#me writing for my au???

[the-last-quest]

Shadow was tired.

He just needed to wait until morning.

He just needed to not look at the mass in the center of the room.

(Sonic dhmis au)

[1456 words]

Tw: Major Character Death, brief description of injuries (it’s mostly left to imagination)

Shadow was tired

Kneeling on the tiled floor of the kitchen it was taking every bit of him to not close his eyes. To not let himself succumb to the cool release of sleep.

Or death.

Whichever came first.

Today’s lesson had been a brutal one, though Shadow supposes most of the lessons were brutal.

It started when he and Tails were cooking lunch, when the kid had accidentally nicked himself with the knife. Of course that caused a lesson to start. The teacher, this time taking the form of a talking knife block, preached to them all the joys of kitchen safety. Which then, of course, led to the two of them having to dodge multiple sharp kitchen utensils.

Shadow didn’t come out of that unscathed. He took a hit from a knife that was clearly aiming to take out Tails. At the time it was worth it to him, saving the fox from the pain from the blade. The large gash on his side bearable as long as he saved the kid from death at that moment.

Now though he wished he let Tails die then.

Gritting his teeth Shadow pushed himself off of the floor. Shooting pain emerged from his wound, but he bore through it. He’d handled worse before, not joking when he said lessons were brutal. He just had to leave the kitchen. If Shadow was going to bleed out he wasn’t going to do it with that looking straight at him.

The lesson didn’t end with the knives. They never ended with the knives. With Tails being the one who started the lesson the teacher’s attention was solely on the fox, and with Shadow already injured there wasn’t much he could do to protect the boy. He doesn’t know if he should be happy that the lesson ended at the blender before the teacher even acknowledged the overheating oven.

Using the wall for support Shadow kept his eyes glued to the ground as he made his way out of the kitchen. He didn’t want to see what remained of the fox again. It was bad enough the first time, as he watched the unfolding of the lesson, not being able to do anything about it.

As Shadow was just about to reach the doorframe, just about to leave the chaos forsaken room he stopped. He could feel the eyes on him, watching him as he left it all alone. He couldn’t do that, as much as he wanted to leave and wait until morning, to have his memories of this day fade into a dull ache in the back of his mind. He just couldn’t leave. Sighing he mentally prepared himself, turning to look at the center of the kitchen.

Shadow couldn’t call it a body, refusing to even think of the life the mass used to hold. The only thing that remained intact was the head. It was a cruel joke he supposed, something the teacher did to ensure the lesson stuck.

Blue eyes seemed to haunt Shadow.

First it was Maria on the Ark. Even with his memories of the outside world growing fuzzy he still remembered his sister and her eyes. He remembered the wonder they held when she looked down at the Earth, the love that he left when she looked at him, the pain as her life faded away.

Now it was a different pair of eyes, but to him they meant the same thing. The eyes that at first marveled at the new world they found themselves in, before either of them knew what it held in store, the eyes that constantly sought him out for some semblance of stability after they figured it out, the eyes that he had to watch constantly fade because he couldn’t save him.

That's how they were now, a brilliant blue faded to a dull gray.

Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes. Swiping them away angrily, Shadow growled at himself. He shouldn’t feel like this. He knew this was going to happen. He knew that by the end of the day one, or both of them would end up dead. He’s been through this enough times by now that he knows he can’t change anything. He knows that he can’t save anyone.

So why does he feel like this? Why does he feel a paralyzing helplessness whenever one of those damn teachers comes to life? Why does he feel so guilt ridden over something he knows he has no control of because he himself is a victim? Why does he feel the same way he did back on the Ark?

Shadow sinks down against the wall, as those same questions swirl through his mind. Over and over again. The same questions never relenting. He knows the answer to them. He knows why, but he can’t bring himself to admit it. If he does things would change. It would just give them more ways to inflict pain and there was no way that he would ever give them that opportunity.

Right now though there’s nothing they can do. The lesson for the day was done, the sun having already set below the horizon. Morning needs to come again.

Knowing this Shadow gives up. He allows the tears to flow down his cheeks. His sobs irritated his already sore throat, his heaving breaths causing even more pain to spout from his wound. He doesn’t care though nobody is watching him, the only eyes open right now are ones that don’t matter.

Those eyes aren’t seeing anything. They won’t think he’s weak because he failed to protect someone. They won't remember it in the morning when they seek him out for comfort. Right now he can let everything out. He can fall apart and by morning he’ll be put back together again.

He cries until his lungs give up on him, when the blood loss finally makes itself apparent. He opens his eyes and finds the other ones staring back at him. He knows his will look the same soon.

Shadow lets himself drift off, the night finally winning.

~~~~~~~~

Somewhere, up above, gloved hands pick up two figures out of a small model kitchen.

They take care to fix them up, the fox figure having more repairs needed than usual, while the hedgehog only had a scratch.

Placing the figures into a model bedroom, the hands making sure to tuck the fox into bed. It’s the least they can do.

Sighing they begin to turn the crank.

The model house spins around while distant piano notes play a repeating tune.

It’s morning once again.

~~~~~~~~

Shadow was in his bed again. A small bit of light shining through his eyelids told him it was still early, the sun's rays just peeking over the horizon.

Taking a deep breath he let himself enjoy the moment. The peace that came with the early morning the only time he could find himself getting the closest to a semblance of relaxation. He knew the silence wouldn’t last forever so he took this time to enjoy it.

As if right on que soft footsteps made their way over to Shadow’s bed. Without opening his eyes he lifted the blanket, inviting Tails in. The bed dipped as the kid crawled under the blanket, curling up against the hedgehog, gripping onto his dark fur as if his life depended on it. As if Shadow could save it.

Lowering his arm, Shadow pulled Tails closer. He doesn’t know for whose benefit it was, they both needed it.

Time continued to pass as they lay together, the sun coming up over the horizon, the alarm ready to go off in any moment.

Tails shrunk into him, shaking as it drew nearer for them to leave the comfort of the bed. The kid didn’t cry though. He hadn’t cried in a long time. Shadow doesn’t think that’s a good thing.

Running his fingers through yellow fur Shadow tried to calm the fox, even though his anxiety was also rising. He doesn’t remember exactly what happened yesterday but he knows it was bad seeing that Tails sought him out this morning.

Today he’s going to make sure he takes the brunt of the lesson. He’s made this vow before, but this time he’s going to try harder, to draw the focus of the teachers towards him.

Because deep down, even if he would never admit it, Shadow cared for Tails. He cares for the kid that is stuck in this eternal torment with him. Even though it will kill him, Shadow will try his hardest to protect him.

Tails was his brother now and he’d be damned if he had to watch another sibling die in front of him.

[officialspec]

modern au but set in brisbane. is this anything

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[noodles-and-tea]

personally i think the funniest way of explaining anything off about the reported timeframes in your au is to have both stan & ford being absolutely terrible with time

stan being like damn the 50s sucks & little ford going its the 60s???? & ford going ‘nearly 30 years ago’ and fidds being like ford you’re like 30 that doesn’t make sense

I love that so much

[artdcnaldson]

NEED art and patrick to find out I'm a virgin and offer to teach me how to kiss and how to fuck and use eachother as examples and guide me and tell me I'm doing a good job and reward me for being such a good student and come back later and quiz me to see if I remember everything they taught me ugh obsessed with them individually and as a unit

This has lived rent free in my mind for literally forever. I can’t stop thinking about it, it haunts my every waking moment.

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: Making out, Handjob lessons, guys being pervs, not a love triangle they just all want to fuck each other

A/N: unedited bc I wrote this while on the clock okay whatever. Enjoyyyy and if u want me to continue this lmk >:)

“I think it’s sweet,” Patrick said, and you could hear the amusement in his voice, practically dripping from every syllable. “The last American virgin. You belong in a museum.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your empty Taco Bell cup at him— the ice rattled and it leaked a puddle of condensation onto the ground. “You could try not to be a dick about it.”

Art’s dorm room was hot and sticky thanks to a faulty AC, which meant the three of you lounging on the floor by his open window, sucking down soda watered down by melted ice cubes. You were down to a T-shirt and shorts, they were down to their boxers. It wasn’t lost on you that it was an intimate situation to be in— barely dressed, crammed into the shoebox of a dorm. And of course Patrick had dug his fingers in until you admitted your secret— you had made it all the way to college totally unfucked.

Patrick leaned forward, smiling the smarmy smile that tended to wear at your last nerve. “So you’re a virgin, but like,” he leaned in, so close you could feel body heat radiating from him. He dropped his voice, just above a whisper. “How much of a virgin, really? You’ve at least gone to third, right?” You glared, but shook your head.

“Second?” Art supplied, suddenly jumping in with an eager sort of curiosity.

“What? No, I don’t even know what that means,” you admitted. You sighed before you spoke up. “I’ve only ever kissed one guy and one girl, and it was during a game of spin the bottle, like, junior year.”

“How?” Patrick asked.

Your brows furrowed. “How? I spun the bottle, it landed on the person, I leaned in, put my lips against theirs, and that was it.”

Patrick sighed. “Just fucking show me how.” He looked at you expectantly, inching even closer.

With an annoyed sigh, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his— mouth closed, lips firm. When you sat back, Patrick and Art were both grinning.

“What?” You asked with a frown.

“That’s how you kiss on the playground in elementary school,” Art said, unable to contain his laughter. “C’mere.”

You crawled forward, stopping in front of the blond. His hand settled on your jaw, coaxing you forward.

His lips met yours softly, sweetly. It was easy to lose yourself in the feeling of Art’s mouth, in the gentle brushes of his lips against yours and the way he held your face so tenderly.

The feeling of his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips was strange, but you welcomed it, letting him lick into your mouth.

Each pass of his tongue against yours drew you deeper and deeper into it, into him. You moved into his lap without realizing it, kissing him with sweet, timid laps of your tongue.

Art pulled back first, his cheeks soft and pink and so pretty. “See? That’s how you’re supposed to kiss someone. That was really good.”

You laughed softly, and moved off of his lap sheepishly. Patrick leaned forward, brushing your hair back, holding your face in his hand.

“Okay, show me what Art showed you,” he instructed, then leaned in.

Kissing Patrick was different than kissing Art. He was hungrier, more insistent. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he wanted to chart every inch. You did your best to match what he offered, to kiss the way Art had just shown you, sweetly, like you really meant it.

And you did mean it. Patrick’s hands moved along your side, up until they cupped your tits through your shirt. You moaned softly into his mouth— the sound was muffled, met with a moan of his own. He gave an experimental squeeze of your tits and you whined softly. So he did it again, amused by the pretty, sweet noises you mewled out.

Patrick was getting hard, pressing against your thigh. It was a new sensation that you were hyper aware of as you unconsciously ground yourself against him.

You pulled back first, cheeks burning hot after you remembered Art was right beside you. You tucked unkempt hair behind your ear, smiled bashfully. “How was I?”

“Good,” Patrick said.

At the same time Art supplied, “So good.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Okay. Cool.”

Art was squirming, fidgeting, holding a pillow over his lap. Patrick was less covert— opting to openly adjust himself, drawing more attention to the fact that he was hard. You rolled your eyes and stole the nearest cup you could find, sipping at watered down Mountain Dew.

“Do you want me to leave?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. Your teeth dug into the plastic straw as you looked between the two of them.

Art stammered, mortified, but Patrick just smiled dizzyingly over at you. “I can teach you something else. You got to first base, so why don’t you steal second?”

You rolled your eyes, but heat flared behind your cheeks. Jesus Christ, he was such a smug asshole. “I still don’t know what that means,” you said, feeling a little embarrassed.

He grinned and mimed jerking off. Your eyes widened, and you laughed softly. “That would be weird,” you said, half-believing it. “Like, if I did jerk one of you off, that leaves one of you just watching.”

You glanced at Art, who looked just as interested as Patrick did, and your heart stammered nervously. “What if I show you how you do it on Art? Look at him— he’s the perfect little practice dummy.” Patrick reached over, pinching at Art’s cheek until the blond kicked his shin.

“Show me?” You echoed. “Like… you’re going to do it to him, and I do it to you?”

Patrick nodded, leaning into Art’s side, his smarmy smile dissolved into something needier. Art swallowed hard, lips parted slightly as he looked over at Patrick.

Patrick’s lips met his slowly, hungrily. You watched wide eyed as Patrick deepened the kiss, as Art eagerly accepted the other boy’s tongue into his mouth.

Patrick threw the pillow out of Art’s lap and sent it careening into the desk on the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widened at the sight of Art, hard and tenting his boxers. Patrick palmed him in his large hands making the blonde whimper into his mouth and buck up, seeking friction.

You swallowed hard, biting down on the straw as you watched Patrick tug at the elastic of Art’s boxers. Art lifted his hips to allow Patrick to tug them down his thighs, just enough to expose his cock to both of you.

“See,” Patrick gasped, leaning back from their kiss. Art chased his lips fruitlessly, mouth ajar, waiting for more. “He’s so fucking easy. Come feel.”

You moved closer, looking at Art for permission. When he nodded, you reached out, letting your fingertips graze the soft skin of his shaft. He exhaled a shuddery breath, eyes fluttering shut. Patrick’s hand covered yours, guiding you to squeeze around his length.

He was warm under your touch, silky soft, pulsing in your grip. Your heart hammered just at that— at the feel of him in your hand. “Feels nice, huh? Knowing how much he wants you.” You nodded, then slid your fist up, testing the waters. Art moaned softly, throbbed in your grip, aching for more. Patrick smiled like the cat who got the cream. “Hands off, just watch me.”

Patrick spat into his hand and replaced your hand with his own. The second Patrick curled his fingers around Art and started stroking him slowly, the blond was mewling for more. “Fuck,” he moaned, his forehead knocking against Patrick’s, mouth open, panting. “That’s good, feels good.”

You watched Patrick rub his thumb over Art’s tip, eyes widening as Art really whimpered for it, hips thrusting up into Patrick’s fist, chasing more of the pleasure the brunet offered.

“You get it now?” Patrick asked. You nodded quickly, and he tugged down his own boxers. “Fuck, okay— fucking show me.”

Your heart hammered with nerves, but you nodded. You held your hand out and spit into it, mimicking what Patrick had done before you wrapped your hand around his cock.

He felt bigger in your hands, but you didn’t say that. One, you worried it might piss Art off, and two, he didn’t need the ego boost. And he was slick, beading precum at his tip so each pass of your hands felt slicker and slicker.

And you couldn’t help but want to be an asshole. “You’re wet like a girl,” you said with a smirk, gliding your thumb over his tip.

And he was shameless, nodding with a sly grin. “That means I like you.” He panted, moaning softly. “Besides, I bet your fucking panties aren’t dry right now.”

Well, fuck. You tried to ignore the rush of heat in your belly that those words caused, to focus only on the glide of your hand on Patrick’s cock— up and down, copying his pace on Art, copying the ways he’d squeeze and twist his hand.

Art was moaning, rutting up into the tight sheath of Patrick’s fist, the muscles of his abdomen tensing and relaxing in unsteady jerks beneath his soft skin.

“Fuck— switch, switch,” Patrick said quickly. Art whined when Patrick stopped touching him, but it was ignored. “Want you to feel it when he comes.”

He guided your hand back onto Art’s cock and nodded for you to move. “Fuck, your hand’s so soft,” Art groaned. “Faster, faster, fuck—“ He was practically begging. You swallowed, increased the pace, squeezed him a little tighter.

Art was touching Patrick— jerking him off while you brought him closer and closer to finishing. Patrick leaned in, kissed you deeply, pulled Art in too until the three of you were a mess of tongues and lips and spit and hands.

Art came first— coating your hand in warm, slick cum, throbbing in your grip. He was panting into your and Patrick’s mouths, moaning softly as you continued to slowly work him through it. Patrick came next, once Art redoubled his effort, focused on making Patrick add to the mess covering your hands.

Patrick was loud, pornographic, messy. Art brought a cum covered hand between his lips, cleaning it up. Your eyes widened.

“Art, c’mon, you’re scandalizing her,” Patrick said, like you weren’t even there.

“Shut up,” you said, shoving him. He laughed and pulled his boxers back up. Art followed suit, and the three of you were left gross and sweating in the heat. You wiped your hand off on one of their discarded shirts and gave a sheepish smile.

They sat there, expectantly. Waiting for you to make the next call. There was a level of want in you, need, but the thought of asking for them to take care of it was mortifying. “Do you want to watch a movie or something now?”

[kyri45]

We love MK, child of un-divorced. The next update will be more gay. And fluffier.

Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (PREV / FIRST / NEXT )

before saying anything, read the stuff under the cut

About wukong and macaque

Both these bitches did wrong, but remember that MK saw the vision starting from the fight itself, not what happened before. He then read the chapters of the book and read that Macaque also attacked. I personally think he's mostly hurted by what Wukong did, not because it's worse of what Macaque did, but because he idolized Wukong for so long, and while he know he did so many wrongs in the past, his vision of a "hero" dissapeared in this moment. He s mostly dissapointed let's say. Of course it's not the best of things to put tour heroes on a pedal because you will always be dissapointed. I guess MK learned the lesson...

About what MK said in panel 8

Our monkey boy is remembering his own very stupid thing he sacrificied himself without trying to talk it out with the others AND using the circuit on Wukong.

About the posters

Yes they were Monkey King posters. MK ripped them immediately after the vision because he still was not sure was reality and vision and was scared.

About the eye

Because I would prefer no one dies of angst, his eye is fine, it s more like symbolism.

[irafook]

Ok, but listen. Harry goes back in time and decides to get rid of Tom Riddle AU, but the sorting hat goes like ??? when it reads Harry's mind. Idk it just irks me how the sorting hat is so understanding in most time travel fics, at best it puts Harry in a house he didn't want to be. But just imagine if it actually tells on Harry, full great hall drama with the hat going like "HE'S HERE TO MURDER SOMEONE"

And ofc Tom is instantly obsessed with the murder boy.

Extra:

(ofc the poor hat is not broken, it's on the verge of a nervous breakdown)

[cracklewink]

Harmony Syndrome Part 5/5

The last chapter of my mlp infection AU! Thank you to everyone who followed along. Some final thoughts on my twitter @cracklewink if anyone's interested : )

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[drivebypainter]

What’s this? A fan fiction written by yours truly?! Yes! It is!

50% of All Marriages End in Divorce by Teacat11

Rated: Mature

Tags: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fake Marriage, Fake Pregnancy, Queer Platonic Relationship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Obsessive Luo Binghe, Confused Mobei-jun, Tired Shen Yuan, Shang Qinghua & Shen Qingqiu Friendship, Canon-Typical Violence, Oblivious Shen Yuan, Awkard Kissing, Enthusiastic Kissing, Dubious Kissing, Delusional Thinking and Activities, Real Marriage, Happy Ending.

Summary:

"“Well it goes like this, if we get fake married it won't be suspicious to Mobei-jun or anyone else if we both wander off together to look for Moon-Dew Sun Mushrooms-“

“Sun-Moon Dew Mushrooms.”

“-and if one of us pretends to be pregnant-“

“WHEN DID PREGNANCY COME INTO PLAY?!”

“-then Luo Binghe won't hurt us, after all, he wouldn’t hurt a pregnant person or the pathetic husband of said pregnant person! Which means we could avoid having to die in the first place!” Shang Qinghua finished his explanation with jazz hands. Shen Qingqiu felt like spitting blood.

Or

Months after the Immortal Alliance Conference disaster, Shen Qingqiu learns a bit of crucial information: Shang Qinghua, the treacherous rat behind the disaster in the first place, is a transmigrator! The two immediately begin to work together to find ways to survive Luo Binghe's return and the subsequent demise of their sect and lives, and with few options and time running out, they come to a quick and easy solution to save their skins; get fake married."

[shepscapades]

Thanks to artfight, I’ve finally finished a detailed, official dbhc cub reference! :D

(I’ve put his Artifight description below the cut, which has a more detailed explanation of his timeline, lore, and aesthetics! >:3)

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁  OVERVIEW ❁ ༺ ˎˊ-

Name: C.B.F.N.4000 (Cub) Pronouns: He/Him Species: Android Height: 5’9’’ Associated Visual Themes: vex, ghosts, explosions, mischief, scientist aesthetic, potions, potionmaking, sleepy/tired aesthetic, conspiracies

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁  ABOUT ❁ ༺ ˎˊ-

CBFN4000 is an au version of MCYT Hermitcraft’s Cubfan, set in my DBHC (or Detroit Become Hermitcraft) AU! This au is inspired by the 2018 game Detroit Become Human, but not because it really has anything to do with DBH—I simply yoinked the android mechanics and incorporated them into the world of Hermitcraft. It began as a S8 au, and has roughly followed the hermitcraft timeline up to the present! 

Cub was the last android made during Season 8. While many of the hermit androids were made at the beginning of season 8 and a few were made for season 9, Cub was finished and activated mid-late Season 8, around the time when Hermits started noticing the Big Moon. Cub’s model ended up being a sloppy experiment in deviation, as Doc suggested they try to transfer deviancy to an android upon activation to try and avoid traumatic situations that might cause an android to deviate violently or upsettingly, such as Etho’s, Tango’s, or Mumbo’s experiences. While this went relatively well initially, it clearly wasn’t very thoroughly thought out, as Xisuma (who is normally so adamant and detail-oriented when it comes to assuring the androids’ safety with experiments like this) wasn’t truly himself due to external manipulation and mostly left a relatively young-deviant Doc to carry out the project himself. 

Cub, though adjusting to sentience rather well at first, very quickly became wrapped up in the Big Moon happenings on the server, new personality and inexperience to emotions like fear and ignorance completely overwhelming his young system. He became obsessive over the implications and consequences of the Season 8 Moon Apocalypse, joining the Mooners and spreading his conspiracy theories religiously throughout the server as he descended into madness. The insanity was like a virus to his programming, pervasive and all-engulfing, and Cub’s final attempt to free himself from the Moon’s impact with the Earth—to launch himself on a llama into space via potion-powered TNT(insane btw)— left his hands and feet singed and cracked to ruin.

The experiment, considered a horrific failure by a deeply shameful—and more awake—S9 Xisuma, left Doc and Xisuma with the decision to reset him for the new season, and they ended up pairing him with a hermit like they had done with the other androids until they had found deviancy enough to pursue their own projects. So, at the start of season 9 and fresh after a reset, Cub was paired with Scar. Naturally, because Scar is… Scar, Cub deviated almost instantly after being given to him, and very quickly adopted the iconic lazy, stoic, amused attributes normally associated with Cubfan. Scar’s tendency towards mischief and general shenanigans grew instantly on Cub, and the two were an immediate inseparable pair. So much so that when Scar began rambling one day about his Season 5 Hermitcraft Shenanigans (where deals with the Vex may or may not have been involved), Cub immediately stated he was interested in being in on it. Whatever “it” means. It’s unclear if Cub also made a deal with the vex or became connected to them in some other way, but… well, he got Doc’s help to trick out his eyes, hair, and back to best fit the part. Scar is very jealous that he can't magically make himself have the same features to match.

Cub is closest with Scar, but he gets along just as well with any of the other hermits! He’s close with Jevin and many of the other redstoners like Etho and Doc, who are the other two androids I’ve put on artfight!

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁  EXTRAS ❁ ༺ ˎˊ-

Cub's eyes can light up in the dark, and he’s the only android who has edited his programming so that the default state of his LED is white, not blue. It still will go yellow and red if his processors are working particularly hard, but he’s replaced the blue setting on his LED with white to better match the Vex vibe. Cub has all of the vibes of a fae. If that’s anything <3

[forgettable-au]

Sans do you ever feel that something might be missing?

Maybe he felt like that at some point, maybe for a long time. In the present, I think he's made some kind of peace with it.

Also, I really like the ask blog format, but I don't really mean this to be an ask blog.

So when writing questions, try to refer them to me instead of the characters. That way, they don't have to break the fourth wall lmao. I really wanted to answer this one tho

-

[samaraxmorgan]

It seems like once again you’ve accidentally found a way to annoy the life out of your roommate Sukuna. You’ve been playing your favorite song on repeat, over and over and over again when you’re in the shower, cleaning up around the apartment, he’s even caught you humming it while cooking.

And maybe he wouldn’t be so frustrated with it if he liked the song, but he really truly doesn’t. Too much of a stubborn metal head to even give it a chance. Or at least that’s what you thought.

He swears up and down that he hates that stupid song, but when you come home early from work you can hear something up in his room, his guitar. You always assumed he only had that thing for decoration, shiny dark red and signed in black sharpie by him and his friends hanging up on the wall collecting dust, but it turns out he actually plays.

And what does he play in particular? Your favorite song when he thinks you can’t hear it. Now you just have to decide if you’re gonna have this knowledge be your little secret, or if you’re gonna embarrass him later when you tell him about the time you caught him being a little liar.

Your Roommate Sukuna series masterlist here!!

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!! Divider by @adornedwithlight

[soadscrawl]

i wasnt gonna post this but that first little doodle had ppl yodeling on instagram so...... camp staff au

[star-mail]

they're brothers your honor >:]

more virus shen jiu au ! :D part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4

[soosoosoup]

Chord Striker Au by @thatbennybee