#grub fever

[mrthful]

dam wut we do now..

i love.. this lil guy… i wanna put him in a lil grub wrap like a lil napsacks.. hes jus.. so small i love him hes so tinyy gfuckjgbmfnv no one understands yhe pure love i have for this tiny little grub

(terezi got puked on by him.. hashtag not my problem)

[bug-decal-kissing]

Hey friends!

Seraphyllic, by DrakianDH, was updated today, with 13/20 Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, And Major Character Death, with additional tags "scarab the god auditor - Freeform, prismo the wishmaster - Freeform, Priscrab, ProhibitedWish, Scrabby, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, no beta we get turned to legos like the lich, Adventure & Romance, Story within a Story, Eventual Happy Ending, Maybe - Freeform, Author Is Sleep Deprived, The Author Regrets Nothing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, You gotta work for the comfort, begining poem important, each chapter a word, prepare"

You can read it here:

Wrath of the Wishmaster, by Void_Ink_Studios, was updated today, with 13/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Teen And Up Audiences and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Scarab has identity issues, Orbo is the worst, Prismo gets mad, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Chronic Pain, Scarab has Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, Reminiscing, Backstory, Filling in gaps in the worldbuilding, Worldbuilding, Head cannon nonsense: GO!, Original Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Implied Sexual Content, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms"

You can read it here:

This chapter is also on Tumblr ! You can read it here :].

NSFW works are below the cut :].

A new work, Grub Fever by Sh1pp1ng_Gr3ml1n, was published today, with 1/1 Chapters released! It is Not Rated and Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, with additional tags "ProhibitedWish, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Banter, they’re happily in love, They’ve already been together for at least a thousand years at this point, Implied Smut, Bug anatomy, But nothing too revealing, just mentions of it, One Shot, Short One Shot, i am cringe but i am free, Is this out of character for them??, probably, but I wrote it anyways, goddamnit"

You can read it here:

Nirmata, by DatWheatleyBoi, was updated today, with 8/15 Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and Graphic Depictions Of Violence, with additional tags "Post-Canon, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Character Study, Prohibitedwish is real, Action/Adventure, Detectives, Slow Romance, Adventure time but for gods, Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Mild Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death"

You can read it here:

The Ghostwriter, by Irina_94, was updated today, with 3/? Chapters released! It has a rating of Mature and No Archive Warnings Apply, with additional tags "Alternate Universe - Human, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Prismo needs a huge, References to Depression, Anxiety, Grief/Mourning, Trigger warnings when necessary"

You can read it here:

[skenpiel]

its actuallly supposed to be their right eye but for the sake of the bit.i changed it temporarily

[crazysodomite]

Grubs give me baby fever. I want to take care of a giant grub. I wish it never grew up and stayed a baby forever

[bitchin-beskar]

the taste of scotch and cigars - chapter two

Rating: M

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!Reader

Warnings: relatively light for this chapter in terms of sexy content, but I'm keeping the M rating for the story. fake dating trope, but make it marriage instead, hints of exhibition kink, hints of voice kink, absolute fucking douchebag of an ex, mentions of cheating, descriptions of an abusive relationship.

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: once again I am thirsting for Captain John Price. I have been thinking about this story nonstop, and I've finally had the motivation to write more for it! I was originally going to make this a much slower burn, but I am impatient so we will be getting to the sexy times much faster than expected. in the meantime, enjoy this chapter!

Oh.

Well, if you weren’t flustered before, you certainly were now.

Your teeth began to worry your lower lip out of nervousness, and your stranger, John, stepped closer, letting go of your hand to bring his thumb up, gently pulling the flesh of your lip from between your teeth.

“None’a that, love,” he murmured, his eyes going dark in a predatory kind of way that made your breath stutter. “There we go.”

God, this man made it damn near impossible for you to think, every sense you had consumed by the gorgeous specimen of perfection in front of you. Seriously, there was no way he could be real.

He seemed reluctant to separate from you, and before you could try to contrive some way to ask for his number or something out of pure desperation, he offered you that out.

“Have you eaten, princess?”

You shook your head. You’d been too nervous to eat for tonight, and then at the bar all you’d had were your vodka sodas, something you’d be sure to regret in the morning if you didn’t try to offset the incoming hangover with food.

“If you just wanna go home, I understand, but if you’re interested, I know a place not too far with some pretty good grub.”

It took you a few tries to respond, but you finally managed it, a semi-steady “alright,” making it’s way past your lips as he grinned and gently took you by the elbow and began to steer you down the street once again.

A comfortable kind of silence fell over the two of you as you walked. You took in the area, having been far too frazzled to really pay attention on your way to the pub this afternoon. You’d only been living here for a few months, and there was still a lot you had to get used to. Liverpool wasn’t large, but it was still a stark difference from the southern United States, where you’d been raised.

John’s hand left your elbow, but before you had a chance to mourn it’s loss, his palm settled in the small of your back, just the slightest bit of pressure to direct you, but not any more. You could feel the heat of his skin through your shirt, like a brand. Not for the first time, you wondered what the hell was going on with tonight. Everything felt like a fever dream, and you were half afraid you’d wake up in your bed to find it had all been conjured up by your mind. You decidedly did not think about how devastated you’d be if that were true.

The small little hole-in-the-wall John was taking you to came into view as you rounded the corner. It looked… well, charming, for lack of a better word. You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting, but this looked like the kind of place you’d try on your own, just because it looked interesting.

John held the door open for you and you ducked inside, taking in the cozy atmosphere. Like the outside suggested, it wasn’t a very large place, maybe half a dozen tables and the same amount of booths, and a bar along one wall. The exposed brick walls and exposed wooden rafters gave the whole restaurant a rustic feel, and soft strains of guitar music floated down from the speakers. John led you towards a booth at the back, the two of you sliding onto the plush, well worn leather seats opposite each other. In the soft golden lighting of the lamp over your booth, you could admit that your earlier estimation of John’s apperance wasn’t quite accurate. The man embodified pure sin, the kind of beauty the preachers in church swore that only angels could achieve, which meant John Price, mortal as he was, couldn’t be anything but the Devil.

You might’ve argued that he could’ve been an angel in human form, but no angel would’ve kissed you the way he did not even half an hour ago.

The waitress wandered over, grinning and greeting John by name. He responded in kind, asking her how she was and how her degree at university was going, and it brought a small smile to your lips. How people treated servers and other wage workers was usually a good measure of character, and you were pleased to see that John Price was the kind of man to treat them like his equals.

The waitress–Clare, she’d said her name was–asked for your order, and John looked to you for a brief moment. You gestured for him to order for the both of you.

“I trust you know what’s good here?”

Clare chuckled, and John looked a little sheepish. “He’s here enough to,” she said, laughing. “I’ll bring out the usual. Lemme know if you need anything else.”

As she walked back towards the kitchen, you looked to John to see his eyes on you with a soft look on his face. “If you don’ mind me askin’, what’s the story with that prick at the pub?”

You let your head tip back, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips. “That, John, is a long story.”

“I don’ got anywhere else ta be, love.”

You weren’t sure what it was, but something about this man made you want to tell him what had happened. Something told you he’d be a good listener, something you were honestly in desperate need of. Maybe it was the lingering effects of vodka. Maybe it was the sincerity that laced his voice. It didn’t really matter in the end, as you opened your mouth.

“I grew up in Bumfuck Nowhere, USA,” you started, a wry grin crossing your lips. “We had about 250 kids at my high school. My graduating class was about 40 kids, if that gives you any idea of how small the town was. Everybody knew everybody, which was more a curse than a blessing, if I’m honest.”

Clare came back out with waters and a basket of chips while you were talking, and you paused to take a small sip.

“I’ve known Christian my entire life. Pretty sure my momma decided she wanted him as a son-in-law when we were still in diapers. She spent my entire childhood pushin’ the two of us together, and I swear when he asked me out right at the start of high school, she damn near started crying. Went ‘round tellin’ everybody her little girl was datin’ the Christian Abraham Beauregard III.”

You stopped when John abruptly choked on his water, coughing roughly into the crook of his elbow. You winced when he pinned you with an incredulous stare.

“Come again?”

“You heard me,” you said, shrugging. “The Beauregards founded our town, and damn near everybody worshipped the ground they walked on. I cannot tell you how many nasty notes I got in my locker and jealous stares I received when it got around I was goin’ steady with Christian. We dated through high school, and he proposed after graduation.”

Your voice was bitter with old pain. You’d wasted so many years trying to make everybody around you happy, and all it did was make you miserable. You’d never had a plan for after graduation, not because you hadn’t wanted one, but because you’d been told over and over that once you married Christian, you’d be expected to stay at home and do whatever he required of you. You didn’t need a university degree to be a good housewife. You’d tried so hard to force yourself to be happy with that.

“We were married for two years. I was fuckin’ miserable. He was always gone for work, there’d be days that went by where I didn’t see him. I couldn’t do anything right. I didn’t clean enough, my cooking was shit, I was a bore in bed, I didn’t tell him I loved him enough, the list went on.”

You paused to take a drink of your water to try and calm yourself down from the familiar fury that had risen up in you. Christian had always had a way of getting under your skin, and it infuriated you even now, all these years later.

To your surprise, John reached out and grabbed your hand before you could pull it back from your glass and place it back on your lap. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, gently soothing away your ire. How exactly a man you’d met not even a full hour ago had managed to find such an easy way to calm you down and settle your heart was lost to you. He looked like he wanted to interject, but he held his tongue, merely nodding at you as a gesture for you to continue.

“Then, one day, I’d been out running errands but I had to stop at home because I realized I’d forgotten my phone. I walked into our bedroom to see Christian-” you spit the name with venom dripping from your tongue, eyes blazing with fire. “-balls deep in my best fucking friend. Who was wearing my lingerie, if the rest wasn’t bad enough.”

John growled, the sound low and rough in his throat. It startled you slightly, hearing him make a sound so inhuman. And yet, you weren’t scared. Quite the opposite, in fact. You wanted to know how that growl would feel with his mouth pressed to your skin, his teeth sinking into your flesh, if he’d feel more animal than man.

You shook yourself from the daydream. “I divorced him, to the horror of damn near everybody. My mama was furious with me. All the gossipy old birds tutted and shook their heads at me, shaming me for darin’ to go against the Bible’s teachings and leave the bastard. My friends, if you could even call them that, all sided with Christian over me. My grandmama was the only one who was ever on my side, but she’d been in the hospital with a broken hip, so she couldn’t do much.”

You paused, needing to take a second to shove down the old hurt from being abandonded by essentially everyone in your life in one fell swoop. To your horror, your eyes are starting to water, and you roughly swipe at them with your free hand.

“Hey.”

You focus back on John as he gently grabs your attention. There’s a furrow in his brow, and he looks both heartbroken and furious at the same time. But surprisingly, there’s no pity. Whenever people have asked, or inadvertedly learned some facet of your life’s story, there’s always pity in their eyes. It’s something that endlessly frustrates you, and eventually you just stopped telling people altogether. But in John’s gaze, there’s nothing but understanding, and it throws you.

“You don’t have ta keep goin’ if ya don’t want to, love.”

God, could this man get any more perfect? Honestly, this is only cementing the idea in your head that somehow, someway, John Price is a figment of your imagination, because such a perfect man can’t possibly exist in real life.

“Ah, s’alright, John,” you say with a wry smile. “Figure you deserve an explanation for being acosted and propositioned by a stranger in a pub on a random Friday night.”

“Well, it’s certainly been a more interesting start to a weekend than I’ve had in a while.”

You snort, not expecting that from him. He chuckles with you, and as the two of you pull yourselves back together, Clare arrives with your food. She’s brought fish and chips, as well as bangers and mash. She sets the food down, and your stomach grumbles a bit at the delicious smells. Still, you give John a bit of a look.

“So you’re a proper Brit, huh?”

He gives you a wicked grin. “Proper isn’t usually a word used to describe me, love.”

Fuck, this man’ll be the death of you.

You take a break from the impromptu trauma-dumping you’ve been subjecting John to in order to eat, and damn if he wasn’t right in saying that this little pub had good food.

“This might be some of the best food I’ve had in the UK so far, John.”

He scoffed at that. “Clearly you’ve not been havin’ good experiences then. I’ll have to recommend some more places to ya’.”

A pleasant little buzz swirled low in your belly. Maybe that means you’ll see more of him? Maybe some how you haven’t managed to scare him off with your fucked up life story so far. Small mercies.

After taking a bite of his own food, John fixes you with a look. “So, how’d a southern belle like you end up in fuckin’ Liverpool of all places?”

You couldn’t stop the bark of laughter at his incredulous tone. “Quite the change, isn’t it? After the absolute disaster that was my divorce, I couldn’t stay in that little town. Every single person knew what’d happened, and not a single one aside from grandmama was on my side. I was drowning.”

You paused to take another sip of your water. “I needed an out. I needed an escape. And then I saw an ad for an international student sponsorship program in the UK, and it was like a sign from the Lord Himself. Offering a full ride to international students if they attended UCL and then joined the workforce in the UK for a minimum of five years. Best damn decision I ever made.”

John furrowed his brows. “I’d imagine it’s mighty difficult to transfer credits, ‘n all that.”

You laughed bitterly. “Didn’t need to transfer shit. I wasn’t allowed to go to uni in the states. I had to fight to get my momma to let me get my damn high school diploma. Apparently, Christian had wanted to propose even earlier, and she was all for it, but I wanted that diploma. I’d earned it. But higher education? A housewife doesn’t need that. Don’t need a fancy degree to play house, and that’s the only career I’d ever been told I was allowed to have.”

The look on John’s face was explosive. “Tha’s fuckin’ bullshite,” he growled, and again, the tone of his voice sent shivers down your spine, in the best way. “It ain’t up to them. ‘S your life.”

His words damn near made you start crying again. How is it that this man understood you better than every single person in your stupid little town that you’d grown up in? They’re the ones who’d known you for near two decades, and yet, the image of you they wanted to believe in was about as far from reality as one could get.

“That’s a small, southern town for ya,” you muttered, twisting a napkin between your fingers. “Backwards and misogynistic and fuckin’ racist.” You paused. “Well, not always. There are plenty ‘o towns that are jus’ fine in the South, filled with wonderful people. I just wasn’t lucky enough to be born in one of them.”

John nodded sagely. “Tha’s true of damn near everywhere, love. For every good person, seems like there’s four bad, unfortunately.”

You shook your head. “Anyways, I grabbed what little belonged to just me, and left town as soon as I could. I had a small amount of savings from doin’ odd jobs for the neighbors, and it was enough to pay the fee to apply to UCL. I don’ know how, but I got in on the sponsorship, and I was on the first plane outta the states I could get. I got here broke as hell, with half a suitcase to my name, but for the first time ever, I’d felt like I was in charge of my own future, you know?”

The look he gave you was so tender it just about broke your heart. “Oh, princess,” he sighed, reaching out with one hand, palm up. He waited until you placed your hand in his, fingers brushing across a calloused palm before he continued. “You always should’a been allowed that choice. I’s a damn shame you weren’t. But the fact that you were strong enough to break free? It speaks volumes. I don’ gotta wonder how you got into UCL. They’d’ve been fools to reject ya.”

You covered your mouth with your free hand, trying desperately to hold back the sobs. “I swear I’m not usually this emotional,” you protested shakily, trying to wrest back control. “Shit.”

John abruptly stood up from the booth, not letting go of your hand.

“C’mere,” he said gruffly, tugging you to your feet and into his arms. You went willingly, letting him wrap you up in a strong embrace. One arm banded around your waist, pressing you tightly against his chest as his hand settled low on your hip. The other hand came up to cradle the back of your head as you buried your face in the hollow of his throat. Your fingers twisted in that light blue henley that felt so damn soft under your touch. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, and just held you.

Giving up the fight, you let some of your tears fall, letting the old pains and sorrow that tonight had resurrected fade away. The last time you’d been hugged like this had been when your daddy was still alive, but he’d died when you were just a little girl, and it’d been so long since you’d felt that same safety and comfort you’d felt in his arms.

“I mean every word I’ve said, love,” John whispered into your hair. “Every damn one. I work with some o’ the toughest bastards you’ve ever seen, and you’ve got every single one’a them beat. You’re one o’ the strongest women I’ve ever met, survivin’ what you have. Don’ let anyone tell you any different.”

The conviction in his voice stunned you. Once again, you were struck by the thought that maybe you’d fallen and hit your head and were in some kind of hallucinatory dream state. People like John Price didn’t exist outside of the pages of romance novels, and there was no way you were lucky enough to stumble into the physical embodiement of the kind of man you’d dreamt about rescuing you from your sad, pathetic life for years.

It was a foolish hope you’d held during your brief marriage and the tumultuous divorce. That a knight in shining armor would come to sweep you off your feet and take you away from everything bad in the world. Eventually, you’d decided that you couldn’t wait for a wish upon a star, and had taken the steps to save yourself. And you’d done it. You’d made it. You’d become more than what they’d planned for, but somehow you’re still having trouble believing you’ve come across the exact kind of man who would’ve saved you, if given half the chance.

You held on tightly for a few seconds more, letting yourself relish in being held in what you could imagine was a loving embrace. Then you took a step back, wiping at your eyes as you tried desperately not to let your embarrassment show.

“You’re probably the kindest man I’ve ever met, John Price.”

He smiled down at you, his own eyes bright. “Nothin’ less than what you deserve, princess. Now, c’mon an’ finish the rest o’ the story.”

You both took a seat again, and it took you a few seconds to remember where you’d left off and what question you were actually answering.

“Uh, yeah, so I went to UCL, worked my ass off, and managed to get my degree in two and a half years. I spent another half a year with the university as a teaching assistant, before my professor gave me a job recommendation for a consulting firm out here. I’d been living in dorms, so I didn’t have much. Makes moving easy when you haven’t set down roots. I found a small flat overlooking the river, and started at my job. I’ve only been in Liverpool for about six months now.”

John shook his head. “You’re goddamn incredible, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks burn at the compliment, and took a sip of water to try and not make it obvious just how affect you were by his words.

“I’m serious. Fuckin’ incredible. The only thing I don’ get, is why the fuck your ex from Bumfuck Nowhere, USA is here. Can’ imagine Liverpool bein’ all that attractive of a tourist destination for a lil’ shit like him.”

You sighed. “It’s a stupid class reunion of all things. Was originally supposed to be a five year reunion that ended up getting cancelled because a bunch of them got sick. That’s the problem with living in a small town. When one person gets sick, the whole fuckin’ town gets sick. But Christian wanted to go all out, and sent out a big invite to our whole class, all 40 of us, declaring that he was funding a trip to Liverpool for the class reunion.” You shook your head. “Don’t know why Liverpool, my only guess is that he thinks it’s ‘exotic’ or some such bullshit. Most’ve them have never left the state, let alone the country.”

John scratched at his beard pensively. “Did he know you were in Liverpool?”

You felt dread pool in your gut, ice cold and terrifying. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Christian could’ve chosen Liverpool because you were here. You just figured he was being a stupid, uneducated idiot, choosing a random city and country to fly to just because he could.

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered. “I cut off all contact with everyone back home, but I didn’t exactly keep my plans a secret. My momma knew I was taking off to Europe. She still worships the ground Christian walks on, if he asked her, she’d absolutely tell him.”

John scowled. “Maybe he wants another chance?” But before he could even finish the thought, already you were shaking your head.

“Christian never loved me. I’m not sure he’s capable of it. But I was supposed to be his, we’d grown up hearing that, and when I divorced him, it was like taking away a toddler’s favorite toy. He threw some pretty epic tantrums in court.” You took a deep breath. “He doesn’t want me back because he missed me, or wants another chance. He just wants ‘what’s his’, or something else equally stupid, I’m sure.”

You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated. “What the fuck am I going to do? They’re holding the damn reunion in the town I live in. Even if I didn’t go to the events, I’m sure they’ll find ways to fuckin’ harass me. And I can’t afford to take a vacation anywhere right now.”

John hummed in agreement, a thoughtful look on his face. He tapped his thick fingers against the rim of his water glass as he looked at you, and you felt very suddenly like you’d just let a fox in the henhouse.

“I’ve got a�� proposition, love.”

You nodded slowly, suspiciously. “Go on?”

He smiled, slow and dangerous. “What’dya say we continue our performance from earlier? It’d be damn hard for him ta harass you into gettin’ back with him if you’ve got your husband with ya.”

[witchedwicked]

Sometimes I find it unsettling how people talk about wanting a baby

They talk about it like they’re only excited about the cute baby-toddler-kindergartener with no acknowledgement that that baby’s gonna be a 13 year old, a 17 year old, a 25 year old, 30, 40, etc

They’re so excited for the gooey mini-me, the ultra dependent stages, but there’s no thought given to the future personhood that will eventually settle in, the lifetime that this person you chose to create now must live

It’s strange to me

Idk I’ve never desired children so I guess I don’t get it

That baby will stop being a baby, and sometimes I feel like people aren’t thinking about that

I’ve been on the other side of it, where I stopped being a baby, stopped being a cute little girl. I became my own person and was resented for my individuality, my thoughts, my lack of cuteness, my growing ugliness. The further I grew from that squishy little grub the more bitterness I received

And I just hope when people go on about “baby fever” have all this enthusiasm and affection for this little toddling thing they’ll still have it 30 years down the line

[klbmsw]

Bill King

donretoSps586mc479h00h6t79ig1thagg5ch36hh07141huc4iac1i2a8ui  ·

The Coward & The Hero: A Day of National Disgrace

My stomach churns. The bile rises. Never have I seen a more shameful, more disgraceful occupant of the White House. A man who has so thoroughly soiled the seat of power that even history recoils. A traitor. A thug. A liar. A cheat. And today, a pathetic, desperate, pantomime dictator, trying to stare down the leader of Ukraine—Volodymyr Zelensky, a man who has stood before death, before the smoking ruins of his homeland, and still refuses to bow.

Trump? Trump isn’t fit to lace Zelensky’s boots. The bloated relic of a reality show presidency, slathered in an extra layer of high-polished orange shoe polish, face glowing like a jack-o’-lantern stuffed with state secrets. He sat there playing the part of a South American strongman from the ‘50s, puffed up and empty, all bark and bluster, but no spine, no soul. He thought he could roll over a man who had lived in the trenches of war. But Zelensky has seen real men die. He has heard the whistle of missiles meant to tear him apart. Trump has never heard anything louder than the sound of his own mouth.

So what did the orange tyrant do? He rattled on about Hunter Biden’s laptop. In the presence of a war hero, he ranted like an unhinged lunatic about a hard drive. Idiot speak. Straightjacket talk. A man devoid of vision, reduced to the same old grievances, the same old conspiracy-laced dementia as if the fate of nations could be debated on the level of a Fox News fever dream.

And then, the jester arrived—J.D. Vance, a third-rate clown who came not to stand for anything, but to clean Trump’s boots with his lips. He sat there, all smug obedience, waiting for his cue, eager to please his master in moments of fitful rage. No dignity. No independence. Just another political parasite feeding off the rot. This was one of the most sickening displays of cowardice in American history.

And across the border, Canada’s Trudeau—so often a punching bag for American conservatives—stood tall, shoulder to shoulder with Zelensky, a leader among leaders. He didn’t grovel. He didn’t cower. He didn’t babble like a lunatic about emails or laptops. He stood on the right side of history.

That’s the difference. That’s the stark, gut-wrenching reality.

On one side, men of honor.

On the other, grub worms in suits.

[space-writes]

voiceless - febuwhump day 1 'vocal chords'

Valloroth | G | Sorrow & Aspiration | 883 Words

Tags: pre-Valloroth, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Speech, Fantasy Sign Language, Frustration, Backstory

Summary:

A scene from early in Sorrow and Aspiration’s relationship, set in the time after she found him post-shattering and was helping him to recover.

Read On: AO3 / Neocities / Dreamwidth

[ID - a decorative divider]

She’d taken to calling him Fortune. Only in her own head, though—out loud and to everyone else, he was t’hiat. The guest. But she couldn’t help but think him fortunate; what else was it to survive the shattering of both his horns?

Aspiration ducked into the healer’s tent, a wooden tray of food in her hands. Shellfiend soup and roasted grubs; sliced purple yams and small yellow plums; ashnuts and smoked fish and her grandmother’s best flatbread. “Won’t get well if he doesn’t eat,” the old woman told her, piling plates and bowls high. “You see to it he eats.” And so she had, for all the good it did. Most days she came back with the tray untouched.

He was dozing at present, or something like it. Sprawled on the sleeping mat, a pile of blankets half-on, half-off his tall, emaciated form. The healer said his temperature wouldn’t settle, dragging him wildly between chills and fever, and nothing so far could steady it. Intuition was doing what she could, she and her apprentice both, but they’d never dealt with a shattered infernii before. All the stories said victims of such assault rarely survived, and if they did, they were forever altered—and such altering often stole their lives in the end.

Aspiration made her steps loud over the woven mats that made up the floor of the tent. Fortune panicked at the slightest thing—screamed himself out of sleep more often than not—and it was best, she’d found, not to creep up on him, even accidentally. “Hello again,” she said, kneeling beside him. “I brought you something to eat.”

He stirred, bleary cyan eyes struggling to focus on her. It took some minutes, but he got himself upright, though sweat shone on his face and chest at the effort. Such wounds he bore there; a starburst of punctures scattered between collarbone and navel. Shrapnel, Intuition said. She’d taken out most of whatever it was that had exploded into him, but some fragments were too deep to get. Whether they would fester and poison him remained to be seen.

Aspiration set her tray down and held her hands up where he could see. “How are you feeling?” she asked, signing slowly as she spoke. The shattering had taken his voice and it had yet to return; if indeed it ever would. He hadn’t seemed to recognise any handsigns so she’d been teaching him, or trying to.

He didn’t sign anything back to her. His throat worked, muscles standing out tense as he fought to form words.

“Don’t,” Aspiration said. She lifted the bowl of soup and held it out until he took it. “Just eat.”

A strangled noise worked its way around his tongue, thick with spit and nothing close to speech. He grimaced, sharp breath huffing through his nose, and tried again, but whatever he was trying to say, his body wouldn’t allow it.

“Sign it to me,” Aspiration said with her hands. Fortune shook his head violently and, with a cry more animal than infernii, hurled the bowl across the tent. Blunted shouts followed, choked sounds coughed out like knotted rope until he strangled himself with them, hitching to a halt. He buried his face in his hands, claws scraping through the tangled mess of his long, dark hair. He wouldn’t let anyone touch it. Wouldn’t let anyone close to his head and his broken horns.

Aspiration knelt silently for a moment, then got up, went across the tent, and picked up the bowl, which still had a portion of soup in it. She took it back over to Fortune and waited for him to look up at her.

“I don’t know what clan you’re from,” she said, “but around here, only infants throw their food.”

And then she dumped the bowl out over his head.

He spluttered and spat, gaping at her with a look of utter outrage beneath the broth trickling down his cheeks. A chunk of shellfiend clung to one eyebrow, and a decoration of herbs splattered his deep violet skin like fragrant freckles. He blinked. Aspiration folded her arms. He blinked again, then started to wheeze and at first she thought it was some new sickness she’d brought on him, and wouldn’t Intuition just chew her to pieces for that—then she realised he was laughing.

It was the first time he’d made any sound but one of pain since she’d brought him to the camp.

She went and fetched a cloth, then knelt to help clean him up. “You’ll get well,” she said quietly, as he mopped at his face. “Even if you don’t get your voice back, you’ll get well. You’ll live.”

“Sorry,” he signed clumsily, then motioned at the empty bowl with his tail, head cocked questioningly.

“Only if you promise not to throw it this time.”

His smile was so sweet that she wondered what it had been like before he’d gotten hurt. The kind of charming that got him whatever he wanted, she suspected. She got to her feet. “Alright. I’ll be back soon.”

Before she could take a step, he caught her wrist.

“Th’n…yuh…”

The rasping syllables were barely intelligible, but they were the closest thing to words he’d managed since he’d woken up. Aspiration smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

[ID - a decorative divider]

Valloroth taglist: @cherrybombfangirlwrites @reininginthefirewriting @memento-morri-writes @foxboyclit @lawful-evil-novelist

@at-thezenith @morganwriteblr @fayeiswriting @serenanymph

@sam-glade @viscerawrites @thegreatobsesso @flower-reads @the-inkwell-variable (ask to be +/-)

[cringefail-clown]

there are many things that are still under ??? tab when it comes to turnabout au but one of the biggest ones is if caliborn and calliope should be swapped as well. on the one hand i'd be a huge pain in the ass because it'd completely change the whole narrative and how the events of homestuck play out - instead of caliborns bending the timeline through sheer power of will to suit his narrative and ensure his own arrival it'd have to be more... subtle, tiny moments that have the butterfly effect of making calliope come on top. going with her classpect as the muse of space, she'd more likely be inspiring certain events opposed to head-to-the-brickwalling it through the narrative, for example perhaps Alternia started as this utopian fever dream curtesy of feferi being the empress in the post-scratch universe, but as the time went by things would keep not going right, maybe the alternian trolls, changed by meddling from doc scratch, wouldnt take too eagerly to the idea of caring about those lower on the hemospectrum, maybe feferi would start to feel paranoid about the coming of the next fuchsiablood, thinking that her idea of how to run the place is the only right one, ultimately sending her down the path of quietly getting rid of any fuchsia grubs being born. maybe this coming to the light would spark protests from people already tired of the cotton-candy coddling culture enforced on them, which would lead to her finally breaking and it spiraling into the brutal alternia that we know from the canon

what im trying to say is callies villany would be more like planting little seeds and waiting for the results. not everything would go exactly how she planned, but at the end of the day it'd lead to the same place - her winning the sburb game between the two cherubs. like in a game of chess - one perfectly executed move would open up five others leading to the victory. i honestly like this idea of a cold, cunning villain - cal was really fun in canon, but this version of calliope? downright meancing, a force to be reconed with. but as i said, it would be a shitton of work.

on the other hand, the idea of caliborn being the support character is so fucking hysterical to me im willing to jump through the hoops just to make that happen. like imagine the guy. imagine, instead of being this absolute trashbag of misogyny and toxic masculinity, he'd be more like the tumblr warriormale-esque dude. just aggresively suppotive of his little nuclear unit of a friend group. dave would have an absolute blast with this guy. im losing my mind just thinking about it

[a-wonderful-danganronpa]

📖 DESIGN: Suzuran Dustcrawl, face concept 1

[NO SPOILERS]

"If I don't do this...it's not like anyone else will make amends for me."

please give a round of applause to our protagonist, the Hope's Peak Monastery Librarian, who now holds the beta name Suzuran (涼蘭) Dustcrawl!

i wanted a female protagonist from the start, and i wanted her to stand apart from her brethren in the Canon Games. owing to a lifetime of petty bullying from the Monastery's nasty little monsters Wonders and an inability to leave the Monastery proper, she's cynical, sarcastic, and unapproachable. nonetheless, she's far smarter than she looks, and Usami's not wrong when she says little Suzie can learn just about anything given enough time.

(for better or worse...)

my goal was "scrunkly but not too scrunkly" here. she is a disheveled dark academic with insomnia issues and has never been able to escape the Monastery to see the Wider World. her "divine device" is an earring that allows her to sleep and keeps her memories in line: Usami says that a fever gave Suzuran mild brain damage as a baby, though the monks say the fingerless Usami actually dropped her on her head. now taking bets on which truth is the real one!

further, while i wouldn't call Suzuran "gross" like Toko for instance, she is definitely...messy. to that extent, her Everstanding Ribbon stays afloat in defiance of physics and was a gift to her from Temporary Eternal Headmaster Usami, who wanted her to take some pride in her appearance.

THE SPEED WONDER: "Ohohohoho! Everstanding, as the tentpole of an elder with a young mate." SUZURAN: "Hmm. Nope, that's not what that means."

Suzuran is an orphan, and if she has a surname, no one ever told her what it was. she was never officially given one by anyone at the Monastery, either. "Dustcrawl" is a nickname the student body at Hope's Peak bestowed upon her early on, due to her grubbing around in the stacks etcetera. she doesn't necessarily like it, but she's half-heartedly accepted it. it's not like she's ever going to be able to leave.

right?

[promptling]

CARMILLA by j. sheridan le fanu, edited by carmen maria machado

did you realize he killed her off?

who reads an introduction?

i long for the door to open.

i did not know that it was possible.

i did not realize my soil was not salted.

she is already dead.

someone did lie there, the place is still warm.

lord hear all good prayers for us, for jesus's sake.

the poor young lady is dead.

the letter appears to me to have been written in distraction.

i'm in one of my moping moods tonight.

i forget the rest.

was ever a being so born to calamity?

i cannot, dare not, delay.

it would be so delightful.

where am i? what is this place?

how do you like our guest?

tell me about her.

how very odd to say all that!

i hope i have not done a very foolish thing.

how wonderful!

i saw your face in a dream, and it has haunted me ever since.

i could not forget your face.

i don't know which of us should be more afraid of the other.

if you were less pretty i think i should be very much afraid of you.

i wonder whether you feel as strangely drawn towards me as i do to you.

i have never had a friend.

i shan't require assistance.

it is very hard to part with you.

young people like, and even love, on impulse.

heavens! if i had but known all!

your little heart is wounded.

if your dear heart is wounded, my wild heart bleeds with yours.

you are mine, you shall be mine, you and i are one forever.

what can you mean by this?

i don't know myself when you look so and talk so.

don't you perceive how discordant that is?

i think it very sweet.

you pierce my ears.

you must die - everyone must die - and all are happier when they do.

i don't trouble my head about peasants.

tell me nothing about ghosts.

i hope there is no plague or fever coming.

sit here, hold my hand.

that comes of strangling people with hymns!

i shall demand redress from him.

then you have been ill?

let us talk no more of it.

you would not wound a friend?

you are afraid to die?

girls are caterpillars while they live in the world, to be finally butterflies when the summer comes; but in the meantime there are grubs and larvae, don’t you see—each with their peculiar propensities, necessities and structure.

are you glad i came?

how romantic you are.

i have been in love with no one, and never shall, unless it should be with you.

i live in you, and you would die for me, i love you so.

is there a chill in the air?

it is the last time, perhaps, i shall see the moonlight with you.

i have been thinking of leaving you.

do you think that you will ever confide fully in me?

you do not know how dear you are to me.

i am under vows, no nun half so awfully.

you will think me cruel, very selfish, but love is always selfish.

how jealous i am you cannot know.

you must come with me, loving me, into death; or else hate me and still come with me, and hating me through death and after.

there is no such word as indifference in my apathetic nature.

you are going to talk your wild nonsense again.

were you ever at a ball?

i was all but assassinated in my bed.

love will have its sacrifices.

no sacrifice without blood.

you see it now with your own eyes.

you must not plague me with questions.

you are not to trouble your head about it.

i should tell you all with pleasure, but you should not believe me.

you puzzle me utterly.

i had no hope of meeting you so soon.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

Okay but imagine Cat dimension human Stan who looks like a feral human meet other universes.

Also in the Cat dimension au, that’s the only au I think currently of your roster that has Stan being taller than Ford!!

Imagine if Shifty in the Cat dimension is just like a Stitch creature from Lilo and Stitch.

And Fidds builds robot paws to bat Human Stan with. Because human Stan keeps trying to pick up them like a cat would.

——-

Other aus:

Cat Fever & Catpocaylse:

Man I wish I could be taller :(

Cat dimension Stan:

I WANT TO BE SMALLER— I WANT TO BE SMALLER MOSES I ALMOST CRUSHED FORD AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Human cat stan is amazed at all these other crazy monster people. Whole universes full of hoomeens! Terrifying. How do they even survive.

It's the only dimension where Stan towers over everyone, and he hates it. Shifty turns into a cat with human hair, like animal people in cartoons. His grub form is exactly the same, but scaled down to cat proportions. He's tiny as a baby.

Fiddleford designs a giant hoomaan robot and dukes it out after Stan keeps picking him up all the time. They almost destroy the town. He gets yelled at for scaring poor Cat Nikola (which is Stan's name lol). Look at him Fiddleford! He's so scared of your robot! Stan just >:) in the background.

Human cat stan want the other Stan's problems. His stealing habits are way more dangerous here. Takes a cat treat and smashes through the ceiling.

[shuueep]

HEYYYY UHHH so I wrote a fic called Grub Fever and it has occurred to me I may have accidentally created Jake the Thirds origin story. Um if you want to check it out it’s here anyways

https://archiveofourown.org/works/51715378

HERE have this gif also bc I love your work <3 this is me devouring your delicious drawings

OH SO YOURE THE ONE WHO WROTE THAT FIC🫵🫵🫵

[giftofgabber]

Awake with a fever against the cuffs of my flesh. The vacationing slug stirs within me. My body contracts as if to expel the grubs. The grubs, my lovers? Zygotic insurrection, all me. The revolution is zygotic; revolution when all else fails. As if to rupture and reconstitute myself every day in the way that delights me most, taught me in the charming rigor of an ascetic’s passing. I pass thru the rigors, charms, and whispers. Oh ritual, make me full on only the taste of a dear one’s blood. Warm, copperful, and oh so “me”. 

[anonymousaccountuser]

Grub Fever - A Prohibitedwish Fic

Uhhh idk basically Jake the Thirds origin story.

Summary:

Scarab decides to take a quick scroll through Bugstigram and finds a picture of the ugliest looking grub there is. He then decides he wants kids (because aren’t grubs adorable?), and globdamnit, Prismo’s gonna get him some.

[vashwoodficrecs]

giving in to your fever touch

by: honeyseeking | @sweetyuris

E, Vashwood, 46k, complete

"I leave in three days... I'm countin' on ya to make the right decision," Wolfwood tells him in the doorway, throwing a knowing glance over his shoulder. "Ah! Thanks for the grub, ma'am!" he adds for Sheryl, waving cheerily as he exits. After two years apart, Vash and Wolfwood reconnect over the course of three nights, answering the call of each other's touch.

*violently shaking this fic* it's so full of emotions