petrified. I believe there is at least one monster on this floor whose poison turns one into a chicken. How does that sound?"

Haru snorts, and Baron is surprised by the relief that blossoms in his sternum at the sound. Surprised and... unnerved. His purpose is to find a human capable of reaching the final level, so their survival is always optimum – up to a point – but this feels... uncomfortably personal.

He turns his attention onto safer matters, such as rolling the torn sleeve away from the injury. The skin is equally torn; not deep, but intricate lines mar the arm. He sets to binding the wound with bandages.

"Why did you stay?"

Haru rolls her head away from the wall. "What?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, but now the words are out and his curiosity is whetted. "At Moonlighter," he specifies. Between his fingers, he can feel how soft, how delicate human skin is. He wonders why any mortal would take to this life when it could be ended so easily. So off-handedly. "Surely you needn't have taken over the business, even if it is a family affair."

"Oh. That." She leans her head back against the wall. "Apparently, Moonlighter must be inherited by one of Yoshioka blood."

Baron recalls what snippets he has learnt of Haru's life before. "Yes, but you were a librarian. Surely there were better candidates?"

"You'd think so. But, no; it turns out that having a family of dungeon delvers/merchants is a pretty good way to not have a family before long. The death toll is high and the lifestyle isn't, shall we say, conductive to having a kid."

"And yet you pursued a life elsewhere before coming back here."

"I wasn't meant to inherit this place. That was to be my cousin – but then she got on the wrong side of an ogre, and..." Haru shakes her head. "The only other Yoshioka left is her daughter, all of five years. I couldn't let her inherit Moonlighter so... well, here I am."

"Here you are," Baron agrees. "Would she have really inherited Moonlighter if you hadn't accepted it?"

"There are two things impossible to get out of: fairy deals and legal matters." Haru rolls her head to one side, but this time her gaze lingers on the wound she has been so carefully avoiding until now. "I came, knowing a librarian was never going to be a good owner for Moonlighter but, I thought that I might at least last long enough here to give her a chance to grow up. So maybe she'll be able to handle the job when she inevitably comes into possession of it."

Baron slows in his tending. The resignation in her words sets his heart cold. "Is that really how you feel?" he asks softly. "That this life would be the death of you, and still you came?"

"It's killed pretty much all its previous owners," Haru answered, far too blase for Baron's liking, "and most have been much more capable than me. Sooner or later, everyone slows or errs, and this job isn't the forgiving sort. So, yes, I was pretty sure this would kill me, probably sooner in my case." She glances his way, with a smile Baron does not deserve. "At least until I met you. With the magic you've given me, I might survive this. Perhaps even thrive."

Baron doesn't recognise the emotion that pools in his gut, cold and heavy.

He thinks it might be guilt.

x

After that, Haru begins to venture regularly onto the second tier. If he had thought her close encounter with the vine monster would push her further onto the path of cautiousness, he is very much mistaken – instead, it seems to have emboldened her. She still plays carefully with her fire magic, keeping it close to her skin, even after Baron's assurances that she shouldn't fret over him, but it works well enough against the second tier creatures.

She gathers enough of the root to satisfy the herbalist, but news that Moonlighter's owner is venturing deep begins to get about. More come to Haru's shop with requests – fetch these seeds, find these leaves – and Haru is happy to help. If they merely spoke of a rich payout, Baron isn't sure Haru would be so willing, but the offers she accepts are always for a worthy cause.

Once upon a time, Baron would have been relieved she was finally comfortable delving deeper, but now the thought seems to give him vertigo; satisfaction and grief warring inside him.

One of the owners of the neighbouring weapon and armour shop stops by, and he eyes Moonlighter's array of stock with a wary look. He's tall, birdlike somehow in the way he holds himself, and avian in his sharp eyes. "When Muta told me you were managing, it set my heart at ease," the man remarks, "but I'm startled to see you've been delving so deep. What did you say your profession was before?"

"Librarian," Haru replies.

"Librarian," the man echoes. "You've caught on well, then."

"Thank you, Toto."

His gaze roams the shop, until it seems to find what it's searching for in the form of Baron. He starts towards it, but Haru is quicker. She scoots between them, as if guarding Baron from the man.

"He's not for sale."

"Glad to hear it. Muta did tell you what happened to the heroes who bought it, didn't he?"

"He did."

The frown burrowed into the man's brow doesn't lessen. He regards the stock around him, salvaged from levels even experienced heroes were reluctant to venture to. "Haru, if things are difficult, if Moonlighter is proving impossible to run along, you know you can always ask myself and Muta for help, don't you? You don't need to turn to... alternative sources for aid, you understand?"

"I understand. Muta made it quite clear what happens to heroes who bought the cat doll." Haru smiles. "So it's just as well I'm a merchant, isn't it?"

x

Baron knows it is only a matter of time before Haru braves the third tier.

All it takes, as all it ever takes, is someone asking for something from the fire levels – Baron can't even remember what she needs; all he remembers is that she's one step closer to the final level – and she's venturing yet further than she promised she would.

The third tier is one of fire and smoke, lava flowing in molten-red rivers that home monsters built to scorch would-be heroes to cinders.

Haru almost refuses to bring Baron along.

"And if a stray fireball hits you, what then?" she demands. "Poisonous trees and over-active accessories are one thing, but the monsters on the third tier could really kill you."

"I'm at no greater risk than you have been during our adventures," he reminds her.

"That's different."

"How?"

Haru opens her mouth. Closes it. But Baron has a pretty good idea of the kind of answer she'd like to give – that the standards she set for herself, and the standards she set for other people are two very different things.

She admits defeat, and he accompanies her on her next delve.

This would all be easier if he could convince himself the care she affords him is purely self-serving. And he's met plenty of those sorts over the years. Those who have protected him, as far as they have felt the need, have been doing so because of what he grants them; because if he is destroyed, then maybe their newfound magic will be destroyed also. It has always been a means to an end – and that's worked just fine for him. After all, the exploitation goes both ways.

But Baron has seen the way Haru cares for those around her, sometimes even fetching high-priced items from the dungeon and refusing payment if the need is too great and the cost too dear for the recipient. It is easy to believe that same reckless care has been aligned over him. However ridiculous it may be.

"You needn't worry about me," he assures, all the same. "I've been here before and, as you can see, I'm still here."

"You've been to the third tier before?" Haru asks. Here, the only light to be found is in the glowing lava and ever-burning torches, and it bathes the tunnel and its occupants in an ember hue. Her hair carries a reddish shade that almost looks like her mother's in her younger years.

"And to the fourth and beyond," he answers.

"There's a fifth tier?"

Baron shakes his head. "There's only a single floor below fourth tier."

"I wonder why no one's heard of it."

"It's because all who venture there only meet death."

Haru eyes him. "Except for you."

"Except for me," he admits, "but I, as you have probably discerned, am a special case. The monsters here have a preference for attacking humans over a cursed cat doll," he says, echoing her words from so long ago with a smile.

"So what's down there?"

Nothing, he wants to say. Nothing worth seeking.

"The monster," he says instead.

"Same old, same old."

"No. This monster is the reason this dungeon exists."

Haru stops walking. "What?"

He's told this tale a hundred times, and each time tailored to pique his mortal's curiosity. Promises of riches or glory or power tied to success, and yet none will guarantee Haru's aid here.

Good.

"A long time ago, there was a monster terrorising the world, so great in power that to slay it was impossible. Many tried, many failed, and in the end all that could be done was to trap it away. To create a dungeon for it."

Haru blinks. "I never wondered why this place was called a dungeon."

Baron nods. "Some clues to its history have survived the eons. It's sealed away on the very lowest floor, trapped, but still very much alive and very much dangerous."

"Have previous heroes tried to kill it?"

"Yes."

"And I'm guessing none have succeeded."

"None."

He watches her, wary of the urge to seek out such a danger, but she seems to slot this new knowledge aside and move on.

He shouldn't feel relief.

But he does.

x

The fourth tier is the lowest part of the dungeon – before the inevitable, anyway – and the one that best betrays the abilities of those who built it.

Of those who built Baron.

Baron may be a more complex Creation than his bellicose brethren which occupy the fourth tier, but he is still a Creation, and his artisans didn't deviate far from previous forms. Although all monsters in the dungeon run on magic, those on the fourth tier most obviously owe their existence to it. Living statues, living suits of armour, living gargoyles... they all call the fourth tier home, and are so clearly built for that intention that it is only a matter of time before Haru looks to him and wonders.

They sit in an offshoot tunnel, lit by lanterns that glow blue, and Haru has been quiet ever since taking down a statue with a feline face. Baron sits beside her. He's been taking on a human height more often than he ought recently – more often than he ever has before – but for some reason he keeps coming back to it.

Haru runs a thumb over one of the gemstone eyes she looted from the statue. It's a glittering red, and sure to fetch a good price in Moonlighter... but Haru doesn't seem to be seeing that in it.

"Who are you, Baron?"

He offers the smile that has reassured many a hero before Haru. "I told you before: I am a Creation. When someone creates something with all of their heart–"

"You misunderstand me. I didn't ask what you were. I asked who." She looks to him, and suddenly he's wondering if she's seeing his own eyes echo so closely that of the statue, save for colour. "When I first saw you, I said you looked like fourth tier, but I didn't really dwell on that. I didn't really think through the implications." She rolls the gemstone eye in her palm. "Who created you, Baron?"

For all the heroes he's encountered, he's only had this conversation with a handful. Few seem to care exactly what or who he is, so long as he can benefit them.

He doesn't have the practice for this.

The truth – or as close as he is allowed – it is then. He inclines his head towards her hand. "I think you have a guess."

"Is it true, then?"

"Yes."

Her thumb rolls past the stone, and instead carresses the scar that runs across her palm. "You're not like the other creatures in this place thought," she says. "You don't harm."

Oh, how wrong she is.

"They're made for a different purpose," is all he's allowed to say. "They are designed to challenge heroes, to slowly increase the difficulty so that only the strongest of fighters reach the final floor and, perhaps, will be strong enough to slay the monster trapped there."

Haru considers this. "The dungeon is a test."

"And the monsters are the questions," Baron says.

"So what does that make you?"

The guillotine, Baron thinks. But that would warn Haru of the final step in his purpose, and he's forbidden from such truths. "I was designed to find such a hero," he says instead. "Or, more exactly, to make one. The final monster is beyond any mortal's ability to slay it, therefore I was tasked with finding a willing hero and giving them that power."

"Why?" she asks. "If the final monster is trapped for good, then surely it can just be left as it is, no need to throw wannabe heroes at it, unless..."

She goes quiet, and Baron suddenly realises with awful, heart-wrenching guilt, he knows exactly how to get Haru to the final floor.

"The monsters have been getting worse, have you noticed?" she asks. "Even on the first tier, they're more dangerous now than they were in my mother's time. Back then, the boldest heroes could make it as far as fourth tier – not often, mind, but still, it did happen – but it's been decades since anyone's delved this far." Except for herself. She doesn't voice the thought, but the words still hang in the air between them. "The town used to be bustling, but now even the firrst tier is a risky business."

Baron nods. "The binding wards are weakening."

It's true, but he wishes it were not. Not because of the threat it poses – but because he fears Haru's reckless selflessness, the care that has thrown her as far as fourth tier, breaking her own imposed limits again and again.

"What wards?" she asks.

"The wards that keep the final monster trapped. It was always going to happen – no magic lasts forever – but my creators had assumed I would have found a hero by then."

"The monster is waking up," Haru translates.

"Its power is rejuvenating," he corrects. "And with it, the power required to slay it is increasing. So the rest of the dungeon is adapting accordingly – in order to create a hero able to slay it, the other levels must increase in threat also."

"So, eventually even first tier is going to be too dangerous for anyone to enter..." Haru says.

"And the monster will one day break free," he finishes. "Yes."

Baron has been searching for a hero to slay the monster for longer than he cares to count.

It has been long enough for him to forget the faces of those who made him – and his memory is sturdier than most – and their voices may be gone, but never their words. Never the purpose for which he was created. For in his chest there lies a crystal, a condensed heart of magic, and in that crystal is his purpose carved. He can no more disobey his purpose than he can tear out his crystalline heart and live.

He's never wanted to.

Until now.

"You can still walk away," he says. "There's time."

"If I do, you'll merely find someone else to take my place," she replies. "Won't you?"

He wishes he could deny it. Not because the truth makes him sound fickle – although it does that also – but because Haru's humanity has crawled under his skin and the idea unsettles him. How could he offer his aid to a human, knowing he was just leading them to their death?

And yet he would, because that is the way he was built.

He doesn't answer, and apparently that is answer enough for Haru.

"Maybe the next person will succeed," Haru says, ignorant that success will kill as surely as failure, "maybe they won't. Maybe," she continues, not looking to Baron, "you'll one day offer the same deal to my cousin's daughter. Assuming, of course, the binding wards last that long."

"It's what I was made for," he says, voice hoarse with apology, but unable to deny it. "All Creations have a purpose. This is mine."

"That's what I thought," she says, and there's no anger in her words. He wishes there were. He wishes she would rage, wishes she would hate him as she should, but there's only sorrow.

"Tell me truly, Baron: do you think I could do it?"

"You are nearly strong enough to defeat it," he answers, "and, when the time comes, I will grant you enough magic to succeed."

Ask me if you'll live, he wants to beg. Ask me so you can see me lie, so you can see the truth.

But, of course, she doesn't. She trusts him too much by now to doubt, to search for hidden truths. She cares too much to ask after her own wellbeing.

He wishes she could be just a little bit more selfish.

Haru looks to her rations. She has, as always, been careful with her magic and supplies, and despite the long journey down, there's still fire in her veins. "Then I guess there's no time like the present, huh?" She grins, and Baron's heart wishes to break. "Let's go slay a monster."

x

Baron has been to this final floor only a handful of times. More than once, the hero's eagerness has overtaken sense, and Baron has watched them be scorched into oblivion. The first time Baron got a hero this far, it was his own underestimation of the monster's power that killed them.

But, more often than not, it is the hero's own magic that kills them in the end.

Baron's never spent this long with a single mortal, and Haru's magic reflects that. It's no longer the messy instinct that reacts without thought, but is instead more akin to muscle memory, honed through practice. It moves with her, responding to her needs the way a hound follows the subtlest of its master's orders.

He has created many monsterhunters over the years, but Haru is the first he actually believes will succeed in the task.

It doesn't matter. It'll still kill her in the end.

Even after all this time, she still carries that damn rusted sword at her side, despite the fact that it's even more useless now than it was in the beginning. Her hand flies to its hilt in some remnant self-defence when she sees the creature she plans to slay.

"It's a dragon?" she whispers to Baron.

"Yes."

"You couldn't have told me that?"

"Would it have made a difference?" he asks.

"...No. But it would have been nice to know." She drops her hand away from the sword and flexes her fingers. Magic – that iridescent blue – sparks between her fingers. She inhales slowly and the magic retracts, drawing close under her skin, carefully reined in. "Right. I'm guessing this is a fire-breathing dragon–"

"Magic, but it comes to the same sort of fate," Baron amends.

"Either way, you're staying back."

He bridles at that. "I can–"

"You said it yourself – your role isn't to fight," Haru reminds him, "so you're staying out of the way. Or has your purpose changed since we last talked?"

Baron scowls, but there's little he can do against the truth. He's not sure his purpose will even allow him to intervene – but he wishes he could at least try. "There's still time," he tries once more. "You can walk away."

"I can," she admits, "but we both know I won't."

"I know."

She leans in quickly and kisses him – brief enough to be little more than a breeze brushing him – and she grins that that daring grin that he knows so well. "I'll see you on the other side," she whispers, and then she is gone.

She moves quickly with a speed honed from the delving, and is nearly upon the dragon before it even notices her. She flings her arms out and vines spring up from the ground. They wrap around the beast, thick rope-like shoots binding it down, and already she's moving onto her next stage of attack. Fire simmers in her palms, hot enough to burn blue and she slices through the air with razor-thin flames. They slice through the dragon and it–

It doesn't even notice.

Haru rolls to the side as the tail sweeps towards her, lined with spikes that will kill with a single blow. She tries again, this time with balls of ice, thick enough to be fatal for most monsters.

Again, it shakes it off, this time with a wing that smacks into Haru. She catches herself with her magic – air swirling beneath her to form a cushion – but that damn sword spins out of its sheath and skitters to a halt close to Baron.

Baron can't stand this any more. He steps out into the cavern. "Forget elemental attacks!" he cries. "The only thing that will cut through a dragon's skin is pure magic!"

The dragon swings its tail again, and this time it strikes the columns nearest Baron. He leaps out of the way – but not wholly. Chunks of stone slam into him and he feels the fracture that runs through him. And as he gathers his senses back together, he hears Haru scream.

She screams, but it's not one of pain or terror. It's a scream of rage and grief, and magic erupts from her palms. Jet streams of pure, unaltered power slams into the dragon's chest, and Haru stands before it, hair crackling and eyes glowing, and in that moment she looks as monstrous as the creature she was tasked to slay.

And then the magic runs out and she slumps to her knees, terrifyingly mortal.

When the light has dimmed, both can see the beast is down, a death rattle wheezing through its charred body.

"It's nearly dead," Haru rasps. She tries to rise to her feet, but the strength has gone from her limbs and she doesn't understand why. She looks to Baron, and he braces for the betrayal, but there's only reckless determination. "Magic. Baron, give me more magic like you promised."

The dragon is inches from death, but already it's beginning to stir. The blistering skin is bubbling, healing. This is the way Baron's creators made his own spell to work – the dragon can only be killed by using up everything a mortal had to offer. Even as Haru's magic is regenerating, so is the dragon's, perfectly matched to end them both.

"Baron!"

He knows what his purpose is. He knows he was made to create a hero capable of slaying a dragon, and now success is so close, he can almost see it.

But, more importantly, he can see Haru.

His purpose demands he gives her the means to slay the dragon.

And he refuses.

Baron's magic is carefully crafted to his role. It's designed for exactly two things: to keep him alive, and to transform life force into magic. He isn't designed for combat, and that's a feature, not a flaw. He was never meant to do anything more than watch.

But the dragon is so close to death, perhaps that doesn't matter.

He kneels down to the rusted sword by his feet, and its weight is alien to him, balanced in a way his cane is not. Dulled but still, possibly, deadly.

He starts into a run, aiming for the chest where the scales are still soft from healing, and where the muscle is still so thin he can see the heartbeat pulse within. He hears Haru shouting, but he can't make out the words. All he can do is duck as the dragon swings claws and wings at him, running for his life – for both their lives – and stab the rusted blade into the bubbling flesh.

The sword sinks into the marred skin, past warped ribs and melted muscle, and he feels the give as it pierces the heart. The dragon writhes. Baron clings on, suit tearing and gloves bloodied, and when he is finally thrown free, he feels something crack when he hits the wall.

He watches through fractured vision as the dragon contorts, screaming and curling in upon itself and then, finally falling still.

A silence settles. It settles so deep that he can feel it rooting through him, even as footsteps echo across the room. Haru drops down beside him, her face pale and her limbs shaking, but alive.

He waits for his purpose to remind him that shouldn't be – that he has one more duty to perform – but the silence prevails. He follows Haru's horrified gaze and sees the reason why.

A crack runs down his chest, split open from throat to stomach as cleanly and bloodlessly as a log struck by an axe. He presses a ruined glove to the opening and cradles the fissured crystal as it falls from his shattered chest.

"Ah," he says, and he can already feel his magic drying up, the ebbing tide tugging at his lips. "That would explain it."

"You idiot," Haru rasps. "What did you do that for? I had everything under control; you had just given me that little bit more magic like you'd promised, instead of leaping into the fray yourself–"

"Haru–"

"Hold still, I can help."

"Haru–"

She presses her hands over his, over the shattered crystal, pushing it back into his chest, and he can feel the magic begin to pour out of her, trying desperately to do the one thing it was never designed for – to heal.

"Haru, don't–"

"I can do this, if you'll just unlock that last bit of magic–"

"I can't–"

"You can! Why won't you–"

"Because it'll kill you."

Haru's frantic movements falter, and at last there is that doubt he has deserved all this time. "What?"

"I lied." He curls his hand around hers and gently peels her hold free of his chest. She lets him, too numb to press back. "I don't unlock your potential for magic. I convert it from life force. From your life force."

"What?"

The sight flickers in his left eye. He blinks, and Haru's face falls back into focus. Despite everything, for some reason she's still here, still by his side. "My creators never intended for the hero to live," Baron says, and every word is a truth he was never meant to reveal. But now his crystal lies shattered, and the purpose written within it lost. "From the moment you took this deal, it was designed to be the death of you. No one powerful enough to defeat the monster could be allowed to live; you'd be a threat greater than the dragon you slew." He draws a shuddering breath, but Haru should hear this. She deserves to. "And so the spell I was given was to transmute life force into magic, so that anyone powerful enough to defeat the dragon would have to drain their own life in order to succeed."

He waits for the anger, for the betrayal.

"How much more do you need?" she asks instead. "How much more do you need me to give to heal you?"

"All of it," he replies softly, softly enough he is sure he can hear his nonexistant heart breaking. "More than you could ever give."

"Well," she says, with a twist of her lips that is part smile, part stubbornness that he both loves and hates, "that's not quite true. More than I could give and live, sure... but not more than I could give."

"Don't–"

She untangles her hands from his and presses them back to his chest. "I can't," she agrees, "at least, not without your help. You're the only one who can give me the power to heal you, to create me into someone who can – so let me."

He shakes his head. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I can save you."

"At the cost of your own life," he rasps.

Haru's gaze lingers on her own hands, grazed and bruised after the fight, blood caught beneath the nails, and brushes her fingers over the crevice nearly cleaving Baron. Even now, she's emitting a steady stream of magic, just enought to keep him from collapsing altogether. It's only a temporary remedy; once she stops, it'll only be a matter of time before the inevitable.

"Do you love me with all of your heart, Baron?"

"Yes." And in that moment, he realises it to be utterly, indeliably true. "Yes, of course."

She grins, bittersweet. "Don't forget that. Now, please, just trust me. Let me help you."

When she asks of him such, how can he refuse?

"Don't let me regret this," he says, and transmutes the last of her life force to magic.

Haru heaves a shuddering breath and collapses forward. Baron catches her as she falls into him, but her hands are still pressed against his chest. The magic flowing into him sputters. Flickers once, twice, and for a heartbeat its extinguished entirely.

Then it's like a dam has burst, and the power that sinks into him is like the sun compared to the candlelight of before. The surface of his wound springs to life, greening until branches grow across the fissure and knit it closed, while the crystal within reforges, setting into a new shape, untouched by the purpose once carved into it.

And still Haru is folded against him, her skin glowing with the sheer power held within.

"Haru, that's enough–"

He goes to grab her shoulders, but his hands jolt away, burnt.

No, not burnt. He runs his hands over one another, but there's no sign of scorching. He cautiously reaches for her again, and this time recognises it as intense cold instead, like that of ice, or snow, or...

Or metal.

His hands realise the cause before his head does, and by the time he's fully registered just what Haru's plan had been, he's already reaching to her with his own magic. It's crazy. It's reckless. It's trusting him with far too much heart, and yet – and yet it has to work.

With his own magic, he shapes the raw magic that runs rampart through Haru, and begins to herd it together. He condenses it down, smaller and denser, until he can sense that where Haru's heart used to be is now a crystal made of pure, solidified magic, just like his.

When the light dies down, he's holding in his arms a knight in shining armour. Where once there was skin, there's now only silver, soft flesh traded for metal, and a heart traded for magic. But when she stires – and she does – it is still Haru who stares out of those glittering gemstone eyes.

"Well," she says, and the metal face resembles her own, the metal shifting in impossible ways to facilitate speech. She pauses. Twitches her mouth experimentally. "Well," she tries again, "this is different."

Baron pulls her into an embrace, and the body fits all wrong, too many angular shapes and ice-cold surfaces – but it's her. It's Haru, alive in the closest thing they could be granted a happy ending. "Reckless, crazy, foolish," he mutters into her shoulder. He draws back to see the face again – and those eyes, still hers. "How could you possibly have been sure that would work?"

"I didn't," Haru says. "But you said it yourself – when someone creates something with all of their heart, then it is given a soul." She passes a gauntlet along the line of her jaw. "You were told to create a hero and it seems you succeeded."

"It was incredibly risky."

"I know. But some things are worth the risk." She sighs and glances to the dragon's corpse. "So now what happens to this place?"

Baron follow's her gaze. "Now, the dungeon will begin to degrade. It was made to bring about the monster's death, and now it's succeeded, it has no use."

"Moonlighter will close without a dungeon to maintain it," Haru says.

"Does that sadden you?"

"No." Haru rises to her feet, steadied with Baron's aid. "No," she repeats, "Moonlighter claimed enough lives. It's time us Yoshiokas got to choose our own futures."

She smiles his way, and even amid the metal and magic, Baron still knows that smile.

"And I think I know what my future holds."

[shadowjackery]

This post was brought to you by Parts of the Body and the letter H.

Continuing the train of thought from: https://www.tumblr.com/shadowjackery/709801424218963968/pick-a-live-action-movie-keep-one-human-actor?source=share

Design sketches and casting notes after the cut.

The token human is Hamlet. This seems obvious to me.

Bert and Ernie are Guildenstern and Rosencrantz. Their doppelgänger are what-not muppets, who turned out looking a lot like Andy Candy and Eddie Spaghetti from "Captain Vegetable" on Sesame Street.

Gonzo is The Player. Again, this feels perfect to me. The death-challenging artiste! Gonzo turned out to be surprisingly tricky to figure out how to draw well.

Piggy would demand to be Queen Gertrude, so Kermit has to be King Claudius. Mirroring her, Link Hogthrob in drag is the Player Queen. And for the Player King, Camilla, also in drag, to stay in theme.

I never got around to casting the Ghost of Hamlet's Father. Maybe Rolf? You could talk me into Uncle Deadly, or a bedsheet ghost, or that Jim Henson muppet they used in the ol' jugband numbers, or the hideous CG recreation of Jim himself with a machine AI voice.

In Stoppard's text, the youngest player, "Alfred", plays a Queen. I changed that here: Elmo plays Alfred who plays a Princess, mirror to Ophelia, and for her I just made up a girl monster because the girl monsters on Sesame Street seem too young to be fooling around with college boys. Though, yes, now that you mention it, Elmo is also far too young to be pimped out by Gonzo, but that part of the play is supposed to be transgressive, and anyway have you ever seen Elmo interviewed on a late night show? He and Gonzo would love the joke. They would conspire to make it somehow worse.

Last minute thought that I never drew: Ophelia could also be played by a fish, because she drowns.

Laertes: "...How?!" Claudius: "Well, it's too complicated to go into here. This play is long enough." Laertes: "I understand entirely. Shall we continue?" Claudius: "Please."

Sam the American Eagle is perfect for Polonius, and I invented a different bird for his player equivalent.

Grover plays Laertes cranked up to 11, and I think that's Harry Monster or someone similar as his player equivalent.

Scooter could be Horatio. I did think of Rizzo the Rat at one point, but he would not put up with Hamlet's shit for very long, while Scooter would shrug and roll with it, which is more true to the text.

I never quite figured out castings for Osric and Fortinbras, who don't appear in these drawings, because I honestly like Sweetums for either part and couldn't decide. I think I tend toward making him Osric ("A palpable hit!"), because the Swedish Chef playing the Norwegian Prince could be hilarious:

Fortinbras: "...Wat du hey?!"

Horatio: "What is it ye would see? If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search."

Fortinbras: "De chicky cri un hackensvacken! O Morp, Wat festen toward yer unendinlindinlindin cell Ther thoo soo muchen kingen in un kaboom So bludili hast stroock?"

(My apologies to Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians...)

And, naturally, the Gravediggers who gleefully desecrate the grave of a certain much-despis'd court jester couldn't be anybody else but Statler and Waldorf.