#one with kermit and one without

[manatee-rp-memes]

Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas (1977) Sentence Starters

~Feel free to tweak as needed~

"If you pass the hat to a fish, all you get is a wet hat."

"What are we gonna do about Christmas this year?"

"Oh, better lean into that starboard oar."

"Whew, she looks friendly as a polecat today."

"I'd really appreciate it if you'd fall off the dock."

"Sometimes you gotta talk tough to these people."

"Listen, you got anything to barter with today?"

"Well, Pa should've gotten rich on snake oil, but there just aren't enough people who want to oil a snake."

"If they didn't want these things to roll, they should've made them square."

"Gettin' colder every day now. Be walkin' the river soon."

"Don't talk about Christmas all the time. There's no point, is there? We don't have enough for regular days."

"Selling that old piano was one of the saddest things I ever had to do."

"About all I got left is a sense of humor and a washtub."

"Boy, it's cold this morning. The river's frozen up solid."

"Sit down. Mercy! I don't even have water on for tea. Goodness gracious!"

"You do have a mighty fine singin' voice."

"What we should do is organize a jug band."

"I'm home! I cut the Christmas branch."

"You know, sometimes, you even sound like your pa."

"First slide of the year! Whoopee!"

"A person's got to take some chances, or life'll never come to nothin'."

"Though our minds be filled with questions, in our hearts we'll understand, when the river meets the sea."

"In that sweet and final hour, truth and justice will be done."

"Well, if your taste's like mine, you like cider not wine, and your very favorite thing to do is get a purty girl dancing to jug-band music and a mess of Mama's barbeque!"

"Sorry to split you up like that."

"Thank you. I'm very nice to have helped you. Oh! I mean, I'm very nice you... excuse me."

"You're terribly nervous."

"Love can open your eyes."

"Perhaps we're long-lost brothers."

"This family just keeps growing."

"Problems don't worry us when half the fun is guessing."

"We don't wish to learn, but we hate what we don't understand.''

"That's about the nicest present anybody ever tried to give me."

"I guess I should feel pretty bad. But the funny thing is that I don't. I feel pretty good."

"I hadn't thought of that old song in years. But when I did, it just felt right."

"That's fine music, folks."

"I thought you needed something a little extra, but it appears to me that what you needed was each other."

"I sure enjoyed our first night's work."

[liauditore]

i forgot what his ingame name was and had to scrub thru a bunch of videos looking for him like a cryptid and i think that's incredibly joe hills of him

[curiosityschild]

Day 15 - Popular

What's so amazing that keeps us stargazing And what do we think we might see?

Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection The lovers, the dreamers and me.

[torgawl]

this is absolutely killing me *bombastic side eye, criminal offensive side eye playing in the background*

[medaart]

Having a long stretch of Baldur's Gate 3 brainrot + lifelong Muppet brainrot resulted in me realizing I'm just RP'ing Tavstarion with the same dynamics as Kermiggy: A short, green-clad person just trying to keep everything together, make sure nobody blows up, while also secretly being smitten with a beautiful attention hog.

[jewishcissiekj]

some low-effort (mostly) referenceless sticky note doodles from a good while ago

[lilliankillthisman]

You could probably get away with having all Academy professors as humans, or all Nobles. I think that would go against the egalitarian ethos of the muppet world, as humans shouldn't be positioned as a superior life form to muppets, but for a darker tone it could work well.

Going for all professors would leave the nature of the Academy very plain from the start, as the force behind the Crown and above the Nobles, but it would make Sylvester's scenes with Professor Ferres all the more shocking.

If you go for all the Nobles, then the ending would play very well thematically with the ending of The Muppets (2011).

Who would be the only human in Muppets Twig

[thoughts-reasons]

Crime scene

[the-muppet-joker]

The funeral will be held tomorrow. 7/31

2:00 pm EST

I do not even have his ashes to bury. Any who wish to attend the service, simply howl loud and long into the wind at 2:00 tomorrow and post a mournful image of Kermit. Tell his story as well, if you desire. I will be doing the same, and crying. OH KERMIT! TAKEN FROM ME SO YOUNG. YOUR SUPPLE WRISTS, YOUR SENSUAL WAIST, YOUR DEMURE SMILE, YOUR BREEDABLE HOLE. Taken from us too soon. Burned in a fire by my loathesome emo roommates. Is there any justice?

Join me in my mourning. Tell your friends to join. Your family. Send off my Kermit plushie's soul to the great beyond with one thousand saddened howls! And mourn the fact that I no longer have any Muppet Hole to contain my cum. A Croaker without his Hole? SAD!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Based off of something I saw on TikTok recently

Hotd characters that I think would be absolutely ecstatic in calling you his spouse(not in any particular order) :

Benjicot Blackwood:

This man is going to think it’s all a dream that you married him but once he finds comfort that it’s not and that you are in fact married, he’ll smile the biggest smile and just acts proud that you chose him out of every possible suitor.

He ain’t looking at anyone else when he’s got you babe, Willem Blackwood and Alysanne brought him up better than that and he knew better himself then to do such a thing.

He’s a simp for you and everyone in the Riverlands knows this, Oscar and Kermit tease him relentlessly for this but Benjicot doesn’t fucking care, he’ll happily let his mind wander to you and talk about you at any given moment if he were to see anything that made him think about you to anyone who could hear him.

Jacaerys Velaryon;

Devote husband who’ll gladly wait on you hand and foot without question.

He loved calling you his spouse, it fills him with joy and happiness in letting everyone know that you are bound to one another for eternity.

Anyone insults you? He’s quick to say ‘have care for what you say in front of my spouse.’ With his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, a silent threat that spoke a million words. He will not allow anyone to mess with you in any regard, as an insult on you might as well be an insult on him too and Jace won’t have that. You deserve respect and by the gods he’ll give you it tenfold.

Aeron Bracken;

He’s gonna be all chivalrous about it and such but you know he’s going to rub in the fact that he got you before a Blackwood could.

He loves that he had something over them now and it was the fact that you married him and he’s on cloud nine the entire time, he belonged to you and he’ll kneel before you often just so he could look up at you with those pretty eyes of his.

He may look like an angel in human form but you were akin to a deity he’d gladly lay his life down for if it meant getting to be the one laying in your arms each and every night. His sword was yours and he’ll cut down anyone you held a dislike towards for a while, just say the word and Aeron will seek them out for you, his beloved spouse.

Gwayne Hightower

Can and will use any opportunity to call you his spouse at any given moment of any day to the point it’s borderline annoying. Not for you and him though, for everyone else that is.

Gwayne will call you his spouse for all of those in court to hear and he’ll be smug about it too because why the fuck would he not! He’s married to the most wonderful person in all the realms; you! You can’t fault him for wanting to remind everyone that he was well and truly taken and happily so.

He says it in front of Criston Cole the most for the reactions that he gets, Criston wore his emotions clear as day on his face that it was obvious to know how he was feeling, so Gwayne abuses this fact to the high heavens.

He loves showing you off because he knows he had gotten extremely lucky in life when you came along.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Only if Jane is played by Miss Piggy herself

A movie adaptation of a classic book, which is as loyal to the source material as possible in everything the source material mentioned, but also throws in whatever weird shit to the backgrounds of the scenes with the argument that well, Jane Austen never mentioned what these two specific characters are doing on the background of this scene while the protagonist and her love interest talk. So of course they're working on constructing a giant mecha furby.

[emo-batboy]

Things Battinson Totally Did During His First Year of University

Using Unhinged or Odd Things I Also Did as a College Freshman :D

Note: for this list, let’s believe Bruce was living in an (admittedly expensive and swanky) dorm because it is required for first-years, especially those entering at a young age, and Alfred told him he needed to make friends. Also yes I did every single thing on this list. I never claimed to be a role model

Bruce, to his TA: I’m so sorry I’m late to class. I gave blood a few hours ago and almost fainted on the way here, but it won’t happen again.

Signs up for a class called “Age of Dinosaurs” despite it not being required whatsoever and proceeds to work his entire schedule around it

Bruce: Your mental health is super important. If you think you should see the on-campus therapist, go see them. Friend: Fine. I’ll sign up for therapy if you sign up for therapy too. Bruce: Hold on-

Finds a loophole in his housing contract that allows him to get a pet frog, calls him kermit :)

Gets a second frog because Kermit was lonely, names it Constantine after Muppets Most Wanted, then realizes that they’re gay for each other. Wonders if the rainbow-colored rocks he got them triggered anything

Swings dramatically between calling Alfred every single day and ghosting him for weeks, cries when he realizes what he did

“Accidentally” joins the student body council, doesn’t know what he’s doing, gets re-elected anyway

Molds a dragon out of Laffy Taffy instead of doing his work

Bruce: *joins Honors, gets all A’s, takes the max amount of classes, has several minors, overachieves* Also Bruce: I’m a failure.

Breaks into a building after hours to study because NO ONE KNOWS HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP AT THE LIBRARY

Bruce: I will not get seasonal depression this year. Bruce: *gets real and seasonal depression that year*

Meticulously schedules his day with a color-coded planner because if he sits down for too long, the thoughts will consume him

Gives a presentation to his rhetoric class on how much he likes Spider-Man: Into the Spiderverse (it is 20 minutes long)

Successfully allocates funding from the student body council to pay for free feminine products in the dorms OUT OF SPITE because someone said it couldn't be done. fuck you, Andrew

Bruce: It is not an all-nighter if I go to sleep before my first class. Friend: It is 7:30am, the sun is in the sky, and your first class is at 12:30. Bruce: But I am getting sleep.

Refuses to go anywhere without his backpack because what if he needs three notebooks at once

Loses over 20 pounds because ✨stress✨ and scares the shit out of Alfred when he comes home for Thanksgiving

Argues with his TA over the one (1) question he got wrong on his Dinosaur exam

Bruce, calling Alfred: Hello father figure. How do I do taxes? Do I have to do them myself? Also, I think I’m having a panic attack.

Joins in on a charity arts-and-crafts project that gives kids books with matching activities made by volunteers, proceeds to commandeer the project because “it’s not color-blind friendly” and rewrites the instructions for everyone

Makes a murder wall

Goes to one (1) sports game and proceeds to leave in the first ten minutes because it’s way too loud wtf is wrong with people

Professor, addressing the lecture hall: I dare you to write an essay about these two sentences. Bruce: *writes an essay about six words, gets a 100, never even read the book*

Crawls into the ceiling for some alone time

Ghosts someone after a date because he’s too scared to tell them he didn’t know it was a date in the first place and now he feels bad

Classmate: How tf does he walk across campus that fast? I go in the same direction he does on my bike, and he’s always ahead of me. Bruce: *is gay sprinting to Dinosaur class*

Refuses to let others use his Favorite Pen TM

Constantly gets mistaken for a Grad Student because he is “so wise and mature” (bestie, that’s the autism)

Alfred: *casually mentions he got into a car accident through text* Bruce: *replies with a meme while hyperventilating because he doesn’t know what to do with that information??!*

Wears a suit to one of his finals

Regularly eats non-organic food for the first time in his life, proceeds to learn about several allergies Alfred forgot to mention he has

Writes “What is a Hot Pocket?” in calligraphy and proceeds to laugh his ass off alone in his dorm because he is so exhausted he’s reached the point of delusion

Locks himself out of his dorm right before class, frantically asks the floor group chat if someone can help, proceeds to tell the nice gay man on the floor who saved him “I love you” because his social skills have hit rock bottom

Makes a little music album display next to his desk for his favorite band (Nirvana) His friends call it a shrine, and they are technically correct

Has a blacklist of people he refuses to interact with because Reasons

Counselor: What do you want to do when you graduate? Bruce: *gestures vaguely*

Refuses to take the bus because there are people in there and he doesn’t like those

Loses one of his frogs, how tf did he do that, they’re fully aquatic, oh fuck, this is probably why they got rid of that loophole a year later because unbeknownst to Bruce, he accidentally started a frog revolution in the dorms, btw he SWEARS he did not mean to do that

Has two trash cans in his room: one for the Good Garbage, and one for the Bad Garbage. Only Bruce knows which is which

Bruce: *writes a creative piece about a ship’s final thoughts as it sinks, bringing its passengers down with it* TA: Absolutely lovely, Bruce, but are you okay?

Goes on Night Walks, keeps himself safe by maintaining a level 12 resting bitch face at all times

Earns the nickname “8th floor cryptid” after pacing the halls at 3am when it’s too cold for Night Walks (honestly tho how tf didn’t he get the nickname earlier?)

Bruce: Do you think a depressed person could do this? Bruce: *has a manic episode*

Okay that's all love you BYE

[bumblehoneybee]

Post-Nuclear - Chapter One

Inspired by Counting Stars Amongst Weeds by @/wearywheats

Contains Sonic 3 spoilers, so read with caution

"S’just a woodpecker." You motion to the trunk above, not that Kermit really hears you. He braces on the tree, barking at the bird and jumping like he'll be able to reach it up on the tall pine branches. It hammers on, though, unfazed by the threats on its life. Seems it's used to dumb dogs with big ideas.

With a roll of your eyes, you raise the camera back up. The woodpecker pauses in its search for food to spit out the bits of wood collected in its beak. You take the chance to snap a few shots of it, hoping the sight of its tongue sticking out is caught on film. The papers and ecological sites tend to like the funnier images.

Kermit, seeing as his enemy is too far out of reach, scampers to your side instead. He braces on your leg as you fiddle with the aperture settings on your camera, whining for you to help him. However, you are not as young as he would prefer, and think better of throwing him into the tree like one would a football.

Seeing your cousin do that and then having to drive them both to get medical attention killed any sliver of consideration you could have towards the idea.

Instead, you grab a stick, slap it around at his feet, and once the dog is too overwhelmed by what's happening, throw it off into the trees. Kermit sprints after it, the sound of his feet in the brush all you need to be assured he's still nearby.

You gaze up at the trees again, finding the woodpecker turned around now, staring down at you. It's head cocks this way and that, trying to get a good look at what's causing a ruckus down below. You raise your camera again, smiling when the bird jumps at the sound of the shutter.

With a squawk of a noise, it takes flight, noisily flapping its wings so it can rise above the treeline. Before you can attempt to follow, however, something. . . happens.

You notice the light first, the sudden brightness to the sky when it should be darker. Late afternoon during this time of year means a steady setting of the sun, yet suddenly the world brightens around you, like an overexposed photo.

It's hard to see through the brambles and leaves, but high above there's a golden light burning through the canopy. You rush forward, towards your home where there's a clearing of trees, whistling for Kermit to follow. The little greyhound nips at your toes, shining bright as a star in the strange lighting, and seems unafraid of whatever phenomenon has plagued the forest.

When the trees part for clear skies, you spot it. A ball of flames scorches through the sea of blue, spiraling downwards. It cuts away at the tips of the trees, but you can tell when it hits Earth by the trembling of the ground. You stumble, knees scraping the dirt, while Kermit clumsily rolls past you.

Wow. A meteor. A falling star landed in the forest, near your home, and now you can see the smoke billowing up into the air. It's not that far away, not really, and whatever landed. . .

You bite your lip.

A meteor crater can't be safe, but then again, who wouldn't love a photo of burning meteorite still hot from its descent? You could make a decent income on some photos of that.

Without any more thought, you toss Kermit back into the house and sprint towards the smoke column, eager to make it there before anyone else can ruin the natural state of the impact zone.

A breathless laugh escapes you as you hurdle fallen stumps and small streams. Fallen leaves slick with mud send you windmilling over inclines, but you keep pace, too excited to care about mud-stained jeans and scratched up palms. You've never seen a meteorite period, much less one in its natural state. This will be thrilling, and maybe if you're very, very lucky, it'll change your life for the better.

After all, while being freelance is fun, being signed on to a nature magazine or a newspaper would make your salary not only steadier but higher too! You and Kermit could maybe even move somewhere closer to town, where the people are! Make friends and not feel like the weirdo living out on the town limits who people only see once a week, if even.

Well, maybe that's an exaggeration. After all, most folks who want wedding or birthday photoshoots call you. Still, a steady job would be a dream come true, and this meteorite could be your ticket to it.

Your shoes scuff tracks into the dirt. You wobble, nearly falling into the pit of seared earth. The grass is still smoldering, trees fluttering with burning leaves. Luckily, none of it seems like it’ll spread far, what with the wet week you’ve been having. So with that assured, you turn back to the crater, wafting away smoke.

There’s something black in the center. You catch glimpses of red too. Your heart flutters with excitement that the meteorite might still be rife with molten lava, so you quickly pull out your camera, fiddling with the exposure and such before you start snapping as fast as you can.

You take photos of the crater still filled with smoke, the burning trees, the smoky trail still burned into the sky. And finally, with your heart in your throat and enough of the smoke cleared, you approach the center of the crater.

It’s a long drop, the impact hard enough to reach a rocky layer of the Earth’s crust. You ease yourself down into the pit, wafting away the wisps of smoke that curl around your face. When the ground levels out, you ease yourself forward, a hand held out to detect anything that might be still too-hot to get close to.

You don't feel anything, even as you make it to the center of the crater. There's still a small column of smoke clinging to the meteorite. You try to waft it away too, but don't manage much. So instead, you kneel down, surprised to find that the cause of all this damage is something so small.

Your hands land on your camera, ready to get some lovely close-ups of molten space rock. You blow into the smoke, watching it curl and disperse enough to show you your prize.

Except. . . instead of rock. . . there's a hand.

You stare at it, and yeah. . . it's a hand, clasped in a white glove singed black, missing sections to reveal blistered skin. It's connected to a similarly burned arm, black fur and red stripping and even more patchy spots with burns.

Something constricts around your chest, making it hard to breathe. Your head spins, but you don't think too hard about crawling closer and grabbing the arm, fingers curling over the wrist.

It's there, a faint pulse. The soft thumps under your fingers makes everything sharpen. You stare into the clumped fur, too afraid to look farther than the elbow.

But your eyes betray you, flickering upwards to a face, slacken and covered in blood.

A fear unlike you've ever known ices your veins. You're panicking, hands fluttering now, parting fur to find more cuts, more bruises, and more burns, some worse than others. You want to turn his head, try and find where all the blood is coming from, but the quills that spike out from the back of his head make you nervous.

You're nervous. You're scared. But there's a guy-animal-thing here lying in a crater and bleeding out onto the earth, so you gotta do. . . something! And that something can be figured out when you're closer to home.

At least he's unconscious, because you certainly have no grace hauling him into your arms. He's warm to the touch, but not so hot as to hurt you. No doubt his burns are more serious than something your aloe plant can help, so there's research to be done there.

You stumble, struggling to claw your way up the crater's incline with a body half-strewn over your shoulder. There's puffs of air against your neck, hitching with each wobble of your footing. Your fingers are going to be raw from digging into the dirt and rocks, but god is your head too buzzed to care.

Kermit is understandably in a frenzy when you return with a guy in your arms. He does spins and circles around you, eager to play with the new person or new toy, whichever you chose to bring him. You stomp your feet and shuffle them at the hound so he runs away, though, expecting a game of chase. Instead of chase, however, you escape to the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

He can cry about it for now. You can soothe his hurt feelings when there's not a guy dying on you.

The tub fills with water, and you set your new guest down on the toilet for the time being. Your camera sits on the sink, and your phone sits in your hand, pages of how to identify and care for burns trying to teach you how to save something you never knew existed.

You make sure the tub isn't too warm per the instructions of a hospital, then lower the guy down into it. You keep his head propped on the tub's edge, dunking one of your wash cloths into the water to use on his face.

Dried blood and ash clears with each pass, showing you the wound that's causing most of the mess. The gash cuts through his temple, curling up around the pointed ear on his head. You clean the debris from it best you can, and wonder if any of your first aid supplies will help bandage such a wound.

Before that, however, you pull your guest from his bath. The water is a dark grey from the ash and dirt, so you drain it quick, using the shower head to do a clean of the tub before refilling it.

You focus on the quills next, carefully pouring water over his head with the cup you usually keep your toothbrush in. You watch the debris wash out into the tub with disdain. Gross. You'll need to drain it again when you start focusing on his burns.

The article on your phone mentions cold water, bandages, and pain meds (the latter of which you have no expectations for). You have that stuff on you, but the cream they recommend, silver sulfadiazine, you don't have. Looks like he's going to have to put up with your aloe plant for now.

Satisfied that he's clean enough, you pull him from the tub and pat dry his fur and quills until he's dry enough for the couch. With Kermit screaming in your bedroom, demanding to play with the new guest, you drag over your big aloe plant, walking the heavy pot to the side of the couch before you grab your first aid kit from the kitchen.

You sit on the floor before the couch, staring at the hands and legs sporting the most serious burns, blistered and shiny. You don't know what you're doing. Your worst burn has been sunburn, and anything else is lost to the panic haze and childhood daze that covers those older memories. But you know aloe helps, and bandages are needed, so you can go from there.

"Aha," you laugh, sticky hands smacking for the remote, "I'm gonna have a dead body in my house, ha."

The TV blares to life, thankfully distracting you from your lack of confidence in your medical experience. A newscaster drones on about the upcoming weather, expecting rainy days and pollen counts, while you're smearing blisters in aloe and wrapping them in gauze, near tears with each twitch of foot and hiss of air.

"In other news, more information regarding the Eclipse Canon and the state of the moon has been released by officials, showing insight to the future that awaits us."

You pause, an arm held up by the glove you have half off. The TV shows a space station, like something from a movie, alongside a picture of a half-destroyed moon. A nausea grips at your stomach.

When did the moon explode? How did it explode?

You really need to start watching the news more often.

"Sources say that the explosion of the Eclipse Canon has caused a nebula to form within the Milky Way, close enough to Earth for us to see with the naked eye." You balk, but the stern-faced newscaster continues without fail, uncaring of your misery. "Monitoring of the nebula has shown its in a stable state, with no supernovas to occur for hundreds of years. As for the moon, it's new state thanks to the Eclipse Canon, activated by one Dr. Eggman-"

"He shot the fucking moon!?" You exclaim, only to jump with the arm drops to the couch, glove fully removed. "Ah! Shit!"

"-expected for tides to shift, due to the change in the satellite's new mass. Small pieces of debris from the moon are expected to fall to Earth as well, so if you are a part of these areas, be sure to fortify and ready for cover in case of your home is in the collision course."

You groan, flopping onto your back. You could've had a piece of the moon hit nearby, but no. You got a guy, probably an alien guy, instead.

Looks like you're going to be doing some internet searching tonight. Time to catch up with the current events, since apparently missing a few days of the news to watch game shows instead means missing the fact the moon got blown up while you weren't looking.

Rubbing your hands over your face, you sigh heavily. The past hour or so plays over in your head, settling into your bones like a heavy weight. There's an alien in your home now, more or less. An alien, hurt and alone, now residing on your couch.

You hit the floor with your first. What are you going to do? Calling the police would end up with your alien being taken away, and you're scared of that. But you're not sure this guy isn't. . . bad either. He could attack once he wakes up.

God. . . where did you put your laptop? You need to look this shit up.

[helen--richardson]

ok so the thing about the muppet joker is that it is genuinely one of the most hilarious, compelling, and evocative pieces of unfiction i've ever encountered. Some of the writing is genuinely incredible and the whole thing is incredibly funny. but like, i can't tell anyone in my real life about it because how the fuck do i explain that the line "Have you ever felt that a part of yourself was missing and known, deep within the places where your bones come together, that there is nothing you could ever do to get it back?" is written by someone who canonically fucks a kermit the frog puppet.

this is like finding a hauntingly beautiful carving of a vampire inside of a cloth bag that is embroidered with some of the funniest jokes you've ever read. however the issue is you found it in a garbage bin and it's covered in gross slimy garbage and you can't have people knowing that you were rooting around in the garbage bin and you can't show it to other people without them smelling the garbage.

[lovetique]

a sugary smile stretching in a pearly white one at being called brave and his girl in one sentence. "maybe. but in a car... least i feel like i'm the one in control, even if i might crash anyway. in a plane it's all suffocating and scary, being confined so high up and my life in someone else's hands." she explains, just thinking of it has her brows creasing as she thinks about the stress of it. "but i still wouldn't mind a marcus presentation." a tiny laugh escapes as her features soften, only he has the power do that while so many parts of her body hurts right now and she feels like she survived a tornado. "of course i really want to. just for one night, at least." she pepped, shoulders shrugging. "i think you're forgiven according to the speed of the tail wagging i gathered, regardless how it went the first time," she can laugh about it now, especially remembering how percy and marcus both were a chaotic mixture that night which is hilarious to think on if she ignores the rest of the parts that hurt. "but it would only be proper if you shake his paw. he has to know who his dad is." elena amusingly smiles, the red still stuck to his face continuing her display of amusement etched across olive features.

"not me?" she wonders how come, since she did have some similarities. could've sworn they were getting along from his stories she had to see, like the night he came over right after their date or whatever it was. she looks skeptical about it, but decides she'll pry more about it after her shower. "hmm..." frown deepened hearing this answer, that idea didn't sound great at all. pouting because he doesn't want to talk to her while she's washing her hair. "it doesn't matter at all. i actually like it better with your pepperoni's on display." her cold thumbs pressed into his nipples in gesture what she was calling pepperoni's and to do something spontaneous before hurriedly climbing down off his bed when the adrenaline giggles started bubbling over by reaching out and using his arm to hold on to then scattering off to the bathroom with his shirt once her feet hit the floor.

             there’s  an  internal  fall  from  her  display  of  confusion,  followed  by  a  near  immediate  rise  with  her  answer.  it’s  a  relief  how  obvious  she  makes  it  sound,  that  she  of  course  would  come,  that  she’s  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice  beyond  waiting.    “my  brave  girl,”    words  are  breathy  and  smile  is  soft,  but  there's   feeling  within  his  gaze  that  marcus  knew  he  couldn't  properly  convey  with  words.  finds  himself  stuck  in  a  moment  as  he  simply  takes  her  in,  feeling  like  his  feet  aren’t  on  the  ground  and  unsure  why  her  promise  of  a  transatlantic  flight  felt  like  such  a  touching  gesture.  “flying  is  the  safest  mode  of  transportation  there  is,  you  know.”  a  playful  raise  of  his  brow  before  he  continues,  “it’s  been  a  while,  but  i’d  bet  i  could  still  make  a  mean  powerpoint  presentation  with  some  statistics  if  you  get  cold  feet.”  the  suggestion  of  camping  had  been  nothing  more  than  a  joke,  but  upon  elena’s  excitement,  marcus  resigned  to  the  fact  that  he’d  eventually  be  buying  a  tent.  “if  you  really  want  to,”  mirrors  her  laughter,  “i  probably  need  a  re-introduction  to  percy,  anyway.  i  don’t  think  i  made  a  great  impression  the  first  time  around.”

               “so  i’m  quickly  learning,”  he  comments,  finally  putting  his  grumblings  to  bed  about  it.  it  was  easier  to  hear  the  analogy  now  with  both  of  their  pretenses  slashed,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  marcus  would  never  be  able  to  look  at  a  raccoon  the  same  way.  jaw  subconsciously  tightens  when  she  brings  up  mila,  realizing  that  he  had  practically  ushered  elena  into  this  line  of  questioning.  it  was  an  unavoidable  topic,  something  he  knew  he’d  have  to  answer  for  eventually,  and  he   did   promise  to  go  through  anything  and  everything  she  wanted  tonight  if  she  stayed.   “she  wasn’t  you,”   the  answer  sounds  evasive,  but  it  was  truly  that  simple  in  marcus’  mind.  “i  tried  to  move  on.  i  just  never  thought  we’d  be… here.”  he’d  spent  months  with  mila,  albeit  casually  and  the  time  scattered,  but  he'd  been  consumed  with  guilt  and  confusion  the  whole  time.  elena's  pleading  eyes  has  his  heart  twisting,  solidifying  that   no   one   else   had  this  sort  of  effect  on  him.  a  sly  shrug  rolls  off  his  shoulders,  “ i  could    …    or, ”  he  starts  to  counter,  eyes  briefly  flickering  to  her  finger  pressed  against  his  skin,  “you  take  a  shower  and  i  go  find  a  sleep  shirt  that  impresses  you,  since  it  seems  to  matter  so  much.”  words  are  said  in  jest  when  he  steps  back,  leaving  her  room  to  make  her  way  off  his  bed. 

[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 7)

Lucifer/Reader: You’ve been chosen to be the Mother of the Antichrist. Rated E.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

Your sleep had become fitful with dreams that, while not full of violence, left you waking in a cold sweat most mornings. You couldn’t remember most of what happened aside from a parade of images and feelings of discomfort. Sometimes, downright fear. 

The blonde woman was still the star, but you couldn’t remember a word she’d say. The sight of her frowning at two men replayed in your head between sleeping and waking. She frowned at you with dewy wide eyes. 

The woman held her arms out to you: beseeching, sheltering, hurriedly hiding but you were able to escape the gaze of one of the men. 

Fear had spirited you away from unconsciousness when the man’s brown eyes sparked into an unnatural gold. They heated with anger at the mere sight of you. 

—

The only equivalent you could come up with for how you awoke was being jump-started like a car. It took a solid moment of gulping in air and eyeing your surroundings before you could calm the beat of your heart.

“Lucifer?”

It took too much energy to turn and look for him, but you saw that the sheets beside you were disturbed, but duck-less. 

You were overly warm, hopelessly reaching out to run your hand down the opposite side of the bed despite what your eyes told you. 

For a while there was nothing to do but lay in the silence of your darkened room. Eventually your hand drifted into your belly. 

It had become a reflex to pet your own tummy, to feel the bump that had formed there, as small as it was. 

—

You faced forward, looking directly at the screen of your TV without really seeing it. Beside you, Lucifer giggled at whatever was happening between Kermit and Gonzo onscreen. 

His bare hand was latched onto yours, fingers entwined, claws digging into your skin just enough to hurt. Not a lot, just a little bit. Strangely, the discomfort kept you grounded and away from the outlandish yet very real fear that you’d float away without it. 

‘Is it dissociating or disassociation?’

You’d gone long enough with it happening multiple times now but you couldn’t even remember what it was called.

You were pregnant. 

Well, you’d been pregnant for about a month and a half. And your partner in crime had been excited. So excited he’d literally exclaimed ‘oh my golly’ at the news. 

Then he’d had a panic attack, complete with big yet shallow gasps for air and arm flailing, hands flapping, short legs in knee-high boots pacing a hole into your carpet.

You were somewhat grateful for his outburst, if only because taking the steps to placate him was placating unto itself. 

— 

The memory made you smile weakly. A memory that seemed so long ago, even if it had technically happened only a few months prior. 

Everything that had happened afterward had made it seem rosier than it should’ve been. Before things soured so thoroughly that you could barely get out of bed. 

Now, you were exhausted day and night, plagued by not-quite-nightmares during your hibernation-like snoozes, and — when awake — eaten at by fears and doubts. 

You’d never thought seriously about having children. 

There was this permanent barrier to the very idea that lingered in the back of your mind. You don’t know when it formed, or if it was merely a protective mechanism of some kind (God knew you had plenty of those already). Nonetheless, you’d stuck to it, never straying… until now. 

You weren’t the motherly type. And technically you weren’t going to be. As much as Lucifer mooned over you, whether for his own entertainment or because he was genuinely fond of your stupid sarcastic comments and bouts of literary trivia, you would not allow yourself to trust him completely. You had no compunctions about raising the Antichrist once you had fulfilled your end of the deal. 

So you told yourself. Especially when you cycled through detachment and guilt about the creature growing in your womb. Especially when Lucifer was curled up with you, basking in your warmth and bringing you little trinkets and laughing with you at whatever was on TV. Especially when he dropped everything to lay down with you in your sickness, and did anything he could to make you smile, be it with magic tricks or stories from lifetimes ago.

Last night he’d held your hair as you threw up, courtesy of the raw beef you’d craved (thank you, you freaky little fetus). Then he entertained you by shape-shifting into cute animals until you’d cuddled up with his duck self and fallen asleep.

The little slope of your stomach quivered with the rest of your body. You felt the sudden urge to cry. 

—

“Lucifer?”

You braced yourself against the wall to get out of your bedroom. Standing was enough to make you dizzy, skin growing clammy and perspiring while you struggled to move. You were winded after five steps through your rather small apartment. 

Your curiosity was the only thing keeping you going after hearing a series of beeps from outside your door. 

“Aw, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Hold on!”  Lucifer called from a few feet away. 

He was here, in your apartment, more often than not. As a matter of fact, you had the feeling that if you didn’t push him to return to his duties, Lucifer would’ve been with you 24/7. 

Speaking of, he appeared from around the corner just as you buckled and slid against the wall. 

The Devil sprang forward, arms out and ready to catch you. Had you been more yourself, you’d have laughed at the absurdity as most of your weight sagged against its surface and he’d more or less landed on top of you from the side. 

“I’m so so sorry!” He cried, jerking away when you winced. 

“Sorry.” He whispered loudly. “I got your tea and I was trying to make it without waking you but the darn thing wouldn’t stop beeping.” 

“Cassie was here?” You let yourself sway to Lucifer’s side instead of the walls. He was practically carrying you into the living room. 

Unnames illness aside, you found an additional slight against your existence that you still had to keep in contact with your weirdo neighbors. They were both their own flavors of bizarre, but Cassie in particular was extroverted and nosy. 

She brought you tea from her kitchen garden — 

“Just bits and bobs from my little spice garden, things I’ve been growing ‘round the house. Pretty basic stuff: you got your chamomile, mint, there’s rosemary in there too, some cinnamon, ya know.” 

— and wanted to brew it for you while having chats at your kitchen table almost every day. 

Even Lucifer was annoyed by her persistence. 

“Here as in ‘at the door’ but not inside. She actually got it through that thick skull that I didn’t want you to be disturbed.” Lucifer said, equal parts irritated and triumphant. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

Your eyes closed to avoid the sudden onslaught of more tears when your companion tensed. He stopped short of the couch to relish in the contact. His wistful sigh made your heart throb painfully as you wondered for the umpteenth time how the fucking King of Hell could be so effortlessly sweet. 

‘Just to make pulling out the rug from under you later a bigger betrayal.’

The intrusive thought brought more tears, from eyes screwed up as you wished it away. 

“… can’t make tea as a duck.” Lucifer had carried on while gently lowering you on the cushions. “I did try though, to be fair.” 

He had yet to notice your tears, but your laugh was wet. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

It was sudden when cold hands cupped your face and turned your gaze up. You were met with deeply worried crimson eyes. 

The cold was so nice that you had to snuggle into that touch. “It’s ok.” 

Lucifer’s maw opened and closed a few times, helplessly. 

“Do—uh… do you want me to do that? I can try it again!” He jumped back, getting ready to shift in a puff of fireworks. 

“No, come sit with me.” You held up a shaking hand, trying to ignore your own ashen skin. 

The blond hesitated. 

“Please, Lou.” 

—

Lucifer melted at your request. He came to you immediately and took great care as he rearranged your frail body against his own. 

He was grateful that he’d thrown on his velvet robe that morning twicefold now — once to avoid his elderly worshipper seeing his dick, and twice to be able to pull it to the side so that you could lay your forehead against his cold chest.

The King’s skin would warm up with time and human contact, but he knew that his natural icy exterior did wonders to help your over-warm skin. 

Lucifer fought to not chuckle at the ticklish feeling of your hair against his neck. You laid there against him for a long time, breathing lightly and letting him hold you close. The silence was easy for once, not awkward or uncomfortable. Just one person relying on another for quiet solace.

When you finally spoke, it nearly scared him. “What’s it like? In Hell?” 

“Wh-why’re you asking?” Lucifer tried to play it cool. “That’s not really a fun o-oo-r relaxing…!… topic.” 

“Mmm,” Your head slowly lifted until he count easily count your individual eyelashes. 

“I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a little guy in here.” You pointed between yourself and him, to the little slope of your stomach. “And they're gonna call Hell their home soon. It might be good to know what that’s like before I ship them off.” 

“Oh!” Well, that was easier. “It’s uh, it’s red… and warm.” Lucifer wracked his brain. “Well, my Ring is. See, there are 7 Rings total, and technically I rule them all, but my brothers each kinda made their own homes out of them.” 

“Mine though — mine is full of Sinners, which is what we call the humans that died and were condemned to it. They’re all kinda packed in there, heh. Like, uh, tiny fish. That reek.” 

Your lips pursed. “But no one is burning in molten lava at all times or anything, right?”

“No-oo! Well, I mean it’s not impossible. But it’s not the norm. Nah, people go about their way like they do up here, but even more selfishly and violently.” 

Lucifer smiled at your frowning face. 

“It’s like on Earth? So people work, sleep, eat?”

“Yep!”

“They pay bills? Go to parties? Fuck?” Your brows were nearly to your hairline.

“Mmmm-hm!” 

“And they do it for all of eternity? Forever?”

“Pretty much! In a nutshell…” Was his jolly reply. He squeezed you to him for extra measure.

It was your turn to look flummoxed by the picture he painted, the words he spoke that sounded both improbable and spot on for what Hell would be if it was real. 

Well, not if. 

At last, you sighed. 

“I guess it couldn’t have been all that bad if… if you’ve been there for so long and you’re still so sweet.” Your words were barely audible, muttered into Lucifer’s chest when you gave up on making sense of anything.

But the Ruler of Hell had to stop the last-minute ejection of his own wings at your words.

***

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