#corncob head

[handeaux]

Cincinnatians Gobbled Up Tales Of Barnyard Freaks And Vegetable Monstrosities

As autumn leaves littered the increasingly wintry ground it was, in days gone by, the signal for newspapers to trumpet the latest freak of nature emerging from the local barnyards. Cincinnati editors gleefully pounced on any monstrosity – animal or vegetable – that wandered in from the hinterlands.

The Cincinnati Post [28 July 1897] published a drawing of an ear of corn shaped like a human arm. The bizarre cob had been discovered by Albert Sturm, a traveling salesman who lived at 2331 Grandview Avenue in East Walnut Hills. Mr. Sturm’s office was on Pearl Street in the Bottoms, so it is likely he purchased the errant ear at the Pearl Street Market. He placed his remarkable discovery on display at a saloon in the West End.

Intriguingly, a similar chiroform cob had been discovered precisely three years prior and highlighted with a detailed analysis by the Cincinnati Enquirer [28 July 1894]. The newspaper argued against a supernatural interpretation of the phenomenon:

“The peculiar formation of the ear is due to the production of doubled celled blossoms, such as occur in almost every form of plant life. Pumpkins and squashes have been known to take on the likeness of the human face and the root of the mandrake assumes the form of a man with startling fidelity. This is the first time on record that the useful and nourishing corn plant ever tried anything in that direction. It was the general impression among the ignorant when the freak appeared, that it signified that the arm of the Lord had been stretched forth to destroy the world. This, of course, was based upon immature study of the Bible.”

Curious shapes afflicted all sorts of vegetables. W.G. Langdale, of Milford, Ohio, borrowed a most peculiar potato from a baker located in Lawrenceburg, Indiana, according to the Cincinnati Post [16 December 1903]. The spud was not only generally canine-shaped, but specifically resembled a popular cartoon dog at the time, known as Doc. Mr. Langdale allowed the Post to photograph the poochified potato, but insisted his ownership was temporary and that it would shortly be returned to its rightful owner.

Another animal-shaped potato was dug up a year earlier in Dayton, Kentucky, the Enquirer [26 November 1902] reported. This tuber was shaped like an almost perfect imitation of a frog and weighed three pounds. As was often the disposition of such curiosities back then, the weird vegetable was placed on display at Joe Walpert’s saloon.

The Cincinnati Post [24 November 1892] carried news of a Kentucky farmer who planned to send to the Chicago World’s Fair a potato he grew shaped very much like a fist:

“It is an exact counterpart of a clinched fist. The fingers, knuckles, joints and nails are distinctly defined, and where it connects with the vine it has widened out, resembling a human wrist.”

Such oddball entities were not confined to the vegetable kingdom. Cincinnatians gobbled up any reports of animals exhibiting any features out of the ordinary, including some truly suspicious yarns.

Take the dubious tale spun by the Enquirer [22 February 1870] about a little girl, who found a little turtle down by a little creek. Unlike most similar stories, in which the little girl raises her cute shellback hostage as a pet, this minion of the netherworld decided she wanted only the pretty shell, so she gave the turtle to her mother, who promptly decapitated the thing and began eviscerating it.

“After a while the heart was taken out, and excited no little curiosity from the fact that it was beating still, although some time had elapsed since the turtle’s life was supposed to be ended by taking off its head.”

Mom, possessed of the same morbid curiosity as her demonic offspring, stuck the beating turtle heart on a needle and watched it continue to throb for the next four and a half days! Tiring of this macabre entertainment, the mother tossed the still-beating turtle heart into the back yard, where it was promptly devoured by an old grey hen.

End of story? Of course not! Several days later, the family chicken laid an egg, which was gathered up for the family’s breakfast.

“The mother took ‘Biddy’s’ egg, opened it, and in the very center of it found the identical heart which had been thrown away previously, and in as perfect a condition as ever. She could hardly believe her eyes, and so she called her husband and children, all of whom were satisfied that it was the same heart, as the needle punctures were still plainly visible.”

Cincinnati was a key market town for farmers throughout the Tri-State region, not only because of our various street markets, but due to a thriving wholesale business. Often, commission merchants found some marvel among their shipments and took it “on ‘Change” the next day – in other words, to the Merchants Exchange at the Chamber of Commerce. Such was the case with a chicken displayed on ‘Change and reported to the Cincinnati Gazette [22 April 1895]. This hen’s special trait was undiscovered until it had been plucked.

“In addition to having a naturally formed head, with two perfect eyes, the fowl was found after being dressed to have two more perfectly formed eyes, with perfect eyelids, one on either side of the oil sack above the tail.”

After entertaining the commission agents for a couple of days, the bird was donated to the Society of Natural History for preservation.

Fred Beineke raised goats at his place on Berlin Street (now Woodrow Street) in Lower Price Hill. One day, according to the Enquirer [28 August 1890] two normal kids and a caprine monstrosity were born in his shed. The poor thing sported two conjoined heads.

“It has four eyes, two mouths, two tongues! Its ears are set back further than usual. While all regularly formed goats have no upper teeth – only a hard gum – this one has a set in the upper jaw of each head, making it have four sets of teeth. In the middle of the two heads there is one eye-socket, with two eye-balls.”

Almost every day, the local papers published items about animals born with extraneous limbs or appendages, so six-legged horses, five-legged cows, four legged-ducks and pigs with four ears were almost a normal occurrence in the annual autumnal freak show.

[cornflake413]

how it feels to finish assignment

[frownyalfred]

Love the idea of Clark turning up to Gotham just for a little catch up with Bruce, only to be immediately followed by an entourage, most of them guys with a similar build to Bruce and Jason. They let him know that no ones going to bother him and that if he needs anything to let them know and they'll get it for him.

One of them looks suspiciously similar to the guy in the GPD wanted poster they've just walked past but that's neither here nor there.

"You wanna fuck with the Bat's bird, you gotta go through me."

Clark pushed his glasses back up his nose, trying not to visibly react. With the man's back to him, it was easier to get away with an imperfect facial expression, but he still didn't want to tempt fate. "That's -- that's really kind of you, sir. But I'm not really a bird--"

"Oh, and you're gonna be a tough guy about it all of a sudden?" the other thug asked, directing the question at the large man standing in front of Clark. "What happened to fuck the Bat, he fucked up my cousin? Huh?"

The man protecting Clark shrugged with one meaty shoulder. "Don't mean I think his bird should get fucked up too."

"We're not gonna fuck him up," the other man said. He smiled at Clark, nicotine-stained teeth shown off in the low light. "We're just gonna scare him a little bit, yeah? Just so the Bat comes and says hey."

"That's an objectively terrible idea," Clark said. The words came before he could stop them, hanging on the edge of Superman's authoritative tone. "You're just going to get hurt."

"Maybe this time," the thug said, lifting the bat back up onto his shoulder. "Maybe this time, we change things. Throw him off his rhythm. Since we got his bird, and all."

Clark would've rolled his eyes if he wasn't distantly concerned on behalf of all of them. "I'm not sure Batman is worried about me, to be honest."

The man standing in front of Clark craned his head back. "What, you have a fallin' out or something?"

"No," Clark said quickly, shaking his head. "No, I'm just saying -- I can take care of myself. The Bat won't worry, so you won't throw him off his rhythm. So you'll just get beat up again. Probably worse than before. And then I have to make a police report, and you'll be in the hospital--"

"Cripes, cool it with the threats," the man blocking Clark from the others said under his breath. He turned back around to face the group. "Beating up the bird ain't gonna help, you heard it from him."

"Not a bird," Clark protested.

The man with the bat and stained teeth pointed at Clark. "You better watch yourself out here. There ain't gonna be someone to swoop in and save your ass every time."

"And there ain't gonna be a missing Bat every time you say stupid ass shit like that," the man protecting Clark said, shaking his head. "Get the fuck outta here, Leo. You're a fucking joke, you corncob."

Leo and his buddies retreated quickly, and, after a gruff, if oddly charming, exchange, so did Clark's would-be protector. Clark waited a few minutes, just to make sure they were out of earshot, before craning his head up at the shadowed ledge of the building above the alley.

"Bird?" Clark asked loudly.

Batman stared back, the only sign of his amusement a brief flash of white teeth between his lips. For Bruce, it was nearly the equivalent of a full-on belly laugh.

[flculous]

Ukrainian painter Maria Prymachenko's folk art

Flax Blooms and a Cossack Goes to a Girl (1982)

This Beast is Making Magic (1983)

Corncob Horse in Outer Space (1978)

Lion (1947)

Vania Gives a Flower to Halia (1983)

Dumplings on the Shelf (1979)

Two-Headed Chicken (1977)

Stamp with Blue Bull (1947):

I want a stamp like this so bad. Something about the bull's design is so compelling to me.. it kind of looks like he is wearing one of those maid headpieces. On one hand it seems like working at the maid cafe is stressing him out, but on the other hand, perhaps it's his first day at the job and he's extremely excited and determined to do well but has poor control over his facial muscles so his joy reads as a bit frantic and scary to the customers (they'll come to understand and love him very much). There is a lot to love about this bull.

Maria Prymachenko (1909-1997)

[utilitycaster]

You mentioned it briefly a few months ago (but it lives rent free in my head sorry!) that the most popular ship from this campaign has almost only AU fanfics and it's really telling me something about the characters from c3, that there is just really nothing to explore about them.

So here's the thing. I do not think the characters aren't worth exploring! There's been good character work (a lot of which gets ignored, actually, because it's not what many of the people who insist that C3 is their favorite as they slowly turn into a corncob want*; see basically anyone on Twitter about Orym), it's just not central to the plot.

I stand by what I originally said and which was validated at a recent Q&A panel: the cast wasn't told that this was going to be the Moon Plot Campaign (they were just told pulpier and deadlier) and Laura wasn't told that Imogen would be as central a character as she was. So I think we have characters who could have, for the most part, had a character-driven campaign around them, but it became clear relatively early on that this was the Moon Plot campaign and that wouldn't be the focus; and because to get all of his ducks in a row for the Moon Plot Matt had to take a heavier hand with the rails and as a result the party didn't have a ton of bonding time early on because they were always taking NPC missions/being ferried around in an airship with no need for watch conversations, and it's hard to go back and fill in those interactions later, which is why they've sort of fallen out of the habit.

With respect to the ship...the thing is, I genuinely believe it could have been good. The reason I'm not a fan of imo/dna isn't because I think the characters aren't good (well, my feelings on Laudna are documented but I do think Imogen is a great character). It's because, ironically enough, every barrier between them did get removed all too quickly in the service of Cottage Endgame and as a result I think many of the people who wanted that are like "wait...that's it?" Like, the gnarlrock fight fizzled out only for the same conflict to come up briefly with Ishta (swordgate) 70 episodes later and be resolved a day later in-game. When they reunited I was like you know what would have made this good? If Laudna had remained angry in episode 65 and turned Imogen down which Laura 100% expected to happen, because they hadn't talked about this and they were awkwardly trying to deal with unresolved feelings for 30+ episodes and perhaps Laudna actually leaned into Delilah wholeheartedly during that time and realized she had feelings for Imogen after all, while Imogen was simultaneously struggling with that rejection and realizing Laudna was going into a dark place but didn't feel like she could get involved, and they both leaned more (platonically) on other characters and Swordgate was the point where Laudna said "oh no, I'm becoming too much of a problem and I do want Imogen to like me" and the soul anchor felt like a culmination of a deeply felt struggle instead of a quick fix for something that had only inconvenienced her a few times and led to a 20 hour long minor spat at best? If we actually got a fucking slowburn? It would have been great! Turns out if you always go for the instant gratification, it makes for a story without any tension! And now we're watching people who were always clamoring for skipping to the good part realizing that in doing so we skipped all the buildup that makes it the good part. There could have been something to explore. It was not explored.

*I think that there are people who for whatever reason do legitimately prefer Campaign 3 for whatever reasons and are in earnest and this isn't about them. While I don't share their tastes I support them and their feelings; we all have our preferences. This is about the people who are already visibly setting up the groundwork for a dramatic rage quit that will make copious, wildly incorrect use of the term "neoliberal" if the campaign ends with the gods still in place while still insisting this is definitely the best campaign and making absolutely brainless statements about prior campaigns not being as political even though this is the least politically inclined or aware group by a country mile. I think the lesson from the above and from here is that you really cannot have your cake and eat it too.

[mimisempai]

You are the calm in my storms

Summary

Crowley has always hated storms and this one is no different. But it could be that an angel in the cottage has decided to change his beloved demon's mood...

Notes

Flufftober Prompt : Rainy day

On Ao3

Rating G -  1014 words

Crowley had just finished attaching the last flower-laden branch of the rosebush to the stake that would keep it from breaking under its weight when he saw the first drop of rain fall on a leaf. He looked up at the grey, cloudy sky and sighed as the wind grew stronger, causing the boards of the garden shed not far from him to creak.

He knew the storm was coming, but had hoped until the last moment that it would pass them by.

He hated storms. 

He hated them for many reasons, but the most important was that since the beginning of time, storms had been God's favourite way of showing his power, and storms were never a good omen.

He knew this storm was no such thing, but that didn't stop him from hating it, and his mood was in tune with the weather. Not to mention the fact that his precious plantations were unlikely to escape unscathed.

He glanced apologetically at his rose bushes growing on the hollyhocks along the side of the cottage, as if he were responsible for the weather.

As the rain grew heavier, he gathered up his gardening tools and stowed everything away in the shed before heading out onto the porch of the cottage.

Even Aziraphale's seasonal decorations of pumpkins and corncobs failed to make him smile, and he sighed as he brushed back his damp hair before opening the cottage door.

Feeling the dampness quickly settling in, he sighed again as he stepped through the door before taking off his jacket to hang it on the coat rack.

"Angel, I -"

The demon stopped dead in his tracks as the contrast between outside and inside hit him head on.

Warmth.

There was no other word to describe his first impression.

An incredible warmth.

The wood crackled in the fireplace, its glow casting a soft light into the living room.

The round table was set, beautifully decorated in the colours of autumn, and a candelabra was lit in the centre, adding to the gentle warmth.

Finally, the demon noticed the scent of wine, orange, cinnamon and star anise wafting through the room, enhancing the sense of comfort that had begun to fill him as soon as he arrived. 

Crowley called softly, still confused, "Angel?"

"Oh, there you are, I didn't hear you." 

Aziraphale had appeared, coming out of the kitchen with a steaming mug in each hand. He looked towards the window and nodded, "I see, the storm is definitely here now."

Crowley approached and absently took one of the mugs Aziraphale was handing him and asked, "Angel, what's all this? Is it for some special occasion I've forgotten?"

The angel shook his head.

"Then why?"

Aziraphale grabbed the demon's hand and pulled him towards the couch in front of the softly crackling fire, saying quietly, "Because I know you don't like storms."

"But how do you... well, I mean, I've never mentioned it and..."

Aziraphale made him sit down and then came to sit beside him before placing his hand on Crowley's knee as he replied, "After all these years, Crowley, there are still a few things I've been able to observe, don't you think? Like the fact that you get a little crankier and grumpier than usual when there's weather like this."

Crowley swallowed slightly. It went without saying that there was little they didn't know about each other, but that didn't stop him from feeling a little naked at being exposed yet again. 

He brought the mug of fragrant mulled wine to his face and, after inhaling the soothing scent, took a sip, imitated by the angel, before setting the mug down on the coffee table.

He said with a slight hesitation, "And so, all this..." he swept an arm around them, pointing to the fire, the table, the mulled wine, and continued, "It's because of the storm..."

Aziraphale put down his mug in turn and, taking Crowley's hand, kissed it gently on the palm before replying, "It's to make you forget that there is a storm outside."

" I see. " 

The demon took another sip of his mulled wine before asking

now with a slight playful gleam in his eye, "Oh, but it's going to take more than a warm atmosphere and some mulled wine to do that, so how are you going to make me forget, Angel?"

Aziraphale, the playful gleam in his eyes mirroring Crowley's, did not answer, but pulled the demon against him until he was astride him and did not wait to capture his lips in a long, deep kiss. 

Not to be outdone, Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel's neck and pressed in closer, the kiss lingering until they were forced to separate to catch their breath.

Crowley stepped back a little and, licking his lips, said in a slightly breathless voice, "I think it's working, Angel. I feel much better."

"If you can still talk coherently, it's clearly not good enough."

Aziraphale cupped the demon's face in his hands and pulled him to his face, capturing his lips again in another passionate kiss, the heat of which was no match for the flames in the fireplace.

Their embrace continued and, much later, as they lay on the sofa, Crowley sprawled over Aziraphale, both of them wrapped in a warm blanket, the demon said softly, "Thank you for doing this for me, Angel.

Aziraphale raised his hand and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen across the demon's forehead before saying softly, "For you, always, my beloved."

The demon let out a moan of contentment that almost sounded like a purr, leaning his cheek into the angel's hand before snuggling up against him, his face in the hollow of his neck as the angel pulled back the blanket that had slipped over them.

In this cosy cocoon of softness and warmth, Crowley was now definitely oblivious to the storm raging outside.

Aziraphale gently stroked Crowley's hair, a sweet smile on his lips, secretly happy to have been able to help the demon he loved more than anything.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

South Downs cottage series : here

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[punkitt-is-here]

how like . head empty do some of these anons have to be to take dril ( 99% sure meant to be satire ) so seriously ... p sure if you sent them an article from the onion they'd take it as true fact

no dril is real he means everythign he says he really did turn into a corncob that one time

[blunt-force-therapy]

hey, if you don't mind, i'll be stealing from your fridge, what do you have in there?

Milk (1), saltless butter (1), egg (30), onion (3), head of garlic (12), rapadura (2), cheese slice (25), water bottle (3), orange juice bottle (1), rice (64), rice (64), beans (64), chicken meat (12), nefarious purple liquid (6), yoghurt (12), strawberry jam (1), blackberry jam (1), orange (2), lemon (27), apple (3), banana (½), tomato sauce (¼), corncob (1), honey (1) [misplaced], black tea (½), nefarious green liquid (2), powdered dragon claw (2), bone meal (2), potion of healing (8)

[theboywithburninghands]

This is something I didn’t expect to write, but it sort of just… Came out of my head. It’s a horror whump (I think that’s the word kids these days are using) piece about Jax’s unusual phobia with a little bit of Funnybunny thrown in because yes. It’s definitely less conventionally cute than the other ones I’ve done so far, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. It’s also heavily inspired by Stephen King

T/W: blood, horror, discussed gore

He Who Walks Behind The Rows

*Jax is by himself in a cornfield. It’s hot out. Uncomfortably so. The sky is cement gray. He’s been here before, and he knows that if he’s here…

then It was here too.*

Jax: …Oh no.

*The husks of corn rustle, from the wind? Please just let it be the wind. The sound, like the rasp of a giant, angry rattlesnake, chills him to his core despite the oppressive heat. …He shouldn’t have said anything, now It could track him*

Jax: I’m leaving. I’ll go now.

*Jax turns tail and runs. It never does any good, but running bought him a few seconds when he wasn’t in It’s grasp. The cornfield seems to laugh at him as it rustles. “Just where do you think you’re going, little rabbit? Don’t you want to stay? Why not rest a while? It’s soooo hot out…”*

Jax: Just stay away from me!

*It was like trying to tell a shark not to eat a bleeding dolphin. There was no slaking It’s thirst. Jax made the mistake of glancing to his right, and he locked eyes with It. Two hateful red eyes as large as beach balls leer back at him from several cornrows away. It didn’t matter how fast he was or how agile he moved, It would catch him. It was like liquid, could easily catch him at any time, but It always liked to watch him run.*

Jax: I don’t see you! You hear me, I don’t see-

*His right foot catches a husk on a nearby stalk and it trips him. The serrated edge of the leaf rips the skin and fur of his foot open, and he tumbles onto the ground with a yelp of pain and fright*

*He grabs for his foot, which now oozed hot blood onto the tightly packed dirt. The pain is muted but somehow unbearable. He feels blood stain his glove, but soon forgets everything about the pain… It appeared in front of him. Jax’s ears pin back against his head*

Rowstalker: …Ghhhhhhh…

*It opens Its leathery mouth to reveal a maw that could fit a bus, filthy brown and reeking of moldy corncobs. Jagged, shattered-glass teeth protrude from random spots, cracked with blight and oozing bacteria-ridden drool.*

Rowstalker: Chhhrrrrr….

Jax: Get away! GET AWAY FROM ME!

*A whiplike tongue snags Jax’s right ankle, dragging him towards It’s mouth. Jax pitifully claws at the dirt, wildly grasping around for purchase and finding none. He lets out a whimper and looks down at his ankle, his red blood staining It’s rotten green tongue-*

*…Red?*

*He didn’t bleed red anymore! This wasn’t real! He was-!*

Jax: AGGH!

*Jax shoots awake in bed, throwing the blanket off his chest. He feels the wash of relief that comes with waking from a nightmare. He takes several deep and gasping breaths, taking the blanket off his right foot. It’s unharmed. He collapses onto his pillow*

Jax: Gimme a break… I just got hot under the blanket again…

Pomni: J-Jax..?

Jax: POMNI! *he shoots back up in bed. Pomni is standing not too far away in his room, clutching her left arm with her right hand. She jolts when he jolts* You- How’d you get in my room?!

Pomni: You… left the door unlocked. I wanted to say goodnight… *steps a little bit closer* Are you okay..?

Jax: Huh? Yeah, I’m fine! Fit as a fiddle!

Pomni: Your hands are shaking… *it takes her a second to work herself up, but she takes one of his hands. It is indeed trembling*

Jax: *sigh, eyeroll* I had a nightmare, okay? Happens sometimes when I get too hot.

Pomni: Do you want to talk about it..?

Jax: Nope. G’night. *he lets go of her hand and rolls over, pulling the covers up to just his waist this time.*

Pomni: *she hovers her hand out for a second before putting it back down at her side* Y-Yeah. Goodnight, Jax. *she puts her hand down and heads for the door* Don’t forget the lock.

Jax: …Do you get them too?

Pomni: Huh? Get what?

Jax: Nothing. Forget it.

Pomni: …Nightmares? Sure. I mean, who doesn’t..? I still get dreams that I haven’t turned in a big assignment or I’m driving with no steering wheel-

Jax: That’s not what I’m talkin’ about. *he rolls over* Those are just stress dreams. Baby stuff. I’m talkin’ about nightmares that make you never want to sleep again. Things so horrible you wouldn’t wish it on your worst enemy.

Pomni: Yeah, maybe once or twice. Technically we’re living in one. *tiny, nervous smile*

Jax: *smirk* Heh. Yeah. I don’t know if I had them back in… you know, the real world. But they got bad here. If I’m not dreaming about… *he looks at Pomni* …I prolly shouldn’t tell you, actually. It’s… no fun.

Pomni: *Although she’s a bit surprised by her own confidence, she climbs up onto Jax’s bed and sits on the end, looking at him with a delicate smile* Try me.

Jax: …You’re sitting on my bed.

Pomni: *talking over a laugh* Do-Don’t change the subject! Tell me about your nightmares.

Jax: Why do you care..?

Pomni: Because… Because I care about you… *blushes*

Jax: *also blushes a faint pink-purple* Uh… *swallows* Okay, fine, but if you get creeped out, it’s on you. …Usually I’m in a cornfield. Sometimes a house or a barn. And something is after me. I don’t really have a good name for It… so I just call It The Rowstalker. Since it… stalks. The rows. Of corn.

Pomni: What does it look like?

Jax: It’s hard to explain. It’s taken a bunch of different shapes… usually it’s got big red eyes and giant, messed up teeth. But I’ve seen it fly, or swim, or dig…

Pomni: Does it hurt you?

Jax: Yeah. Bad. Sometimes it gnaws my head off then drinks the blood out of my neck… sometimes it eats me from the feet up, slowly. Sometimes it starts with just one arm, and…

*Jax feels his entire body shiver, and his ears pin back. Pomni holds one of his hands and he squeezes it in return. It’s humiliating, sure… but it does feel good to actually tell somebody about this.*

Pomni: …I’m sorry. That sounds horrible. I uh… I wish I had advice…

Jax: Nah. You don’t need to give any… Can you do one thing for me, though..?

Pomni: Yeah.

Jax: Don’t tell anyone, okay? If this ever gets around to Caine… he could make it real.

Pomni: Why would Caine…-

Jax: Maybe for Halloween, or a haunted house or something… if he ever made it real, I think I’d…

*Pomni hugs him. It’s… a gradual and awkward affair, given Pomni’s discomfort with touch, but she gets there eventually. Jax sighs, but he hugs her back. The bells on her coxcomb hat jingle softly.*

Pomni: Is this okay?

Jax: Yeah. Yeah, this is okay…

[alienposadismo]

So I got two wack Sakamoto Days AU ideas that are stuck in my head.

Not entirely sure if they are on Ao3 yet, but still. Oh, and uh, very minor spoilers I think.

Idea 1 - The KFC AU.

What if Taro Sakamoto was the manager not of a convenience store post-retirement, but of a KFC joint?

Did I just put the SakaDays crew into my work shoes out of boredom? Partially, but hear me out.

In theory, there wouldn't be that much change from the base canon. In practice, however, there is quite the potential for some funky and funny scenarios. Think about it - in a convenience store, the average business loop is clients come, take what they want, pay at the register at leave. Meanwhile, in a KFC joint with the former hitman legend in it, you could have:

Shin managing 5 delivery orders at once along with 5 assassins at once (with Heisuke and Piisuke as the ones delivering and Shin as the one preparing for delivery)

Lu in the kitchen, cooking up both enemies and burgers

Taro stunning opponents with corncobs and catching bullets with thongs

Slur's headquarters and operations utilizing McDonalds for maximum irony

Delicious Colonel comparisons with Sakamoto's fit and stache and all

A showcase or two of what happens when there's a really annoying CIVILLIAN client

Taco Bell JCC? Burger King Order?

And those are just the examples I can think of off the top of my head. Goes to show that this idea's quite the Zinger. *ba dum tss*

Idea 2 - The Trans Aoi Sakamoto AU

What if Aoi Sakamoto was the protagonist, while ALSO formerly being the legendary hitman Taro Sakamoto?

Synopsis is simple - Taro Sakamoto remains this boogeyman, this legendary undefeated hitman atop the assassin world... and then he vanishes with no trace. Or rather, whatever traces are there lead to the Sakamoto store and the completely different-looking Aoi... who conveniently has Taro's surname. And his glasses. And his combat prowess. And the ability to bully Shin via imagine-kills. And a mysterious 1bil bounty on her head.

How does the drastic transformation work? Nagumo and his magi- I mean disguising skill! What about moments where Sakamoto slims down and goes serious? Well, you now have two levels of removed limits - disguise pop, where underneath you got the fat Taro form we know with the power boost of the disguise no longer being a priority, and slim down, where she goes REAL serious! What about Hana? Well... yeah, that one would be a bit trickier to adapt, given the biology-based gimmick of our new Sakamoto and all, but hey, Ao3 is gonna find a way! Hopefully. Either it or me. Maybe a transmasc husband could do the trick, though I am getting off-topic...

Yeah, ch.74 onwards gave me, or rather my imagination, that banger of a concept. Maybe in part cause I am also one of them trans femmes? I dunno. Point is, it rocks, go make fics and fanart based on the idea if you want to, I'll love every second of it all. Same goes for the KFC AU idea, though you can tell which one I am more passionate about...😘

OG Art I used for the Trans!Aoi edit - https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/7466271?q=sakamoto_aoi_%28sakamoto_days%29+

(Twitter doesn't work right on my end 😔 )

Anyways, uh, hope ya had fun reading this!

[ursifors]

here is the result of jeremy and i's drawing stream! image id under the cut!

[IMAGE ID: from the left to the right; a doodle by jeremy of his cat booker being extremely old, with a beard, a corncob pipe, and a wizard hat. next is a drawing by jeremy of his go nitro character steven reynolds, who is a blonde shaggy haired and buff man glaring off to the side. behind him is the spread of a portal to another dimension. next is a green doodle by me of dante from go nitro, a spiky haired man smirking. next is a drawing of steven reynolds by me, holding his hands in front of his chest as he opens a purple and black portal. below that is a doodle by jeremy of his among us persona's, top and bottom jeremy, running. to the right and at the top are several sketches by me. diego from go nitro, a chibi version of steven, the pokemon teddiursa and eevee, and a chibi version of the villain razor from go nitro. below that is a detailed drawing of razor from go nitro by jeremy, a large blue man with a helmet on and spikes coming out of his shoulders and head. ID END]

[spacehomos]

okay so im rewatching Kaos so this is the thread of everything i missed the first time around.

the bobble-heads in the grocery store

2. large print of the corncob buildings in Chicago???????

[puppiesandnightlock]

Link Nightwing and Flamebird

Aggggggghhhhhh this is the prompt i was so excited for!!! its my favorite one out of all of them!!

Summary: Its a masquerade ball and Jon is ready...if only he could find who he was supposed to be matching with.

i.e. damian and jon went matching to the gala but damian failed to mention who they were going as and they dance and its really cute.

A/N:

so, just a disclaimer, even tho i did do my reseach on the flamebird and nightwing thing and obviously ive read a shit ton of fics thta deal with this, im shortening it incredibly and switching up some things bc i have to fit it in the context its used for in this story   anyways this is the prompt i was most excited for bc yassss masqurade ball and i almost made it a royalty one but at the last minute did this lol

If anyone would have asked Jon, he would tell them that everything that happened that night was completely Damian’s doing. 

It started off simple enough, when the Kents had gotten an invite to the annual Wayne gala. He hadn't thought much of it, they were invited every year, his parents called to cover the event by the Planet. 

Jon had completely forgotten about it until a week before, when his brother waltzed in one night and asked him what he was going to be for the masquerade ball.

“W-What?” He’d sputtered.

“Yeah, you know the ball Tim’s family puts on? We’re going as demons and angels.” Kon had said, laying in the air with his hands behind his head in a resting position.

“They didn’t tell me that!” Jon whipped out his phone and began spamming Damian with questions until his phone started ringing.

“ Honestly, corncob, must you do this now?”

The familiar annoyed tone drawled through the phone speaker.

“Uh, yeah! What the actual heck am I supposed to go as?”

The two boys could hear the eye roll through the phone, followed by the usual “tt '' of disappointment. 

“ Calm yourself Jonathan, if it worries you so much, you can simply go matching with me. I’ll send something over in your measurements tomorrow, assuming they’re still the same from a few months ago .”

“Fine. What are we going to be?”

“ I think I'll let that be a surprise. I’ll see you next week, Jon.”

The phone clicked, signaling the end of the call. 

“You see, your boyfriend has your back.” 

Kon ruffled his hair, ignoring the angry screeches of “ He’s not my boyfriend, Connor!! You know what he is? He's a flaming piece of sherbet!”

“Still can’t swear.” He chuckled, zooming out the window. 

The fact that Damian wouldn't tell him didnt stop the flow of guesses coming from the farmboy.

He pulled the worst guesses after a while, disappointed when even the best ones had been vetoed. The sun and moon one had come close, Damian had nearly smiled when he said it so that was close at least.

When the night of the gala came, he stepped into his room only to be greeted by an intricate box tied with a ribbon on his bed.

Opening it, he found a black suit, flames running up to his elbow from the cuffs, the suit otherwise black but illuminated by the colors of the sleeves. 

The mask was built up with intricate patterns of gold, and when he put it on, it gave the picture of wearing fire itself. 

Gasping, he stumbled a little, pulling it off before placing it delicately back in the box. As he took the suit out to put on after a shower, he noticed a paper floating out from under it. He snatched it midair and noticed Damian’s elegant script.

“ You have your half, now you will have to come find me. No powers, by the way.”

Of course he couldn't just tell me what we were doing. This is fire, right? What's the opposite of fire?

He dressed, finding in pleasant surprise that the coattails of the jacket had the same flames his cuffs did, cut in an odd jagged pattern. As he spun in the mirror, they flared out, almost resembling…dragon wings?

He picked up the mask again, noticing the way it curved down on his face, resembling a snout.

An idea began to form, it was if he had all the pieces of a puzzle but couldn't yet fit them together.

His parents had insisted on pictures, marveling at the suit and mask. 

“Damian must have designed this himself. It has his mark of dramatics.” Lois traced the fire on the sleeve.

“What is he going as?” Clark asked as they got into the car that had gone to pick them up.

“He hasn't told me. I’m supposed to guess.” Jon rolled his eyes, the concept stupid to him.

Per usual, they were swarmed like celebrities themselves exiting the car, Lois and Clark mixing into the crowd as Jon stood alone at the top of the ballroom's large staircase, scanning the room of masks.

He caught Kon and Tim in the corner, both dressed in matching suits of deep red and soft white. 

Dick had a redhead on his arm, as usual(choose your ship), matching sun and moon. Jason was hidden away by the refreshments, Duke following behind him. Steph and Cass were out on the dance floor, with coordinated dresses like the queens they were. 

Tired, he gravitated towards the refreshments and fought the urge to run a hand through his slicked curls.

As he looked up, his gaze landed on a man there, sipping from a glass of champagne with an amused smirk on his face. 

His suit was a deep navy, almost black, with a thick light blue stripe making up the design. The coattails were a familiar dragon wing shape. It suddenly clicked in his mind who they were supposed to be, and without a second thought, he strode over and offered the shorter man his hand. 

“Care to dance?”

Damian’s green eyes twinkled at him as he set down his flute to take his hand. 

“Took you long enough.”

They swept out onto the dance floor, brushing by Steph and Cass, who winked at them and shot  thumbs up to Damian behind Jon’s back.

He huffed and turned back to Jon, the flaming colors of his mask making his eyes stand out like icy blue pools.

The song played on, and Jon leaned in to whisper. 

“Nightwing and Flamebird, huh?”

“Mhm. You were rather close with your sun and moon theory, and the fire and ice as well.”

They spun, transitioning into formal waltz.

“Never thought you’d go with an old kryptonian legend. They were partners, the best of the best. Soulmates. Flamebird kept Nightwing from falling too far into the dark, and nightwing vowed to be by his side forever.”

“Lovers.”

Jon nearly tripped over his own shoes. “What?”

“They were lovers, if I'm not mistaken.”

“Y-yeah, that too.” He grinned suddenly. “Dami, are you a romantic ?”

“No! The very thought is appalling, I would never stoop to such a level of meaningless gibberish.” 

Being the little shit he was, Jon listened to the skip in his c̶r̶u̶s̶h̶  best friend’s heart as he dipped him slightly, bringing his face closer. 

“I think you are.”

“So that’s the way you wanna play it, Kent?”

 Damian hitched a leg over his waist, doing a specific movement to the beat of the music and smirking at his blush. 

“Because you’re sure to lose.”

“We’ll see about that, bat boy.”

The world around them became blurry, the only thing in the room being the two of them and the rhythm of the music. 

One moved, and the other tried to top it. They wove it all together in a beautiful dance, daring each other with the way they moved, the sly grins and glints in their eyes the only words they needed.

The goal was to make each other as flustered as possible, and every gasp, blush, and breathy laugh was a prize. As the music began to slow, they spun out, back in, and into a low dip, panting heavily.

A flush of exhaustion brushed their cheeks, sweat beaded on their foreheads. For a moment, their surroundings had frozen, and there was just them. All the unspoken emotions, the words missed for years had somehow been spilled out in simple dance, and they were shook, the only thing snapping them out of it was the applause that sounded once they’d stopped dancing. 

Quickly they stumbled apart, smoothing their suits and giving a nervous bow as the gala goers clapped, having watched the whole exchange. 

Grabbing Damian’s hand, he led them through the crowd that had gathered to watch them, ending up in the hallway of the manor. 

Green eyes twinkled at him as he began trying to speak, stuttering out a long drawn confession speech he’d made somewhere around five years ago.

“For the love of- Get over here, Corncob.”

Damian tugged his shirt collar, reaching up on his toes to press his lips against the others.

The flush returned, more prominent than before. 

“I-ah…the feeling is mutual, then?” Jon squeaked, mentally slapping himself for such a stupid response. 

“Quite.” A pink color was dusting the caramel complexion of the shorter boy as well.

Grinning, he bent to place a kiss on the smaller boy’s cheek, taking his hand. “What do you say we get out of here, then?”

“I’d say yes.” 

*********************************************************************

for @super-sons-week-2023

[imjustgoose]

Harold Trotter and The Draconic Boogaloo

I wrote the next chapter for my strange fanfiction. I'm quite pleased at how it turned out. Just like before, you can read it on Ao3 here and leave comments, kudos or likes wherever you please! I hope you enjoy reading! |

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“Did you hear about what really happened to Dolores?” Minerva whispered to Miraak, who sat by her side during assembly. The school year was about to start again, with cheer in the faces of students again. Miraak leaned in close to her with a calculated smile.

“Yes, terrible business to be attacked by…what this world calls centaurs. In my realm, we simply call them-”

“Welcome everyone to another exciting year at Hogwarts! Please, let the first years feel especially welcome as they feast with us for the first time tonight!” Dumbledore loudly interrupted what was likely going to be a racial slur from Miraak. The hall erupted with clapping and some cheers from the students. He simply rolled his eyes and gave a few claps. The tink tink from his gauntlets turned a few heads, but he wasn’t fussed.

“I’ll tell you about what we call centaurs later. I expect nothing but the finest sweets in exchange for such gossip,” Miraak spoke softly, in a voice made of gravel. Minerva giggled and gave his pauldron a fond pat before focusing back on Dumbledore.

“Tonight, I am very pleased to welcome back our former potions teacher, Professor Slughorn, who is eager to get back to teaching.” Dumbledore gestured to the old man on his other side. Miraak found older mortals amusing, their feeble movements and grey hair would never grace his person. “Now, enjoy the feast!” And Miraak would do just that. In a manner found only in children’s tales, he piled his plates high. Fried chicken legs, saucy kelpie ribs, salted broccolini, sausages, buttered corncobs, roasted newts, baked potatoes and a total of 48 oysters surrounded him. When he began dousing the oysters in lemon and Chinese Fireball sauce to slurp them up, Professor Snape eyed him with scrutiny.

“48 oysters, Miraak? One should hope you don’t lose your stomach from the overconsumption of shellfish,” he drawled. Miraak looked up from his plate with a splatter of hot sauce on his face.

“I have been invited here to feast. A dragon will eat when he is offered food so graciously, Severus,” he answered sharply. Snape quirked a brow and looked at Miraak’s goblet.

“Lemon wine, too? Such a voracious…app-e-tite,” Snape punctuated each syllable as he spoke. Miraak only snorted and feigned a look of pride.

“You sounded that word out perfectly. You’re doing very well with your basic speech work after years of stuttering from being bullied, keep it up! Ten points to Slytherin!” Miraak grinned before moving onto his fifth plate of oysters. A few teachers chuckled at the exchange before turning back to their dinners.

Snape shortly had to obliviate himself of that very moment, for the pain of being patronised by the bitchy dragon who took his job was too much to bear.

~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we have that bleedin’ maniac for a teacher again,” Ron grumbled as he walked with his friends to their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Harry didn’t respond, but Hermione felt the need to silence his gob with a zipper charm.

“He can hear you, Ronald! Don’t you remember that he can hear almost anything?” She chastised him, “I quite like him, actually. He’s mysterious and a good teacher. Certainly beats having Voldemort, Coc- I mean Lockhart or a death-eater in disguise for a teacher. At least he’s a responsible adult! He actually teaches us things!”

“Are you mad? He’s a psycho! He’s also in Slytherin!”

“YES!” A familiar voice boomed across the corridor. Miraak looked down at his students from where he was perched on a pillar before jumping down gracefully and landing in front of them, “the house of the Serpent! I am ambitious, cunning and I am a real dragon! A serpent with wings.”

“Professor Miraak! It’s good to see you again!” Hermione went to shake his hand. He eyed her hand curiously before taking it. On instinct, she shook it politely, but Miraak decided to send a small bolt of electricity to her palm, causing her to rip her hand away with a yelp.

“Pruzah!  How I have missed tormenting the youth and teaching them how to be warriors! I feel….ahhhh. Potter, why is your nose mishapen?” Miraak ceased his torment for a moment to look down and inspect Harry’s nose, twisted and bruised.

“Oh, um reading. It was a….gripping novel,” Harry lied worse than the Last Dragonborn when they ate the rest of the leftover Bosmer Beignets.

“Mmm, it is broken,” Miraak’s voice softened for a moment, “did someone do this to you?” He pressed his fingers to Harry’s nose.

“No! Can we just- Argh, let’s just go to class,” Harry pulled away from his touch. If Miraak had been less professional, hot flames would burn in his throat at the thought of someone hurting his children. Instead, his draconic pupils narrowed, but he put on a smile and looked behind the three to see his other students waiting patiently.

“You will stay behind after class, Potter. Welcome students! Vosaraan!  My classroom has been rearranged!” Miraak waved the group over before dashing to his classroom. What had once been a generic classroom had become what Dumbledore described as a ‘shrine worthy of the most evil cults, with a touch of whimsy’.

“How’d you get the budget for this stuff? Looks like you had a day out in Knockturn alley,” Seamus marvelled, looking at the many dragon skeletons hanging from the ceiling. One dragon skeleton lay on the floor, coiled around an ancient throne where Miraak had placed a table with a fancy goblet and a plate. A strange being grumbled in a nearby cage, eyes glowing blue and form swaying lightly from the ancient armour hanging off its body.

“What? These are all mine, Finnegan! Relics of my conquests and artefacts with magic unknown to your realm!” Miraak gestured to everything in the room, “Back in my day I had a temple dedicated to worshipping me. More than twenty dragon skeletons laid dormant in the snow around my temple after I killed and ate their souls . I sat on this throne when I’d watch traitors dangle helplessly in cages. Humans, Elves and Beastfolk who dared to defy me made very good fodder for my enchanting services, for their souls were the most potent of all. Ahhh, good memories!”

“You killed people!?” Ron gawked at him, paler than usual.

“Only the ones who didn’t like me.”

“But, surely you heard me talking before? I don’t like you!”

“And have you felt alive since I started teaching?”

“What- no?”

“Then write your obituary, Weasel. I shall not be laying flowers but I will attend your funeral for the refreshments,” Miraak finally silenced Ron and stood still in front of the class, waiting for everyone else to be seated. He caught sight of Draco, but more concern bled into him when the boy didn’t laugh at the torment of a Weasley. If Miraak was capable of one thing, it was knowing his students well.

“Professor? Are you alright?” Hermione asked out of the blue. Miraak’s face must have looked concerned again, given that he still couldn’t hide his emotions. He let out a small sigh and began wandering around the room, his eyes not leaving the students.

“I know that this year may be a bit…unnerving. You are getting closer to the end, but I will make sure you are prepared,” he stopped to sit on a desk and cross his arms, “you have endless resources to help you, including myself. So, do not allow yourself to fall into the trap of melancholy as I once did. It can… krii , it can be the end of you.”

Miraak worked hard to bring up the mood in the class. It seemed that a lot of students were feeling stiff, especially when Dean spoke up.

“It’s hard to feel okay, Professor. Ever since the Dark Lord-”

“Perished? Yes I take full credit for that. He was an easy foe, really.”

“No, he’s still alive!”

“What, HOW!?”

“I don’t know how, Professor! He’s just been sighted again!”

“ RUTH! How dare he live!? I killed that hairless creature and took his wand!” Miraak pulled the bone wand from his pocket and flicked it at the Draugr in the cage. The undead simply started dancing, causing Miraak to look back at his students, “If he still lives I will hunt him down….in my spare time. Grading papers takes a lot of my free time, these days. I should have you all battle dragons for your exam just to save time and paperwork.”

“Harry fought a dragon in fourth year!” Seamus's words immediately stilled Miraak's anger, prompting him to stare at Harry with hardly-subtle pride and amazement.

“You survived? Tell me, did you feel power coursing through your veins? Did you strike it down and take its bones to be fashioned into weapons? Or perhaps…you awakened a new power within you?” Miraak closed in on Harry, his hands on his desk and eyes locked on him.

“Oh, no I just took the golden egg. We needed to for the trial. The dragon lived, I had to run away from it.”

“……”

“Professor Miraak?”

“Three hundred points from Gryffindor.”

“WHAT!?”

“Four hundred points to Slytherin.”

“He’s totally unfair!”

“I am perfectly fair, Weasel! Now, we shall see where you’re all up to…..”

~~~~~~

“Potter, I told you to stay,” Miraak called out to Harry from where he dangled from the ceiling beam by the toes of his brassy boots, “Sit. We have much to discuss.”

“After that lesson? I’m not sure I’ll be able to have a proper conversation,” Harry spoke with slight jest as he settled back in his desk area. Miraak scoffed and waved him off.

“Learning to speak to spirits from their bones whilst upside down is no small feat, but it won’t damage you permanently,” Miraak countered with his arms crossed. Suddenly, he jumped down onto Harry’s desk, startling the boy, “Someone has hurt you. I don’t wish to force you, but if you don’t tell me it will make everything much more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Do I really have to?” Harry asked, shifting uncomfortably. He looked as if he were in pain, which would make sense.

“Now, Potter. I won’t ask again,” Miraak demanded in a low, careful voice. His fingers curled into the wood of the desk, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Can you maybe not tell anyone about it? It’s…I think it might be because of something dangerous,” he whispered. Miraak was immediately intrigued further, mulling over each possible outcome that Harry could relay to him. Petty squabbles over partners flittered across his mind a few times, it seemed likely enough. 

“You have my word, Potter.”

“It’s Draco. He’s upset about his father going to Azkaban…who is a Death Eater.”

“That gives him no right to-”

“I know! I know. There’s more to it than that…. I saw him at Borgin and Burke’s with other Death Eaters, performing some kind of ceremony. Nobody else believes me,” Harry explains, lowering his gaze to his desk. Miraak let out a breath and held his hand to Harry’s nose, allowing Healing Hands to channel through his fingertips and heal Harry’s nose.

“It can completely isolate you, to shout into a void that will not listen. But I will listen,” Miraak reassured him, his voice low and rumbly. Harry’s nose went back into place without any pain, carefully unbreaking. Miraak slowly pulled his hand away and offered a warm smile, “ Drem , you look much better now.”

“Thank you, sir! That feels much better than when Luna tried to-” Harry stopped for a moment and squinted his eyes, “did you smudge my glasses? They look horrible.”

“Hmmm, no. Even if I did touch your glasses, my gauntlets are clean,” Miraak defended, his head tilting as he watched Harry take off his glasses and rub them. Harry took his time trying to clean them before slowly stopping and looking up at Miraak with wonder.

“Professor….what spell did you use?” He asked, watching each line and stray hair on Miraak’s face.

“A most basic healing spell. Are you unsatisfied with your nose?”

“No, no! It’s not that…it’s just that my eyesight, it’s…” Harry trailed off before slapping a hand to his mouth in amazement, “You healed my vision!?”

“Is that why you wear those wires around your eyes? Your vision was impaired?”

“You didn’t know?”

“It’s not a problem in my realm.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest Professor.”

~~~~~~

Further into the school year, Miraak had unfortunately been forced to take sick-leave due to contracting oyster pox. When the Dragonborn entered Miraak’s bedroom with a cup of tea, they looked at him with worry.

“I don’t mean to alarm you, but the school was attacked,” they sat on his bed as they spoke. Tea almost spilled from how quickly Miraak sat up.

“Attacked? No, I must be there!” Miraak scrambled to get out of bed, but was stilled by gentle fingers on his chest.

“You will die if you exert yourself. Aghhh, I told you to not eat five plates of oysters! You know that four is your limit!” They chastised him, sighing when he didn’t relent, “ Drem , please. You likely won’t be going back to teach anyways.”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“The Headmaster was killed by…I think the message said ‘Snap’?”

“Dragonborn….fetch my travel bag.”

“Miraak, you can’t!”

But Miraak would.

Miraak will return in: Harry PotRoast and The Dragon’s New Clothes, Part 1

~~~~~~

Miraak's language key, translated by Thuum.org:

Pruzah = Good

Vosaraan = Make haste/Quickly

Krii = Kill

Ruth = Rage (Used like how you'd say 'damn!' when annoyed

Drem = Peace

[tiktaalic]

ive been thinking about. turning in my head. why didnt i like bottoms. well because it was bad. what about it was bad. many such things. but what i'm really being struck by 2nite is how dedicated it is to veering away from earnestness. what! why are you. as a movie. irony poisoned. this thought occurred to me mostly because i started watching theater camp, which is ripe for comparison. ayo and molly gordon in it. writing done by the leads. centers on people who are fuuucking losers. and really what i keep coming back to is that the premise of bottoms is oh we're losers no one likes us because we're ugly and untalented. and then every sentence out of their mouths is like the cruelest thing imaginable? and i know it's satirical but it doesn't feel like a loving informed satire. it feels like a shove a kid on the ground point and laugh satire. vs theater camp. which is about theater kids. starring theater kids who ended up on broadway. and definitely satirizes the various kind of Types you tend to get in that crowd, but it's funny. and people are friends with each other. and like each other. and they're still selfish! and stuck up! and vain! and jealous! but there's so much more there that these are notes of a profile and it's not overwhelming hour thirty of fuck you you're stupid you're a cunt you're ugly i don't like you i hate you. like fundamentally the difference while watching bottoms im like i dont think they hate you for being ugly and annoying i think they hate you for verbally swinging on anyone who ever says hi to you. and theater camp. i go. oh i know the exact phrasing someone would use when they were calling you annoying. because they would think you're annoying for being flamboyant and passionate. or straight and passionate. like it's so. wow this is a long post. tldr. bottoms feels like. i'm not cringe im not cringe said while turning into a corncob. theater camp feels like. dashcon 2012

[imagines-babes]

P.S. I LOVE YOU(Dream)

Helloo again, There is nothing much I could say today. So the song is, ‘P.S. I LOVE YOU,’ by Paul Partohap. If any requests please let me know and I hope you enjoy this story.

Dream List Masterlist

************

In the time, I have been dating Dream. There were many things that me and Dream like about each other that the other didn’t like. Like one thing that Dream loved that I hated were my hiccups. Oh man my hiccups. They would just come out out of no where. Well I can't do anything to get rid of them before with all the ways. Getting scared. Holding my breath. Drinking water. But nothing work. Every time the hiccups would come Dream would laugh about it and record a video. I wouldn’t mind it but I hated my hiccups. But Dream love it so I couldn’t argue about it.

Finally after a week. They survived over 50 hours in Antarctica. Finally, Dream and his friends were coming home from their trip with Mr.Beast. So I just wanted to make them all a soup and buy medicine for them. Mostly Dream. He had the cold and what George told me he just got worse. So I feed patches heading to the kitchen, laying out my ingredients for caldo (Mexican chicken soup). I started to cut up the carrots finding a pot to place them in. Hiccup. Staying still if I heard myself right. I waited what felt like a minute nothing happened. Placing the carrots in as well as some cut up potatoes. Hiccup. Today out of all the days hiccups come. They could've com yesterday or last week. I gave in a sigh shaking my head. So I just have to keep making the food with hiccups happening every minute or so. Putting everything in the pot. The stove was on. Waiting for the next step. Trying to keep my head occupied while the hiccups just kept going. Putting in the season I heard my phone go off. Pulling out my phone from my pocket. I noticed the name as I smiled. 'Hello stranger have you all landed already.' I sat on top of the counter as I smile. 'No we just have one more plane till we get home. How's everything there at the house.' I heard from his voice he was sick. More sick before he went to Antarctica. I give a look around. 'Beside it being quite. I think it's- Hiccup.' I cursed under my breath, looking over at the pot, 'hey I have to go see you when you get home I love you.' Hanging up the phone. I move the lid trying to find the corncobs to place in aswell as the chicken.

I stared at my phone waiting to see that message. Nothing came. Hiccup. With my hiccups on top of that just made it worse for me. Turning the knob on the stove to low. I tried to keep my mind on at ease putting on YouTube. Watching some videos. The lights were off in the living room but the kitchen were on. I was watching some 'watcher, Are you scared?' Watching one called, Are You Scared of Being Home Alone? I stared to watching getting into a little too much. Patches was right next to me. She was asleep as I watched. Hiccup. Midway from the video I felt chills a little. Ryan asked the question he uses to finish video. ‘So are you scared?’ Before I could answer the question. 'Boo,' the three boys scared the shit out of me from behind the couch. They laugh at me as I rolled my eyes pressing pause. As I stood up  going to hug each on of them then kissing Dream kiss. His face was red as I felt his cheek for a small smile. 'Are you all hungry?' They all nod as I found some bowls. While George took the lid off  seeing the soup. 'Uh y/n what is this?' I glance over at him. Walking over to him, getting some bowl. ‘it’s called Caldo,’ he gave a confused expression, ‘also know as Mexican Chicken Soup. It has Chicken, potatoes, carrots, corncob, and some other things.’ I glance over at the them with a smile. ‘You don’t have to eat it since it’s something different then like original chicken soup in a can. I just thought since,’ Hiccup. I close my mouth quickly. Looking over at Dream. His straight face started to crack into a laugh. Well Sapnap and George started to join in as well. I rolled my eye breaking a laugh. With Dream coming over to me as he held me close. ‘Just like before,’ He kissed my forehead, ‘I love you.’