#fuck drains all my homies hate drains

[asterlark]

forgot to update on here but i came home from the hospital yesterday afternoon! have mostly been playing video games and cuddling with my cat, recovery for this so far is not too bad and i've been able to manage pain decently well with meds & rest

[oxymoronicdumbass]

if i have to sit through one more conversation in which i have to listen to someone chirp about the benefits of AI, i am going to stab someone

[pathologicalreid]

if you've been following along, i have an important update to share with you all

I JUST FINISHED MY LAST FINAL LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOO

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Hey y’all guess what?!? :) it’s time for a new episode of Bedtime Stories With PCE!!!

Who ordered some old man yaoi? That’s right, this one is set right after If Heaven And Hell Decide, with a sick Kyle, worried Stan, the best little immortal cat of all time, adding injury to illness, two middle aged men being massive fantasy dorks, all that goodness. Very sorry to my favorite arthritic ginger it will happen again, very sorry to his extremely concerned husband.

And y’all. I’m dedicating this to the Sickfic Queen herself, @alwaysinstyle who consistently kicks ass and gets stoked about style taking care of each other with me. Ana I love you so much and I’m so proud of you. All the people in your corner, we have you covered.

Also OFC the rest of the RANT homies have been subjected to random snippets of this over the past 2 weeks or so (jesus my sadsack ass needs to get some motivation back how has it been two weeks) but hey I will always be obnoxious when the mood strikes me and this long ass monstrosity is FINALLY done!!! Thank y’all fr for putting up with me.

Here’s •Well, That Would Be Pretty Odd•

A subtle knock at the door drew Stan’s attention and Kyle from uneasy rest. His husband’s head lolled exhaustively in his hand, still drained of energy and, according to the screen displaying his vitals, running a pretty high fever. Stan kept one arm protectively over him and turned to the door. “Yeah?”

The doctor entered, shutting the door behind her. “Hey, guys, how are we doing in here?”

Kyle pulled up slowly, clearly emotional, like he always got when he was sick. “Can I go home yet? Moose needs me.”

“Our cat,” Stan explained. “He’s worried he scared our cat.”

“I did.”

“Scared the hell out of your husband, too, sick as you are. It says on the chart you guys filled out that your blood sugar was low enough to potentially trigger a seizure. If he hadn’t acted as fast as he did, you’d be even worse off than you are.”

Kyle slumped back into Stan. “He always rescues me,” he murmured.

Stan felt like crying. “I’m your knight when you need me, dude.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, what’re we working with here? Stomach flu, dehydration, complications because of the diabetes, all that, right?”

“Right. Kyle, we have you on antivirals and fluids via IV for now, and I know you’re eager to get home-“

“-he hates hospitals-“

“-I hate hospitals.”

The doctor smiled kindly, even after getting interrupted. Stan liked her. “We’re keeping you overnight at least, but if your vitals are still stable and your fever is less than 102, we can send you home.”

Stan knew Kyle appreciated being the one addressed about his own health. This doctor could read the room, that’s for sure. Kyle nodded tiredly, eyes closed.

“How about when we go home? What’s the plan?” Stan inquired, tired as fuck himself but making an exception for Ky, always.

“Fluids, rest, anything with nutritional value that can stay down. Your friend in the waiting room mentioned orange juice as you guys’ go-to when Kyle’s having trouble with blood sugar? And he said you’re always diligent about keeping an eye on his health.” She was definitely addressing Stan now, since Kyle had clearly relinquished responsibility for the time being, knowing Stan had him covered. Hell yeah he did. “Any further complications; if you catch the bug too and can’t take care of him, another bad sugar drop or fever spike, and you guys come right back here. But at this point, it’s looking like this is something manageable from home, fingers crossed.”

And Stan had every finger crossed. He’d take care of Kyle, just like Kyle took care of him. Even if he was kind of scared as fuck, not having seen him quite this sick since maybe college. Or even when they were kids and he needed kidney surgery. He bit the panic down. Kyle was okay.

“Gotcha. I can spend the night? Spousal rights and everything?”

“You won’t convince him not to stay if you say no,” was Kyle’s muffled reply.

The doctor laughed. “I won’t make you leave. The last thing I want is either of you worked up, especially you, Kyle. If you need your husband with you to be comfortable-“

“-mhm-“

“-that’s not a problem in my book.” She tapped her clipboard with long fingernails. “There’s a call button on the bed if you need anything between the nurses checks, and I’ll tell your friend he’s free to go. He isn’t allowed back here, I’m afraid, but I can also let him know he can be the one to pick you up in the morning, if that’s what you two want?”

Kyle mumbled something that sounded like “like a good neighbor, Tucker is there” to the tune of the state farm insurance jingle. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s pretty delirious, alright.” A couple quick checks to Kyle’s IV line and heartbeat monitor, and she was gesturing for Stan to lay his half asleep husband back down. “You boys get some rest. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks,” Stan whispered, letting Kyle nuzzle into his chest as she left the room. Once they were alone in the darkened space, he kissed him softly on the top of the head. Kyle was a space heater. But if the hospital staff wasn’t alarmed, they were okay. “I’ve got you, baby, just sleep.”

The next morning, Kyle improved enough to leave and discharge paperwork done, they faced the problem of actually getting the sick man home.

Stan waved off the nurse’s offered wheelchair and stubbornly picked Kyle up because like hell was he losing even a second of contact. That and he took pride in the fact that he was in his 40s and still able to carry his husband.

“Sir, there’s procedure…”

Kyle snorted from where his head was against Stan’s shoulder, coherent enough to be aware but still too weak to insist on, god forbid, trying to walk on his own. “Believe me, ma’am, there’s no way in hell you’re convincing this guy not to carry me. Losing battle, mark my worms- words.”

Someone needed to be home in bed.

The nurse sighed, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth argument. Thank God, because Kyle could out argue anyone normally, but he was fucking tired.

“Just sing me home again, Orpheus,” he murmured into his husband’s ear.

Stan laughed at the reference. “Alright, ma’am, so if we’re all set….”

“Yes, yes, you can go. Hope you feel better.”

Kyle only had a vague recollection of both Stan and Craig yelling at the hospital staff when they brought him in, which was kind of funny to think about. Craig didn’t get worked up about things easily, and Stan was as gentle as they came. But it was nice to know his friend and his partner were willing to act so out of character for his sake. He muttered a “hey, spaceman” in greeting when Stan lowered him into the back of Craig’s car, mid morning sun forcing him to keep his eyes closed.

Craig barked a short laugh, pulling from the parking lot when both his passengers were settled for the short drive. “Someone’s feeling better.”

“I’ll get him set to rights, kick the plague’s ass,” Stan said, softly kissing his husband’s still too warm forehead. “Thanks for picking us up, dude. And for last night.”

“No biggie,” Craig shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone had to keep a level head and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be either of you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Craig was probably the least prone to getting over emotional person Stan had ever met.

Craig’s husband, however, was the exact opposite. Upon getting home and getting up to bed, Kyle could faintly hear the frantic voice of Tweek downstairs, bringing Moose back from spending the night over at apartment two.

Kyle was nauseous, not to the point that he had been, but nauseous all the same, waiting for Stan to be done retrieving their cat and filling Kyle’s water. He felt weak as shit, and sweaty, which was probably a reasonably good indicator of his fever coming down, but it fucking sucked. And he was going to need some soup or something in him soon so his blood sugar didn’t get so bad again, which was another thing that sucked, because why do flesh prisons require so much maintenance? Why did his body require so much to function.

He didn’t realize tears were flowing until Stan entered the bedroom, hands full with the water, a KMBS, and one of those bottled protein drinks that tasted like chalk. Moose was quick to jump up and pad softly over to him, big blue eyes so worried and sweet as he curled up beside him. Kyle’s two blue eyed boys.

The second of whom was setting the drinks on the bedside table. There was a straw in each, so Kyle wouldn’t have to move as much to drink. It made him cry harder.

“Shhh, dude, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Stan climbed onto his side and grabbed the juice, holding it to Kyle’s lips. “I know you don’t feel good, that’s okay. I’ve got you. Go slow, okay?”

Kyle complied, the sharp taste of salted orange juice helping both physically and mentally. Plus, it’s hard to drink something and cry at the same time, so his breathing was a little less sporadic. A few sips were all he managed before his stomach started rolling, and he shook his head. Stan understood, setting the cup down and pulling Kyle’s face into his chest. “Just sleep, baby. I’m gonna have to check your temperature and levels in about an hour, but just sleep until then, alright?”

“Mhm.”

Stan would take care of him. Kyle would put up a fight, when he had the strength to, but Stan knew from experience that he’d be ‘secretly’ loving being cared for.

The husbands had a couple favorite positions to hold each other in. They’d hold the other from behind, arms wrapped around and poised to kiss an exposed nape or shoulder as a reminder of their presence. They would entangle themselves like they were doing now, they’d let the other’s head rest on their legs, Kyle would perch himself in Stans lap or Stan would drape over him like a blanket. Holding each other was safe. And in this moment Stan wrapped protectively around his sick partner like it was his sacred duty, one hand cradling Kyle’s head from underneath, fingers gently rubbing his hair, the other arm tucking him firmly against himself, feeling Moose’s purrs vibrating where the cat had claimed his place against Kyle’s back, right below the place Stan’s arm was wrapped around.

Stan glanced at the nightstand clock, keeping watch for the next time they’d need to wake up for a check in. About an hour and he’d get the thermometer to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, check Kyle’s levels, make them both something for, well, he supposed lunch at this point, and call the clinic to let his coworkers know that he’d be out a few days for a family emergency. He’d have to let Kyle’s work know too, before his husband tried to go into school still unwell.

Fitfully, Kyle dozed, sweating in his sleep, which Stan knew damn well he’d complain about when he woke up, but personally, he didn’t mind holding a miniature sun, because it was Kyle. Overheated, but still Kyle.

It hadn’t quite been an hour, but the warmth was starting to concern him. He gently kissed the top of his husband’s head, encouraging him to stir.

“Dude, hey.”

Kyle let out a tired whine as indication that he was awake.

“I know, baby. I just need to check your temperature and then you can go back to sleep.”

“I can check my own damn temperature,” Kyle protested, rolling over onto his back when Stan relinquished his grasp around his beloved. He scowled. “I’m all sweaty.”

Stan chuckled lowly. Was he right or was he right. “Gimme a second.”

Upon getting the thermometer and finding that they were still going in the right direction, Stan relaxed slightly. He let Kyle check both his temperature and blood sugar by himself, because it wasn’t worth the impending argument and the last thing he wanted was to make his husband feel helpless. Fever was down, but he definitely needed something to eat soon.

“Dude, do you think you can handle something solid, or you wanna keep sticking with drinks?”

Kyle hadn’t puked in a while, so he felt like maybe something simple, easy on the stomach, would be okay. As much as he wanted to keep going with the safe option of juice and a protein shake, he wouldn’t get better without something substantial in him and he knew it. “I can try. No promises.”

“You don’t need to promise anything,” Stan insisted, leaning down to kiss him on the way out of bed. “But I have an idea, if you’re okay by yourself for a few minutes.”

“Moose is with me. I’m not by myself,” Kyle remarked with a sleepy smile.

Stan snorted and went to change into jeans, last night’s pajamas not exactly ideal attire for walking to the BBQ place a block over. Kyle was weird about food sometimes, but Brendan’s mac and cheese was a simple, safe, Kyle approved bet. He’d probably want it to get cold first like he usually did (weirdo), but sick Kyle was sort of a wild card. They’d see.

“I’ll be back in fifteen, dude, drink some water.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Kyle heard the door close downstairs, slowly reaching for his water at the bedside, one hand resting on their cat’s head. Moose was stretched out along his side, fluffy tail dangling off the side of the mattress.

“You sleepy too, young nastyman?” Kyle asked, setting the bottle down and closing his eyes. Moose purred in response.

Apparently he’d drifted off again, waking up to the rustle of a takeout bag and a strong, smoky smell.

Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth. Ordinarily the smell of brisket and ribs wouldn’t bother him, but in his half asleep state, smelling meat on Stan of all people…

“…Dude?”

“FUCKING CHANGE!” Kyle screeched, staggering up to run to the bathroom, tears in his eyes because the bbq place smell all over his vegetarian husband was wrong and disorienting and he hated being sick and fevers made him sensitive and an asshole and-

Falling hard in front of the toilet, he felt his knee go out. The cherry on top of the fucking cake while his stomach tried to escape his body. Kyle cried out in pain, which was cut off immediately by a wave of sick splashing into the porcelain while he attempted to move and take the weight off his left leg, shaking and already crying because he was pissed and it hurt and he couldn’t catch a damn break. Dry heaving and spluttering, he collapsed tiredly into the alcove between the toilet and the cabinets, one trembling arm draped over the seat and the other hand clutching his knee, eyes shut tightly against the light and the nausea and pain.

“Ky, hey, hey, oh, fuck, baby, shit, did you twist your knee? Okay, you’re okay, hold on-“

Kyle leaned over to retch again, choking out “YOU SMELL WRONG” because that’s all he could manage between gasps.

Stan yanked his shirt off and threw it through the open door into the hallway, past where Moose was watching with wide eyes from the threshold. “Okay, I’m sorry, is that better? Here.” He gently eased Kyle’s hand away from his leg, carefully straightening it out. “God, yeah, it’s already swelling.”

“WHY do I have to LIVE IN THIS GODDAMN FLESH PRISON?!?” Kyle slammed his fist against the floor, frustrated beyond belief. Stan caught his hand before he could do it again.

“Shh, Ky, c’mon. You’re okay, it’s fine.”

Seeing his husband like this, sick, aggravating his bad knee mid vomit, broke Stan’s heart. But he had him. He had him and wouldn’t let go. Was that dramatic? Absolutely. But when the fuck was he not dramatic about Kyle’s health?

“THAT FUCKING STUPID ASS NURSE!” Kyle was yelling. “Sending me sick kids, thinking they were just trying to get out of class, that BITCH!”

“Baby, dude, calm down, man, breathe.”

“YOU’RE ONE TO FUCKING TALK!”

Alright, point to Kyle. Stan sighed as Kyle heaved over the toilet again, expelling nothing but water. They really needed to get something in him before he wound up needing the hospital again. Stan gently rubbed his husband’s back as he hiccuped and cried, clearly feeling betrayed by his body. A few minutes of heavy breathing, and Kyle was pulling back up. “I- I think I’m d-done.”

“Alright dude, I’m gonna get you up now, that okay?”

“Mhm”

Very, very carefully, Stan hauled Kyle from the floor, mindful not to move his knee too much and going slow in case of another bout of nausea. Moose trotted into the bedroom after his dads, obviously distressed seeing Kyle cry and immediately curling back up against the redhead when Stan set him down.

Stan was honestly a little nauseous himself, because Kyle’s frustrated tears never failed to make him emotional too. But he knew what to do here, he reminded himself. Fever was coming down, leg flare up was pretty routine, Kyle would rant it out if he had to and Stan would be his yes-man, and liquids were probably going to be the staple for the rest of the day.

He rolled up a throw blanket and propped it under Kyle’s leg, taking some strain off the irritated joint and kissing his husband’s kneecap when he did so. “You want ice, babe?”

“Yes I want fucking ice,” Kyle mumbled, arms draped over his eyes.

Stan could admit to enjoying taking care of Kyle when he fucked up his knee; pissed off Kyle was cute. “Aw, baby, I got you.” He grabbed the takeout bag from the nightstand too, not knowing if the bbq smell was lingering there too. “I’ll stick this in the fridge for when you want something solid, okay? How ‘bout another Ensure?”

Kyle grumbled something inaudible that Stan took as a yes. Poor thing was so upset. But he had every right to be, and Stan would never be annoyed at him for that.

Downstairs, he debated making his husband a smoothie, but the blender was loud, and his head probably already hurt from throwing up. Instead, he just grabbed an ice pack and a shake (strawberry, still gross but the flavor Kyle hated the least), taking the time to scribble out the nutrition information, just in case. That practice was pretty much habit at this point; he’d started ripping off or crossing out the calories on food for Kyle when they were fourteen, when his favorite person was recovering from his eating disorder, and even if he’d been more than fine for a longgggg time, Stan was prone to reverting to the past. When Kyle wasn’t okay, for whatever reason, food lore got crossed out.

“Dude, you up?”

“Mm”

“Shit, babe.” Stan knelt by the bed to carefully apply the ice, reaching a hand up to thumb away a falling tear. “You just mad?”

“Fucking pissed,” Kyle moaned. “It’s not enough that I have the goddamn plague?!? I have to have to fuck my leg up too? My parents are, like twice our age and even they don’t have fucking arthritis!” Kyle pointed two middle fingers to the ceiling as a ‘fuck you’ to god, which was actually pretty funny, but Stan didn’t laugh. That would only make his husband madder.

“Ky, c’mon.” Stan cupped under his head to kiss his cheek, relishing in the subtle smile that action brought. “And your parents didn’t shred tendons and refuse to do physical therapy.”

“I am damn well aware my goddamn arthritis is my own fault, Staniel.” But he sighed contentedly, adjusting the ice pack before leaning back against the pillows. “That helps. I’m sorry.”

Declaring the anger over for now, Stan climbed into bed beside him. “Don’t be sorry, dude. How’s your stomach?”

“I don’t fucking feel good.”

“I know, dude, can you drink a little water? We have to keep you hydrated.”

“It’ll just come back up.”

“Not necessarily.”

Moose crawled up between his dads, small furry head on Kyle’s shoulder, knowing he needed comfort. Kyle rubbed his face on the cat. “Babyman, did I scare you last night? I did, huh?”

“Dude,” Stan started, “he’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. Drink something and don’t move your leg.”

“I didn’t shred my tendons, by the way.” Kyle protested. “I just tore some shit a little.”

“Enough that it’s a problem even now.”

“See, you get it.”

Stan laughed. “Quit being a dick and go to sleep, baby. You know you’ll feel better. I’m right here, dude, whatever you need.”

“I’m not being a dick, I’m being contrary.”

“Same difference.”

“Mm.”

God, poor Kyle, pissed off, sick, having a flare up on top of everything else. “Dude, what do you need?”

“Leg hurts.”

“We have a pack on it, dude. Maybe some ibuprofen? You should take some for the fever anyway.”

“It hurts.”

Stan started to gently rub his partner’s knee. “I know, babe. I know it’s hurting.”

“I hit it on the floor.”

“I know you did.”

“Fuck this shit.”

Kyle knew he was being a total dramatic asshole, but he didn’t care. God had fucked him over; he could be a dick. That made sense. “I’m mad, dude.”

“That’s okay.”

And no he didn’t have the right to be mad. Stan was being so sweet. Always. Any time Kyle’s meat suit betrayed him and he got upset about it, Stan was there, doting and adorable as ever. “I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep.”

“Something bad’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, dude.” Stan wrapped around him, carefully. “We’re not OCD spiraling. We’re not. A little rest, alright?”

In actuality, Kyle was too tired to argue.

It had to have been a few hours when Stan felt Kyle stir against his chest, swinging over to get out of bed… and promptly falling with a loud “FUCK!”

“Ky?”

“I FUCKING FORGOT ABOUT MY GODDAMN LEG!!!”

Stan sprang off the bed then too, getting on the floor beside his hyperventilating husband. “Dude, shhh, okay, okay, straighten it out.”

Sobbing, Kyle did. “D-don’t, freak, okay? I moved it weird, that’s all.”

“It’s fine, dude. Look at me. I’m not freaking out.” He was just doing a good job hiding it. Stan hated seeing Kyle cry, emotional, probably still feverish and nauseated, trying to get up in the middle of the night and falling on his knee, just the perfect storm of fucked up shit. But Kyle needed to stay calm, above all else. “What did you need, dude? Let me help you.”

“Water,” Kyle mumbled dejectedly.

“And guess what? You have me for that.” Stan carefully felt around his husband’s leg. “Can I turn a light on?”

Kyle responded by throwing up into the trash can, which had Stan gagging too. Fuck. Honestly, he was surprised he lasted so long without sympathy puking. “Hold on, baby.”

Stan rushed to the bathroom to empty his own stomach, somehow only just noticing that he still hadn’t put a shirt on from earlier. And Kyle hadn’t said anything about him wearing “outside pants” in bed, either, which was probably the best indicator of how sick he was.

Flushing down the panic induced vomit, Stan stood and glared at his reflection while he rinsed his mouth out, gulping a few handfuls of water from the sink. He had to keep it together. He needed a plan. Okay. Get Kyle back in bed, check his temperature and blood sugar, go downstairs to fill up his water and feed Moose, go from there.

Kyle had curled up on the floor back in the bedroom, and Moose had the zoomies. Stan sighed.

“Dude, okay, let’s get up.”

“Moving sucks ass.”

“I know it does, babe, but the bed is better than the floor.”

“Quit being right,” Kyle mumbled, allowing himself to be helped back under the covers. Stan snagged his readers from the nightstand, flipping on the lamp and grabbing the thermometer too.

“Okay, melmë, let’s see.”

Kyle smiled a little. “You look like a dad.”

“I am a dad,” he reminded him. Even if he’d bemoaned needing reading glasses and his body getting softer with age, his sentimental side was happy he had made it this far in life, especially with Kyle at his side. “Our son is bouncing off the walls as we speak. Open.”

Down to 100.3, thank whoever the fuck was up there. Maybe he should be thanking Kyle’s God, not having any attachment to one of his own. When he’d first started AA and found that part of the whole thing was putting things in the hands of a higher power, he had posed the question of what to do if you weren’t particularly religious to his sponsor. Mark had said “hell, put your faith in the doorknob if you want. Got you in here, didn’t it?”

“What’s the damage?” Kyle inquired.

“Definitely better. You want to check your levels or can I?”

Kyle slowly opened his eyes. “I got it, sweetheart, you’ve been doing so much.”

“Because I want to.”

“I’m difficult.”

Stan brought Kyle’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “It so isn’t your fault that you got sick, or that you hurt your knee, or that you have diabetes. In sickness and in health, right?” Kyle’s fond grin only grew, and Stan decided to let up on the overbearingness. He snatched Moose up quickly on the cat’s next lap around the room. “I’m filling your water and feeding the dragon, okay? Be right back.”

So he had sweat out most of the fever, it seemed like. Judging by how sticky he felt, Kyle was fairly certain he was over the worst. At least in terms of the fucking stomach flu. His leg was a different story.

It was dim in the bedroom with only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the window, and the soft light from the lamp, but he could feel that he’d aggravated his knee pretty bad. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The cartilage felt like it was grinding when he shifted. Kyle groaned in frustration, debating trying to hop over to the closet for his brace, but deciding against it, because Stan would flip his lid if he saw him standing. And considering what his blood sugar was at, being vertical was a bad idea anyway.

Said husband returned to the room. “I come bearing gifts for the king!”

Dork. Freshly refilled water, a KMBS, sleeve of crackers. Stan presented the juice. “Your elixir, melda târ. And-“ he beelined for the top of the closet, clearly having read Kyle’s mind.

“Thank you, my most dutiful and trusted of knights.” Kyle let him secure the knee brace, watching as those careful, strong, gentle hands worked, as Stan leaned down to kiss his leg when he was done. His Stan. His sweet Sir Marshwalker.

“Oh, shit, dude, are you crying? Does it hurt that much?” Stan was up by his face again. Kyle shook his head.

“It’s not that; I just- I really fucking love you,” he sobbed.

“Aw, baby, come here.” Stan climbed into bed and wrapped around him again, avoiding touching his husband’s stomach or leg. A little jingle of Moose’s collar announced their boy’s return to the bedroom, a tiny *prrrt* as the cat settled back at Kyle’s side. “You’re not as warm as you were, Ky, I think you’re getting better. That’s good, my love, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Kyle murmured against him, damp eyelashes tickling Stan’s chest. “You still don’t have a shirt on.”

Stan laughed. So he had noticed. “You complaining?”

“You know I’m not.”

[deviousfatestudio]

hi it's me with the copy and paste comment i realize i could of just copy and paste “BroZones talent in a bottle” part. anyway, i have questions so heres 6.

are the bros just evil or do they have guilt and stuff?

did the bros do something to grandma to you know keep branch?

will the bros ever break out of the crazy mindset the perfect harmony put them in?

i know you mention due to branch being so young when they manage to hit the perfect harmony, he not crazy, however come he not crazy like the bros in the future did they no use it at all during Thos 20 years?

does poppy make an appearance in this at all or is it just the bros?

how long was branch trapped in the bottle was it a few months like floyd was or years?

i have more but i cant think of anything.

IM SO EXCITED HELLOOOOO

You can just call it Bottle Branch au or bottle I’ll understand 😙

1) full fledged fuckers. Under the family stability rating they’re at -45% which means the brothers are not allowed anywhere NEAR their branch or any other. (Maybe…)

2) grandma is the reason branch knows of other trolls and becomes friends with them! She managed to get away with branch for a bit and that’s how he knows of poppy and the others. Creek is who tattles to the brothers about it. (Fuck creek. All my homies hate creek)

Grandma doesn’t make it through the winter. Branch blames himself

3) so by crazy mindset I mean they kinda act like canon!velvet. They go mad with fame and power and want more and they do not. At least how I have it currently. In the multiverse fic I have in mind they’re actually the main villains.

4) branch isn’t crazy because to him he just wanted to sing with his brothers. I’m realizing now what I meant was a bit misleading

More so- the perfect family harmony really pushes emotions to a high. The brothers were all thinking different things and different emotions. JD with perfection, Floyd with wanting to be famous, clay wanting to be taken seriously, and Spruce wanting to be cared for. The family harmony kinda made those go haywire but isn’t controlling them. It just pushed them over the edge they created for themselves. Think of it like drugs… kinda

Branch however was only thinking of playing with his brothers. This is one of the main reasons that even after nearly dying he still believes his brothers mean him no harm. That boy needs so much therapy.

More family harmony means more pushing those emotions and just making them sink deeper and deeper into that hole. Branch, by the time he’s the age of canon branch, quite literally obeys his brothers every command. Spruce has actually broken his arm on multiple occasions and branch apologizes to him.

5) she does! Grandma rosie puff would bring a young branch over to play. She warned poppy to not let branch’s brothers know. Poppy didn’t understand until she saw the brothers pick up branch. Branch was bruised.

6) it’s over the course of 10 years on and off. They plan to build up stock since they know too much all at once will kill branch. They also know that branch learning from other trolls boosts the talent he gives so they have him travel around. This is where some of the other trolls we know and love start noticing some shit. Especially 4 trolls branch had been super close with. (Kismet found family is a HILL I WILL FUCKING DIE ON)

By the end of it when veneer and velvet manage to save branch with the aid of p much every other troll branch is in bad shape. All the other branch’s tend to go visit him instead of him traveling around.

Branch came to full crystallization ( but reversed back like Floyd as the brothers knew how to time it) multiple times over the course of those 10 years and THAT led to a lot of damage. He usually feels cold and tired. His energy drains quickly and his singing voice, while still beautiful, is very weak. He can barely participate in dancing and singing. Most times he can walk but there are times he can’t at all. It’s bad and the slow realization his brothers actually did mean him harm makes him lose his colors possibly. Still working it out.

Kinda thinking of having viva be the whistle blower?? Or she could be fucked up like them. Not sure.

[voydcat]

So I just finished Marie’s story in Skullgirls and all I can say is I hope Brain Drain becomes playable so I can beat him like the Powerpuff Girls did Mojo Jojo

Fuck Brain Drain. All my homies hate Brain Drain.

[spitblaze]

Headcanon ask: Cyrus

Realistic: This man's sleep schedule is abysmal. He's up at all hours of the night reading and waking up like twenty minutes before class. Going on his adventure around Orsterra was the most normal his circadian rhythm has ever been

Unrealistic but funny: Wears a nightcap to bed and has one of those candle holders and goes snork-mimimi

Sadstuck: sorry this has been in my inbox since yesterday bc i was having a hard time coming up with cyrus sadstuck, but i HAVE IT NOW, how the hell is this man gonna just go right back to teaching at Atlasdam Academy after all he's seen? After witnessing bodies drained of their blood for arcane rituals, after killing both the headmaster and Yvonne, how is he just gonna go back to his students and say that everything is normal? That everything is fine? How will he answer the questions about what happened to the previous heads of the academy? They were unquestionably, undoubtedly in the wrong. They needed to be taken down. But their blood is still on his hands. And now he just has to go back to the academy and pretend that it doesn't haunt him.

Fuck Canon All My Homies Hate Canon: One of the things about Octopath I really like is that I don't really have any parts of canon that I'm like 'im ignoring this because it sucks'. idk. I don't disagree with any of the information the story or the game gives me about Cyrus. I think he has encyclopedic knowledge of more than just bugs and mystery solving I guess idk

[slimeyslimeyballsack]

A Very Crossover Crime

Fandoms: Suite Life on Deck, Z-O-M-B-I-E-S, Criminal Minds, My Little Pony, My Babysitter's a Vampire

Written for @tom-hunter-summah

Parties that may be interested: @whatthekidscallbolt @diagnosed-crazy @calico-kiwi

Warnings: terribly ooc writing, swearing, violence, death, major character death, mentions of SA

Notes: for the sake of clarity the teens are all roughly 19/20, pronouns are whatever i want them to be, fuck bailey all my homies hate bailey, ive never seen my little pony

"Hey Erica, I don't know if this is a good idea."

Rory yelled over the noise of the wind as they flew over Washington. He only kind of knew what was going on as Erica had interrupted him in the middle of his game, announcing she was hungry before promptly leaving again. In the time after the Whitechapel explosion, something had changed between them. Maybe it was because they were the only person she knew, but Erica was choosing to be around them more and more often. Of course, she was still Erica, but the scathing comments became more lighthearted. They were truly becoming friends. Which is why Rory followed her after her surprise outburst; they knew she expected them to.

"It'll be fun. I've always wanted to try zombie blood," she tossed a wink at them as they landed.

"I just think The Council-"

"Bup bup bup. Who do you trust more, the council or me?" she fluttered her lashes.

"Well, you of course," their grin huge.

"Then let's go."

They landed just outside of Seabrook, Washington. Hopping a tall fence placed them in a rundown section of the town, decorated in scrap metal. From what they understood the town was divided into two, humans and zombies, or it was before things got complicated. It was loud and quiet at the same time. There was remarkably little wildlife. It almost unnerved Rory, though they supposed the two vamps may have spooked the local critters, instinct telling them to run and hide. On the other hand, there were voices everywhere. Some were hushed, others big and boisterous. Rory plodded along behind Erica, puppy dog posture contradictory to her cat-like posture. Her sharp eyes, looking for someone that wouldn't be missed.

After what seemed like a hundred hours of searching, well, it's hard to say Rory was searching, but, after a hundred hours of walking, they found two young men smoking a cigarette. Erica gave Rory a look, signaling the attack.

"Oh my god; this is delicious!"

Rory simply nodded enthusiastically in response.

"Now this I could get used to."

_

Two Weeks Later

"Sixteen bodies found in the last two weeks. All in Seabrook, Washington. All victims have been zombies with two puncture wounds in the neck. They were drained of blood." Hotch lectured.

"So what, we've got a vampire on our hands?" Morgan quirked an eyebrowm

Reid piped in, "Or someone who thinks they are. There's actually a popular subculture filled with people who identify as vampires. They wear fangs and sometimes even drink blood"

"Well, whatever they are they're not slowing down. The Seabrook police department has asked us to come in. They want us in by morning."

Hotch's statement signaled they were finished and he dismissed the others to get ready for their flight.

Several hours after their initial briefing, the group sat in the jet, reviewing the case. Everyone was at least two and a half cups deep into their coffee, deciphering eyes staring at the case file. Opinions being thrown back and forth.

JJ spoke up, "Look at the bruising around the neck. It almost looks like-"

"Hickeys," Morgan quirked his eyebrows at the realization.

"According to the autopsy report, the bodies showed no sign of sexual assault. They declared that the bruises were from strangulation." Rossi added, not entirely believing the statement, simply trying to relay it.

Emily, unhappy with this answer, kept on. "Yeah, but I think they might be misidentifying them. Look at the layout of the bruises. Does that look like a human hand to you?"

"It very well could be a misidentification," Reid spoke slowly, eyebrows furrowed as he flipped back and forth between the photos of the victims. "Understanding of zombie biology is very limited. In fact, humans in Seabrook didn't start interacting with them until the "Z-Band" was invented in 1985, and hardly at all beyond that until 2020 after an act passed allowing zombie children to attend regular high school."

"So you're telling me we're working off of nothing?" Morgan said, exasperated.

"Well, not nothing. Look at the puncture wounds on the victims. They're different sizes. That, coupled with the fact that the victims are killed in pairs..."

"We're looking at partners," Rossi finished for Reid.

_

"Now kiddos, before you get off the boat I want to remind you that we're only staying here for a couple days. Don't forget the buddy system, and please be back on the boat by..."

Miss Tutweiller trailed off, the group already having left her sight.

"I can't believe she's still calling us kiddos. We graduated a year ago," Cody remarked.

"Yeah, well maybe if you stopped acting like one she would. I mean, look at that fanny pack," Zack pointed out.

"I'll have you know that this fanny pack—"

"Would you two shut up? You're both acting like kids," Bailey sniped.

Zack, Cody, Woody, and Bailey walked around the Main Street square of Seabrook, Washington. It was abnormally barren, considering the gorgeous weather. Only a few lonely bodies walked the streets. Most of them were people from the ship. Actually, looking at it Cody realized they were all people from the ship.

"Ooh, frozen yogurt. I hope they have double seaberry swirl," Woody grinned excitedly.

They ducked into the frozen yogurt shop, relieved to find at least someone from the town occupying it: A teen couple, a gray-skinned, green-haired boy across the table from a white-haired girl with healthier-looking skin. They looked frightened if she was being honest. That is until a hand was shoved into their faces.

"Well howdy there. I'm Bailey. Wah wah wah. Wah wah."

She continued introducing them. She was speaking. He was sure of it.

"So you haven't heard," the girl, Addison, spoke.

"There's been murders here in Seabrook. Everyone's scared out of their minds."

If murder wasn't enough to make her jump out of her seat then murders plural sure was.

"Hehe. What?" Zack chuckled nervously, mouth left open, hand hanging loosely in half protest.

"That's it! I'm out of here, seaberry swirl or not!" Woody ran from the parlor.

Zack followed after him, "Hey, Woody. Wait—"

He was cut off abruptly after running into something. Or someone, it would appear. It was a blonde guy about his age, a little shorter than him.

"Well, hello there good lookin'," Zack smirked.

"Well, don't you look tasty," came another voice.

A blonde girl was standing beside him, their tongue gliding across their lower lip as they studied Zack.

"Wow, double babe alert."

"I'm Erica, and this is my..." the girl did a once over on the guy next to her, "friend, Rory." Rory gave him a grin.

"I'm Zack."

"You know Zack, it's not safe to be out here all alone," Erica dragged her finger down his arm, "Things are pretty scary around here."

Zack, only slightly distracted by the touch, responded, "Aha, but I'm not alone. I've got my pal Woody with me," he looked around, "Woody?"

"You were saying?"

"Zack, there you are. Why did you run off like that? Didn't you hear what that girl said? People are getting murdered. Where's Woody?"

Cody quickly interrupted the tension. Whether or not that was for the better, Zack couldn't tell yet.

"You guys look a little lost," Erica said, eyeing up Cody and Bailey, "Let us show you around. We can help you find your friend."

Bailey spoke some words of confirmation, and Erica pushed herself between Bailey and Cody, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders. Rory placed themself next to Zack, and they began walking.

_

Hotch stood in front of the entire Seabrook police department. He despised their demeanor, how little they seemed to care about the nightmarish events happening beneath their noses. As if every zombie in this town could be killed and they still wouldn't give a damn. The whole town was just a tad too cheery, the pastel exterior simply a facade, hiding terrible horrors inside. Something was off, but he couldn't tell what. He cleared his throat, gathering the attention of the room.

"You're looking for a pair: a man and a woman between the ages 18 and 25. They are going to be very close to each other, possibly siblings or partners. They are incredibly loyal to each other and will die before turning the other in. The woman is going to be the dominant partner. She is calling all of the shots," Hotch finished presenting the profile and stepped off the podium.

"You think they'll listen?" Rossi asked.

"I'm not sure."

"They don't seem too interested in catching these guys," Emily added.

"We need to be out there. We need to be doing something," Morgan said.

"No. We've been instructed to stay at the station. We are going to stay at the station," Hotch retorted.

Morgan stormed off. He found a bench outside of the station and sat on it. Huffing, he picked up his cell phone.

"Babygirl, what can you tell me about Seabrook."

_

"Erica! What are we going to do? There's police everywhere. I can't go to jail!"

Rory was panicking. The other three had all needed to use the bathroom and Rory had taken the time to panic.

"Relax; they're on our side remember?"

Erica placed a soft grip on her shoulder, physically comforting her but still giving a look that said 'Dude, duh'.

"Oh. Right," Rory chuckled embarrassedly.

"Now as soon as the cops get here, Bailey and Cody are going to attack us, and the cops are going to arrest them, and then we get to go home with some major cash in our pockets," they winked at her.

"Well, not home."

Even Erica seemed a little dejected at that statement. She missed Whitechapel. She missed Sarah. It had been three years. Three years of wandering. The two had never really assimilated into the group, always kind of outsiders, never making any real friends.

Erica noticed several officers loitering, several with hands hovering their weapons.

"Hey guys I—"

Bailey and Cody quickly grabbed Rory and Erica, bearing their teeth. There was a look of fear in both of their eyes. What the fuck was going on?

"Help!" Erica screamed. The two began to let out cries.

"What are you doing?" Cody whispered. "How are you doing this?"

Erica looked at her and gave a small grin before continuing her yelling. The police officers, now aware of the situation raised their weapons, pointing toward the scene.

"Step away from them and put your hands in the air," an officer shouted.

Erica released her hold on Cody, panting slightly, two people under her control was pushing her limit. Cody quickly removed herself from Erica, taking several steps back, hands in the air.

"Ma'am, step away from the man."

Bailey opened her mouth and—bang! Bailey crumpled to the ground.

"Bailey!" Cody screamed. He fell to his knees, sobbing.

The police took the opportunity to run in, cuffing Cody before lifting her, dragging her across the pavement before they pushed her into the back of the car.

_

Zack stared, horrified at what had just happened. Cody and Bailey had attacked Erica and Rory. Why did they do that? Why did they do that? Why didn't Bailey let go when the police showed up? Why did she try to bite Rory? Bailey was dead. They shot her. He watched it happen. He didn't do anything. He just sat and watched. What the hell happened? It was a blur as the three of them were escorted to the station for witness statements. He had half a mind to think that there should've been an ambulance, but he didn't have the voice to ask why there wasn't. Where was Woody? He hadn't seen him since the yogurt shop. He noticed, not only the police as they entered the station. Is that the FBI? They sat him at a table in an interrogation room. He was given some water and snacks.

"Now son," an officer sat in front of him, "tell me what happened."

"My friends attacked those guys."

In the lobby, Erica and Rory were talking to another officer.

"Well done, you've done much to help with our little zombie problem. You two can go ahead and go home."

Erica gave Rory a high five and a grin. "Let's go home."

A bright purple light flashed just outside of Seabrook. Twilight Sparkle looked around at her friends and their new human forms. They had made it to Seabrook. "Come on everypony; there's a friendship crisis that needs solving!"

End.

[wifegideonnav]

well i… finished act 5 act 2. gonna have to rewatch cascade a bunch of times and probably read the act summary on the wiki but i have officially reached the end of the act

still enjoying it a lot but it’s getting harder and harder to read. summing up a rant i gave my friend, i’m not super in love with the sense of predestined futility - or more accurately, i don’t feel that the narrative has properly addressed that yet and justified why i should be reading about these characters who were like 100x doomed from the start.

there are so many characters and so much happening that nothing is lingered upon, which is nice pacing-wise but not so nice emotional-impact-wise. i also think the “everybody dies a bajillion times and it’s fine until all of a sudden it’s not” thing works against it in a sense, especially when the narrative doesn’t stop to mourn anyone who’s actually dead, bc by the time you realize hey wait maybe like. vriska or dad or feferi/nepeta/equius etc are dead for real it’s been like 200+ pages and you’re like well ok. what do i do here exactly.

and i know that that’s an intentional choice hussie made for how he wanted to craft his narrative - im wishing for things that he deliberately chose not to give. im not trying to say that these choices are flaws in his writing, just that as an audience member i tend to prefer the tlt method of dealing with death, where one main character dies and then the entire next book is about another ripping herself apart because of it.

im not giving up by any means, or even saying that this is what’s dominating my reading experience. like i said im still enjoying myself and appreciate most of the creative decisions that hussie is making. it can just feel very draining i suppose, watching these characters i’ve come to care about - almost all of whom are literal children - fighting so hard so futilely, and so far, imo the narrative hasn’t paid that off. however, with that out of the way, here are (some of, bc this shit was long as hell) my thoughts on the act, more or less in order:

i have literally no interest in johnkat. probably partially bc my friend is so into davekat that ive been conditioned to just wait for that to happen but also bc they have no chemistry. sorry to any johnkat shippers out there but idc it’s boring

i have slightly more but still negligible interest in john/vriska. probably bc i… don’t really care about john. sorry to any john stans out there but idc he’s boring

karkat and terezi sharing a keyboard to argue my beloved

rose my beloved. but also. sweetie :/

vriska my beloved. but also. SWEETIE :/

kanaya my beloved. you’re doing great no notes

oh yeah dave and terezi manipulated the stock market. still don’t 100% understand that but whatever good for them

yeah ok the dream bubbles. christ. like ok i GET it but they’re still annoying

i love jade’s dynamic with karkat she really goes from “teehee im just a silly little girl haha” to “im going to eviscerate this motherfucker”

bec prototyping himself was genuinely such a good reveal

is it just me or is john's power like. way lamer than the other kids' lmao. like it's still cool, def better than nothing, but come on

not too much to say abt the exiles but i love them

also with all the fucking timeline bullshit that's going on i literally can't wait to reach the end and reread with the uhsc mod that lets you follow a specific person's timeline. i canNOT keep track of what's happening when for who

it is literally so funny that vriska has been the cause of jade's narcolepsy this entire time. like wow girl you really took the opportunity to be a massive dick to her huh

LET'S BE SANTA

frogs. ok sure. why not.

fuck doc scratch all my homies hate doc scratch. i will say though. he is a fantastic character.

holy shit eridan and gamzee snapping and killing like everyone. that was buckwild what the fuck. not gonna lie idc that equius is dead, and nepeta, feferi, and tavros were never my faves. but got damn it sucks that they're dead. (ostensibly. still not one thousand percent convinced)

sad karkat :(

murderous kanaya :D

WV "DRIVING" AHHHH

oh god the ancestors. sorry but i simply do not care about that shit. like i know that they're actually relevant but. :/

also i don't like the trope of chains of events being echoed across generations. like damn get your own plot. also it ties into that determinism and futility that i'm grappling with

i will say though. mindfang mentally thanking redglare for taking her arm because then her battle against his honorable tyranny because it made it "a fair fight"? hot. i'm brave enough to say it.

aradia is cool as fuck. i wish we got more of her/her personality

aradia's ancestor is also cool as fuck. sucks that literally nothing she did to resist her fate worked or mattered

the scratch stuff is genuinely interesting narratively/in terms of a plot device. again it still sucks that the beta kids aren't actually going to get to win the game themselves. like i assume they'll be talking to/guiding the alpha kids but like. god it's so unfairrr i bet there'll be angst about this

rose going grimdark is so fun. also LMAO john trying to chat with her in that flash game portion

TEREZI god i love her. sucks that she killed vriska tho bc i love her and also i ship them. oh well murder is not necessarily a roadblock to them getting together. troll romance sure is weird. i have hope in my heart.

vriska isn't dead forever bc no she isnt <3

the betty crocker shit. is funny. and also stupid as hell.

SAD KARKAT :((

ok i guess the stuff about karkat's ancestor and the history of the troll race is kinda interesting. whatever.

everyone's in love/hate with gamzee all of a sudden?? literally why. troll romance sure is FUCKING confusing

that was a pretty anticlimactic climax to the gamzee situation, gotta say

cascade was confusing as fuck i don't have thoughts on it yet

so yeah that's it! if you're still reading, why? let me know what your thoughts on act 5 act 2 were when you read it, or your thoughts on my thoughts lol. just pls no spoilers for anything past cascade!!

[beelsbignaturals]

Dead is the New Alive

A/N: Happy birthday to me!!! To celebrate being a dramatic pisces, I've decided to finally post this super self-indulgent self insert MC fic! It's definitely a work in progress but the intended audience is literally me and whoever is unfortunate enough to stumble across this. Big thank you to Aki for helping with literally everything ily homie! Yes the first scene is low-key a songfic. The song is What Will I Remember by Emilie Autumn if you want to give it a listen. Title is also an Emilie Autumn song. Guess what album I listened to while writing lmao. Anyways enjoy!

___________________________________________

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, character death (ish), teeth, strong language

___________________________________________

What will I remember?

"Does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I'm sure it must be very unpleasant." The sadistic ass was taunting me. Quite literally adding insult to injury

What will I forget?

I did all this because I saw how much this family was hurting and this is the thanks I get?Someone laughing over me as the life drains from my eyes? After I go through all of this bullshit some stupid demon thinks he has every right in the world to end my life?

Honestly, if I didn't have claws tearing into my throat while this asshole is crushing my windpipe, I'd probably be tempted to smack that stupid grin off his face. Unfortunately, I'm in survival mode.

When this life is ending and gone

Fine. You want to kill me? I came into the world screaming and covered in someone else's blood. I plan on leaving the same way. It's game time, bitch.

What will I regret?

The next few moments are a blur of flailing limbs. One particularly well-timed kick sends me falling to the floor. Not risking it, l don't bother to catch my breath. Breathing is secondary. I need to run.

If tomorrow I don't wake up, what happens?

Moonlight shines through a nearby window like a beacon. Here goes nothing.

My sunrise, or sunset?

One foot in front of the other. Just keep running. He's behind you. Keep going. Almost there..

If I never were born

Fuck. Strong arms grab me, stopping any chance of escape. No. It's not over. I'm so close. I sink my teeth into the nearest thing I can find. Not letting go until I hear a sickening crunch followed by a string of curses. Name another human who took a chunk of flesh out of a demon's hand. I'll wait.

If I never died

Last shot. Come on. Somehow, I find the strength to launch myself out the window. Glass tears my arms to ribbons, but l'm flying and l'm free. Eat your heart out, Sally Hardesty.

Would it even matter at all?

All too soon, I collide with the pavement, knocking what little air I had left out of my lungs. I drag my bloodied body along, rocks and broken glass digging into my palms. I keep going until I physically can't move.

What should I decide?

Hopefully this will buy me enough time for someone to realize what happened. I mean. They wouldn't let me die, right? If even Belphegor was right and they didn't give a shit about me.. at the very least Lucifer wouldn't want the exchange program to be a failure. It would mess with Diavolo's plans. I'm not dying.

I always imagined I'd mean something to

someone

At least that's what I try to convince myself. The blood loss would beg to differ. But. I'll be okay. I'm sure magic will fix me up in no time. Just stay awake until help arrives. I try to focus on all the things I'll miss if I fall asleep. Late night nacho shenanigans with Beel. Watching Legally Blonde with Asmo. Helping Mammon hide from Lucifer. Kicking Levi's ass at DevilKart. All these precious moments that I'd hate to never experience again.

If I won't, 'least I tried

I'm fading in and out of consciousness. Time feels funny. Everything is in brief snippets. After what could have been hours or minutes. I register someone speaking. It doesn't sound familiar. Pressure on my chest. Sharp pain in my neck. Belphegor must've caught up with me. I wait for more torture but it doesn't come. Just a strange numbness. Decorating cakes with Luke. Feeding stray cats with Satan.

When my body suffers

So much yelling. It's too loud. I think I'm being moved? That's Mammon's voice! I did it. I'm safe. Why is he crying? They can fix me, right? It's too cold. Maybe not.

When to breath is pain

Levi is here, too! Maybe.. no. He's crying too. Oh. I guess this is it. At least I'm not alone.

Is it really madness to think

I try to reach for the nearest person. Maybe I can will someone hold my hand? No, that just made them move more. Don't leave me! Please.

Think of breaking this chain?

"Lucifer, get yer ass out here," He's staying. Thank fuck.

Is the future mine?

"Alaura, can you hear me?" After a failed attempt at nodding my head, which honestly just hurts way too much, I opt to try again to find Mammon's hand. This time, I'm actually successful.

It's kind of funny how, despite the fact I lay here dying, this is the most alive and real I've felt in a long time. These last few months have been spent on autopilot. Honestly, I didn't really believe any of it was real. I suppose death has a sobering effect.

God knows I have a past

So much commotion. So many voices. Not like I can understand much of what they are saying. Not when it all blurs together. I hold onto Mammon like a lifeline. Which, I suppose he is.

Where's my second chapter?

It seems they decide it is in everyone's best interest to not leave me lying on the ground in the middle of the night. That would be great if not for the fact they have to move me.

Or will the first also be my last?

The gaping throat wound is, understandably, not fucking pleasant. When strong arms lift me off the pavement, I struggle with energy I didn't know I had left. Kicking and screaming until it feels like my vocal cords are fried.

Is my story over if I fall asleep?

"I know, I'm sorry." The second born whispers, rings digging into my skin. Or maybe that's more glass. Regardless, he cradles my head against his chest, minimizing any movement that would further irritate my injuries.

Would anybody find me?

Crashing can be heard throughout the house. Part of me hopes Belphegor falls through a window too. Just for a small taste of his own medicine.

And would anybody weep?

With that pleasant thought, sleep takes over

I can't even pretend I care

But songs I'll never sing

Well, that means something

Yes, that means something

The next few days are spent in relative darkness. I can't see but I hear everything. It's like a strangely pleasant sleep paralysis. Plus I'm never alone for long. Asmo sits beside me, gently plucking glass from my skin, cleaning wounds of any dirt, and using a cloth to wet my lips and prevent dehydration. I get a whole manicure while he tells me about how I "got Belphie good". Apparently the majority of the dried blood stuck under my nails isn't even mine.

If it's not Asmo, it's Mammon. Half of the time he's moaning about how stupid I am. The rest is spent begging me to wake up. I try to find a way to tell him I'm right here. I'm awake. But I'm frozen in place. I don't think I've ever heard him cry this much.

Occasionally, Satan will pay a visit. Reading the Odyssey to keep me entertained. He's also the only one to update me on what's actually going on. From his visits, I can gather that I had a second attacker, not just Belphegor. The plot thickens. I barely have time to process that before learning said bitch was a vampire. This whole paralysis was just the beginning of my transformation.

Yeah, that's a hard pill to swallow.

I'm not left to think on it long. It turns out that one of the only two humans in the Devildom disappearing off the face of the earth does not go unnoticed. Doubly so when it comes to the resident angels.

With that in mind, I suppose it's not really a surprise that Luke all but breaks into the House of Lamentation, demanding to know what those horrible demons have done.

It'd be sweet if not for the little fact the second he got within ten feet of me, it feels like my bones are melting. You could tell me the air has turned to boiling water and I'd believe you.

His tiny body rushes into the room, grabbing my arm. "Oh, Alaura! Don't worry, I'll save you!"

I can only scream in agony as my flesh sizzles in his grasp. Shocked, Luke grabs my face before he gets a fucking clue. Cute kid, not the sharpest crayon in the box.

The pain of it all causes my eyes to open for the first time in days. I can hardly register the blinding light coming from the hallway. Just that this poor kid, who is, granted, older than I will ever be, starts sobbing out apologies as he stumbles backwards.

Smoke comes off my skin in waves, right where the tiny handprints sit. What is happening?

Poor Luke is dragged away, crying while half a dozen demons pour into my room.

Were they always this loud? I can't process the million different voices all speaking at once. It feels like all the small noises are worming their way into my head and eating my brain from the inside out. Footsteps sound like gunshots. The sound of fabric rustling makes me want to rip my hair out. It's too fucking loud.

Eventually catching on, Lucifer orders everyone to let me rest. He carefully applies some sort of ointment to my injuries before following suit. Alone in the dark I can finally begin to piece together what happened.

Belphegor killed me. Or tried to. Someone else swooped in to finish the job. But that's besides the point. Belphegor tried to kill me. It seems the others don't hate me enough to want me dead. Or at the very least are keeping up appearances. I'm not sure where my attempted killer is but I haven't seen or heard about them since that night.

Right... how long has it even been? I'll have to ask when someone comes around again. Knowing my housemates it won't be long before someone sneaks back into my room. Lucifer be damned.

Next order of business... apparently I'm a vampire? Not the most outlandish thing I've seen during my time in the Devildom but it's certainly up there. All I really know is from what Satan's told me and whatever I can find in my notes on Devildom history. Based on what the textbooks say, vampires are extinct in Hell. So how did this happen?

Only one way to find out and I need the facts before I let myself have a crisis. I guess the textbooks are a good starting point. Ignoring my protesting muscles, I drag myself out of bed to find any information I can.

Blah blah due to the vampire population rising at unprecedented rates and the threat to lower level demons, the King called upon the royal army to deal with the infestation.

Infestation? So I'm vermin now?

Startled by sudden pain in my jaw, my mouth opens in a silent gasp. Crimson blood drips onto the page. Just a few specks at first, but before long, I'm nearly choking as the liquid spills from my mouth.

Frantic, I run through the halls. Not particularly caring about the trail of blood I leave in my wake. Thank fuck no one is in the bathroom.

I lock the door behind me. Muscle memory. Before dashing to the mirror.

Holy shit. Maybe I'm not dead but I sure as hell look it. My body is littered with healing cuts, not to mention the two angry handprints that scorched my skin. Then there's my throat. It's healed somewhat but the mangled flesh has barely begun to scar. Honestly, it doesn't look like something I should've survived.

Fuck. The dull throbbing in my mouth turned sharp once again. Mouth opened as wide as I can manage, I try to inspect the affected area, but God, there's so much blood - I hear the small clink of something hitting the ceramic.

Holy shit. No. This isn't... this can't be happening. I'm hyperventilating as I force myself to look down. There's no way that...nope my entire tooth is sitting in the sink. Cool.... this is just great. I'm. I'm just hallucinating. Or something. That's the only explanation. Maybe I ate Solomon's cooking. That could be it. Food poisoning. Really bad food poisoning.

"Alaura?" A low voice interrupts my manic train of thought. "Alaura, please... open the door."

I don't even bother trying. I can hardly hold myself upright. Who's laughing? Is that my voice? Shit. I'm on the floor. When did that happen? The edges of my vision are fuzzy and dark. When I close my eyes, all I can see is a startling picture of my tooth. A small amount of gum is still hanging on for dear life. Much more blood than what could be considered healthy framing it like some grotesque work of art. Shit. My head hits the cold tile, and I'm watching as the door shakes on its hinges. Maybe I should've locked it.

Once again I wake up, tucked snugly in my bed. This time, however, I can spot a certain white-haired demon curled up on my floor, snoring softly. Cute but there is no way that's comfortable. I can see the dark circles and irritated skin, most likely raw from crying.

For a moment I'm transported back to simpler times. Mammon breaking into my room after a night at the casino, ranting about how "shits rigged", before passing out. Usually I'd shove a pillow under his head and throw a blanket over him before going to bed myself. Maybe even play with his hair. It's soft as hell but I know he'd complain if I did it while he was awake. I even got a beanbag chair at one point so his spine doesn't riot. With such a mundane scene, I can almost pretend things are normal.

Almost. When I poke at the tooth causing me grief earlier, I find it is longer and sharper than I remember. No. No. No. No.

"Mammon," I hiss. "Mammon wake up."

He wakes with a start, rubbing sleep from his eyes before jumping into action.

"You're up!"

I nod slowly. Knees hugged to my chest. "Is this real?"

With a sigh he plops down on my bed, walking me through complex math problems until I know without a doubt my subconscious could never make that up.

Teary-eyed, I stare at Mammon before I finally speak again. Talking feels strange with a killer toothache and one fang.

"What now?"

[thegravygirl]

FUCK BEEF GRAVY, ALL MY HOMIES HATE BEEF GRAVY

Ok but seriously chicken gravy is good, it's got a nice taste and doesn't clump up in annoying ways and MAKES SENSE, beef GRAVY made me pour my cup down the fucking drain toilet.

Chicken gravy is good as a dunking sauce too, with bread, toast, wraps and I wouldn't be surprised if it went with starchy stuff like potato's.

Chicken gravy can also be mixed in with stuff like chicken stock cubes to add a new element to the flavouring.

Now before all the gravy purists come out the woodwork and say "Are you even using real gravy??? You must be using store bought stuff!!!" I AM, DEAL WITH IT! PURITY CULTURE IS THE DEATH OF ART AND IT SHANT TAINT MY GRAVY! I also don't have the time, nor willpower or the knowhow to make gravy from scratch and I'm fine with that. Also if you damn go "but does it go good with chicken??" "Isn't it just meant for chicken??" If blood was only good for sending oxygen to your body, it would not stain love letters pages.

[redtail-lol]

2, 6, 11, 18 for the ask game

2. I ain't counting but probably about a month. I either made it in late march or early-mid April

6. I do! A silly little cat named Brazy (we did not name him that)

11. I don't fit into either. I don't have a social battery that drains and I fucking love hanging out with the people I know but I also fucking hate talking to anyone I've never met before and/or am not close with like it's physically painful.

18. I do, and my favorite book is Crookedstar's Promise. I love the Warriors franchise, and Crookedstar's Promise was a real great one. I think it had the best presence of Mapleshade as a villain, and I like the journey Crookedstar goes on. I didn't like Stormkit in the beginning but that's not a bad thing, we get to see how this doted on child who was slightly unlikable changed due to the way he was treated after his injury. Seeing him be vulnerable after suddenly being shown such cruelty was pretty sad, and fuck Rainflower all my homies hate Rainflower.

[minhkhoas]

somehow i think the time people spent waiting for destiel to be canon is shorter than the time states have taken to count their fucking votes

[asbestosenjoyer]

bro I cannot wait for these tubes to be out my armpits!!!!

[artificialstrontium]

dsmp finale spoilers, discussion of abuse

Ok so this rambling might be a tad unorganized but here’s my thoughts: The ending has been worked on for a long while now, so it’s not to say that it’s rushed. But seeing other’s reactions, it didn’t come across or land right, a miscommunication on the writer’s end (as I know people have been very vocal about making sure Tommy knows what a character like this means). 

That was a tragic ending. I know cc Tommy said he wanted his character to have a soft ending, and surface level it is that (having a do-over without pain is a wonderful thought, no?), but i can see why people are upset over a victim coming to an understanding and even unknowingly starting a friendship with his abuser, as well as spending his last moments believing he was just as in the wrong as his actual fuckin abuser. These topics deserve respect when handling on account of everyone whose reality is like c!Tommy’s. And there’s no way Tommy messing around at the start is equivalent to the pain inflicted on him by c!Dream ( & c!Dream planting evidence against c!Tommy before the house burning?helloo??). I’ve seen people say maybe what Tommy was going for was leaving his character’s character good and intact, like a superhero movie, or others pointing out that understanding isn’t necessarily forgiveness. Unfortunately, superhero movies don’t always equate perfectly to real life, people don’t always get the choice to do that or take the morally high road, whatever that is. 

Also from Tubbo’s POV, that’s not a fun ending! He tried so hard and failed to reach his friend in time, and all he could do was wait for the inevitable (not that c!Tubbo was ever guaranteed a good ending). Not to mention there’s loose ends everywhere. (can be taken into account IRL reasons for those loose ends, such as cc’s getting back to their normal lives after quarantine and that stall)

It can be said that stories can have tragic endings, some stories are made to make the reader uncomfortable so they check their understanding of the world (still, fuck Brave New World, me an my homies hate Brave New World). Some stories have a terrible or tragic ending of a season, have a hiatus, and roll right into a new one, which is where some cc’s are probably thinking in terms of lore (off the top my head, SPN season 5 bc it genuinely was supposed to end there and some of the middle seasons of GOT). But I think to the cc’s themselves, it’s also worth pointing out having too much of one thing (c!Tommy being a victim of abuse and never really getting a lasting win, unresolved things with other characters now that we know what happens to the DSMP) is draining to a lot of people in this audience, and that many people have been hoping for a good place to leave off before hopping to other fandoms. 

It can also be said the DSMP was never guaranteed a good ending, writing-wise or feelings-wise (I'll argue there’s a difference), taking in the fact it started out not as a story-based thing.

I’m generally a positive person, so what I’m choosing to do is stick around, wait for that alt stream because cc Tommy said earlier he’d chat about c!Dream being a fucking nightmare of a person. I’ll see what they do for volume two (because it can’t be all if “the dsmp will return” and “This is not the end...” is to be believed), if it’s a complete memory wipe situation or if they slowly regain memories (I can’t be sure, but c!Tubbo calling c!Tommy cheese-haired makes me have hope someone remembers or they’ll do something with that). (For the sake of transparency I will also say that honestly a lot of this writing piece is me making sense of that ending and trying to distract that it made me feel a bit ill).

I’m sorry to the people who were sticking around for just this ending before leaving, I’m sorry you are going on such a bitter note, and I’m genuinely sad for the people whose pain is renewed with an ending like that. 

The DSMP means a lot to me, as someone who’s been watching since before it was a month old. I’ve seen people say this, so I’ll say it here too, but these characters, their stories, also belong to us, the fans. The writers can write whatever ending they want, but in the end, if what you want to take away from a story is just the characters and their middle journey, and continue creating because you loved that part only, all the power to you! If any of that makes sense, lol. 

[clownbasedintrigue]

you've gotta be fucking kidding me there was a GECKO in my dishes