#put too much mustard on this one maybe

[blackjackkent]

OK, had Rakha grab all the support group's stuff out of the safe, and was reminded of why poor Adrielle has a right to be super upset about literally everything:

:(

Rakha has now crafted a bit of hag's bane sitting in her pack, and is all ready to go beat up Ethel once she can find her. For now, though, we're off to see Lora, the mother of the child who has ostensibly been kidnapped by this hag.

I don't feel like Rakha's companions have had a ton to say about this particular development thus far, but at this point Wyll and Jaheira are both deeply invested in making sure the child survives. So nobody has any objection to Rakha making immediate tracks for the Flaming Fist barracks.

It doesn't turn out to be terribly hard to find Lora, because she's shouting loud enough to be heard outside:

The woman - a sallow-skinned human with a quarterstaff strapped to her back - is yelling in the face of a mildly perplexed-looking Flaming Fist officer who seems to be having some trouble keeping the thread of the conversation.

"How many times do I need to say it? You sent word about a lead! Said that I should come and see you about it!"

"Of course, Madam, let me just--" The Fist trails off, and then winces, as if at a stabbing headache. A pause, and then she lifts her eyes and peers at Lora, puzzled. "Forgive me..." she says vaguely. "Why are you here?"

Lora gapes at her. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Do you have *any* idea what I've been through the past few days?" she wails.

Rakha has heard enough to be reasonably confident in her assumption that this is the person she's looking for. "You're Lora, right?" she says, curtly cutting into the conversation without waiting for an invitation. "And your child is missing?"

Lora's eyes widen and she spins to lock her eyes on Rakha with an air of desperate hope. "Yes! Her name is Vanra!" She lashes out a hand to point at the officer she's arguing with. "This stupid, useless Fist said she had a lead. But she must have been sucking dream mist or something!"

The Fist's head twitches with pain again, but she makes a valiant effort to ignore it. "Madam, tell me--" she stammers. "You said, she was... ah... taken from a tavern..." She trails off into vague silence again.

Narrator: [ARCANA] You catch the barest tendrils of magic coiled around the Flaming Fist.

(A/N: Goddamn. I was low-key convinced this Arcana save must be bugged, because I felt like Rakha should pass it given her abilities and it took me like ten tries; I had just about given up when she finally passed on the last try. She has +8 to INT saves, advantage from the Githzerai Mind Barrier, +1d4 from Resistance from Jaheira, and according to the dialogue files this is a DC15 check that Hector DEFINITELY passed, but Rakha could not pass it for the life of her. Either something's buggy here or this was wildly unlucky RNG.)

Rakha squints, tilting her head slowly to one side as she examines the Fist up and down. The Weave is bright and active around her, rippling and striating in strange and agitated patterns - and yet she is clearly not a mage.

Lora is starting to tremble with desperate, frustrated rage. "Yes!" she cries. "The. Blushing. Mermaid. Down by the docks! I've told you a hundred times - why aren't you listening?" Her voice rises in pitch almost to a scream and she slams her hands down on the Fist's desk.

For a moment, Rakha ignores the growing tension in the room. All her attention is fixed on the strange, twitching magic hovering around the Fist.

[ARCANA] Examine the Flaming Fist.

Narrator: Someone, or something, has tampered with her memory.

Ah. Yes. She sees it now. The rippling magic is focusing slowly around the Fist's temples, and as Rakha watches, it stabs sharply into the woman, eliciting another flinch of pain.

The scar at the back of Rakha's head, just along her hairline, itches abruptly. Another person with memories stolen. Perhaps Orin-- but no. Orin is dead; what she did to Rakha doesn't matter here. They know the likely culprit anyway.

"What, ah..." the Fist whispers blearily. "What were we discussing?"

Lora takes a step back and throws up her hands in panicked agitation. "What is happening?" she wails. "I feel like I'm going mad!"

"Someone has tampered with the Flaming Fist's memory," Rakha says calmly. "Perhaps a hag?"

The Fist blinks. "A hag?" she says. "Preposterous! No such creature would dare set foot in the city." Then she winces again, as the magic whips at her temple.

But Lora has turned and fixed her eyes intently on Rakha. She seems uncertain whether to take Rakha's implacable, placid curtness as a sign of hope or not.

"Don't scare me more than I already am," she finally says unsteadily. "What would a hag want with my Vanra? She's just *lost*, that's all!" She snaps the words out... but it's clear she doesn't fully believe them, and she begins to tremble, her breathing quickening.

"Gods," she whispers thickly. "I'm so afraid. And so tired. I've been looking night and day, everywhere I could. I've no family, and Vanra's father isn't around. The Flaming Fist were my last resort..."

She is looking at Rakha with a desperate, pleading expression that Rakha doesn't fully know how to respond to. She's clearly relaxed some of Lora's immediate agitation by being able to tell what was happening to the Fist officer, and that does feel oddly gratifying in a way, but she does not know how to be a comforting presence, not really.

All she knows is the direct line, straight forward. "I'll help you find your daughter," she says gruffly. No need, she supposes, to explain that her focus was on killing the hag already.

(Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Wyll smile very slightly, and a flicker of his approval resonates through the tadpole connection between them.)

"You will? Thank you!" Lora lifts her head, and Rakha just has time to see the flash of desperate relief in her eyes before she hurls herself forward and throws her arms around Rakha's torso, burying her face in the taller woman's shoulder.(*)

"I haven't slept or eaten since she disappeared," she sobs. "I'm terrified something has happened to her."

Rakha goes still as a statue, her eyes widening. She does not, by nature, welcome other people touching her, and for a moment she very nearly recoils and knocks Lora away from her. But she remembers Shadowheart clinging to her for comfort a few nights ago, that same desperate need for something to hold onto.

That was easier, because Rakha knew Shadowheart, and because some of their pain was shared. But it is similar enough that she is able to prevent herself from lashing out. Instead, she simply holds herself very, very still, feeling Lora's tears soaking the shoulder of her robe.

The moment stretches for what seems like an eternity but is probably closer to a minute or so. Then Wyll, recognizing the acute nature of Rakha's discomfort with the situation, steps forward and rests one hand gently on Rakha's arm, the other on Lora's shoulder. Lora draws back at once, wiping her eyes and looking embarrassed.

"Her name is Vanra," she says, somewhat damply. "She's seven years old, and has red hair - like me. We were in the Blushing Mermaid when she was taken - just up by the docks."

"I'll head to the Blushing Mermaid now," Rakha says stiffly, and without another word about-faces and stalks out the door at top speed.

-----

"That was bravely done, cub," Jaheira says gravely, breaking into a loping jog to keep up with Rakha's longer-legged strides.

Rakha shoots her a look sideways, trying to gauge if she is being mocked, but Jaheira looks back at her with no sign of insincerity.

"I mean it." The Harper shrugs. "You offered comfort when it was not easy to do."

"I didn't strike her," Rakha mutters sardonically. "Praiseworthy indeed."

Jaheira grunts, shooting a look at Wyll, who grins commiseratingly. "Fine then. You need not take the compliment. But I will give it regardless."

-----

(*) Artistic license, but seemed like a good moment for it.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; "Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!" (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Um,” he says. “I don’t know that one, I think. What was it on?” 

Lynn shrugs. Billy thinks–well, at least Lynn told him about something he liked, so he can at least try to find it, he figures. 

It takes him a slightly embarrassing amount of time to figure out Lynn is talking about literally the “no signal” screen with all the static, but in his defense he totally forgot that was even a thing and also, like, that is definitely not a show or anything. Though also Lynn didn’t actually call it a show, and either way Lynn wouldn’t know it wasn’t a show, probably, so . . . yeah, whoops. 

Billy definitely should’ve figured that one out a couple minutes sooner, but at least he figured it out. He doesn’t get why Lynn wants to watch static, but since most dads have to sit through, like, Barney and Paw Patrol, he figures he’s getting off lucky. He hasn’t watched TV in a while, no, but he definitely remembers how much Paw Patrol sucked. 

Ugh.

Lynn definitely likes the static either way, so it doesn’t really matter as long as he’s happy, Billy figures. Or, um–well, maybe not happy, really, ‘cuz he’s not sure he’s actually seen Lynn all that happy yet, but at least, like, content? Or like . . . mostly content? 

. . . semi-content? 

Billy really, really hopes Lynn at least isn’t unhappy to have gotten stuck with him. Which–like, if he does change his mind about staying, obviously they can figure something else out for him, but Billy just . . . 

He really wants this to work out, and he really wants to take good care of Lynn, and just–like–

He really wants this to work out. He’d just–he’d feel really bad, if he couldn’t take care of Lynn right. That’s all. 

Well–no. It’s a lot more things than just that. 

The three of them eat in front of, uh, “No Signal”, and it tastes–really good, actually. Like–really good. It’s maybe that it’s been a little while since anybody cooked for him, at least kinda, but Billy feels . . . he feels sort of weird about how good it all tastes, and kind of keeps his eyes on his food for most of it. The static isn’t really something he wants to watch anyway, and he doesn’t wanna make Lynn feel like he’s getting stared at or anything. 

It’s really, really good, though. 

“This is so good, Lynn!” he says enthusiastically, beaming over at him, and Lynn–stiffens, briefly, and then stares blankly at him. Billy resists the urge to wince. Okay, uh . . . yeah. Maybe that was a little too much, or too loud or something. “Um–sorry, just–” 

“It’s fine,” Lynn says stiffly, then tenses a little and looks down at his plate. Billy kinda hates that his own kid thinks interrupting him is gonna get him in, like, trouble, but he knows that’s just because Cadmus sucks. So it’s like–it’s something Lynn’s gonna need a minute to learn, probably, but yeah. Just one more thing, he figures. 

“I really like it,” he says, scooping up another bite of the salmon and pretending to be oblivious to Lynn’s reaction to that. He thinks sometimes that’s just better to do with simple stuff, instead of making somebody feel like everybody thinks they’re messing up all the time. “I kinda thought the, um–glaze? I thought the stuff in the glaze sounded kinda weird to put together, honestly, but it’s really good.” 

“. . . it’s balanced,” Lynn says, not lifting his eyes off his plate. His shoulders relax a little bit, though, so Billy thinks he probably did the right thing. Or at least a right thing, since he guesses there’s probably more than one “right” thing to–anyway. Not really the point. 

“‘Balanced’?” he asks curiously. “Like it’s healthier, you mean? Like a balanced diet thing?” 

“Um . . . no,” Lynn says. “It’s–brown sugar is sweet. Mustard’s–sour. Tangy. So it’s not too much of one or the other.” 

“Oh!” Billy realizes in delight. “That’s so smart, Lynn! I wouldn’t’ve even thought about that.” 

“. . .you don’t need to eat,” Lynn says, glancing guardedly at him. Billy shrugs. 

“Yeah, but still,” he says. “I do, like–like to, when I can.” 

“. . . you like to eat?” Lynn asks hesitantly. Billy doesn’t let himself get weird and complicated or think too much about it and just nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “And this tastes awesome. We should make a copy of the recipe to make again, if you and Tawky like it too.” 

Lynn stares blankly at him while Tawky nods approvingly. 

“You care if I like it,” Lynn says, less like a question and more like a weird, confusing little realization. Billy . . . well. He knows how that feels, so just smiles encouragingly at him. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, you need more food than us anyway, so actually it’s more important that you like it. Also, um, you’re my kid, so I want you to like it more than I wanna like it myself anyway.” 

“. . . why,” Lynn says, which is a question, but doesn’t really sound all that different. They should maybe do a little talking practice when he’s feeling up to it, Billy notes to himself. Like, for intonation and stuff. 

“You’re my kid,” he repeats reasonably. “Plus I already know what foods I like, and you still gotta figure out your favorites and stuff.” 

“‘Favorites’,” Lynn repeats, and then, slower–“Because I’m your kid?”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees. Lynn does not look any less blank, which–right, Lynn really doesn’t know how this stuff works. Or–how it’s supposed to, anyway. “Um, because I’m taking care of you, yeah? Like–people who are taking care of you are supposed to care what you like and what your favorites are and all.” 

Lynn looks blankly at him for another moment, then slants his eyes towards the TV. 

“Is that why you put on No Signal?” he asks.

[bitchfitch]

My mother's bf had a fairly major surgery (he's fine and recovering well DW) and he's going to be housebound for his birthday this year, so I've been enlisted to come up with a fancy birthday meal for the special birthday boy that's primarily fruit and veg, sweeter than savory, and is something he's never had before.

Bc I'm making watermelington. It's beef Wellington, but watermelon. bc my mom only found out recently you can use watermelon as a tuna substitute. And I know that you can substitute most higher quality beef cuts with tuna or salmon.... usually. Anyways the idea fascinates her so I'm hoping to use that for bonus points.

Now he's off his ass on pain killers so I can't like. Ask him if he's ever had something before. so to meet my brief I've decided to just. commit a novel hate crime against the British I guess.

Anyways. I'm writing this because I need to walk myself through this process and think it'll be surreal enough to be worth taking y'all along for.

So, Beef Wellington. In its most basic bitch arrangement is a beef tenderloin wrapped in prosciutto/really thin bacon, with a layer of mushroom and onion mush, that has been further wrapped in mustard slathered puff pastry.

We will be ship of Theseusing this. bc beef Wellington is like. the opposite of what he wants. Which is why it's funny.

Puff pastry-> it's still just puff pastry

this one doesn't have to change (aka I can't be fucked to do pastry prep and I'm just gonna use store bought it's Fine.)

the prosciutto is also just going to be prosciutto.

Thin meat

Beef tenderloin-> watermelon,

Tbh this is a pretty 1 to 1 substitution. I'll bake the slices at like. 250-300 for an hour or so ahead of the rest of prep to dry it out a bit. bc you can't like. Sear watermelon to seal in the water like you can beef. By definition it's a very wet fruit (like me when I fall into the lake). Ill Add salt and chili and lime juice while baking maybe. this is the easy part

The mushroom mush-> salsa done bad style

As the word mush implies, this is meant to be a very soft mix. It adds a lot of nuttiness to the wellington that rounds out all of the salt from the meats. I'm replacing it with white person salsa(the birthday boy can't handle spice). Tomato, lime juice, parsley, avocado, cucumber, feta, and maybe mango so I can have an excuse to have a lil mango treat. I said I wasn't making it spicy. I'm still putting a bit of chili in it. bc it'll be better like that. This is also a ridiculously wet bit of mush, Even the original mushrooms have too much water. I'll figure something out.

Mustard -> jelly

He lives in a big city. those preserve sections are massive. I'll find a weird one. maybe apricot.

Prep:

We're in the mind palace kitchen, I have not attempted any of this. We're just thinking real hard about it and I'll edit as needed on the day and post results.

The watermelon

Preheat oven to eh. 300f? We want low and slow to dry things out without it taking a year. but idk what his oven is like. If it's gentle I'll bump it up another ten-twenty.

Slather some watermelon slices in salt chili powder and lime juice mixture.

bake for 30 min on a wire rack or directly on the oven racks (after cleaning thoroughly) if he doesn't have a wire rack. with a drip try underneath to catch the drippage. check frequently. Have one slice that's for being poked to see if it's approaching being meat. Bake longer if needed.

Salsa bad style

chop everything up and add it to a pan with some oil in it. Tbh I don't think the type of oil you use for cooking matters if you're not like, getting near any smoke points. Most people can't tell the difference unless you made your food bland as hell.

Anyways there's some wildly different moisture contents on the list so there has to be an Order to cook off as much water as possible without getting yucky.

Tomatoes and cucumbers go in together with some salt to get the cucs softening, then the mango chunks and lime juice. Once most of the water is gone the avocado feta and parsley can go in. There is a good amount of water in avocados but they're delicate and don't pan fry well, so we're just going to ignore their water crimes and hope for the best. They just need to be evenly mixed through the rest of the mush.

Putting it together

lay out the puff pastry, cut into sections to wrap each watermelon slice individually with.

Slather in jam

Take the prosciutto and lay it out on half of each section of the pastry,

spoon the salsa onto that

Melon

Another layer of salsa

another layer of thin meat

Fold the pastry over the top and pinch the edges bc watermelon slices are not a rollable shape and I don't want to carve a watermelon into a tube for this because that sounds irritating.

Brush with egg wash and more parsley

Cook in oven following the pastry's preferred temp and time. it's fucking watermelon, you're not getting ecoli from it.

watermelington :)

I'm serving it with baked sweet potatoes and spinach based salad with whatever toppings are left over from making the salsa.

anyways thank you for joing me on this thought experiment. I will post updates once the deed is done. I'm sorry to every British person ever.

[stardustizuku]

I’ve recently been thinking on why there’s people who interpret Kuro in such a drastically different way.

And something I notice is that you can easily tell how someone experiences the series, based on what they think of the GWA.

The way you interpret the Green Witch Arc is indicative of of how you have been interpreting the story so far, and how you’ll interpret it going forward

Generally, there’s two interpretations:

1.- The Reaction Ciel had to the mustard gas, are his true feelings coming afloat

2.- The Reaction Ciel had to the mustard gas, isn’t how he feels.

The first interpretation (and I’m really not trying to be mean about it this time) comes from a very, uhm, shall I call it Teenage-Like? mindset of how pain and trauma works.

I call it Teenage-Like, because I’ve seen it in mostly literature aimed at teenagers, be it fanfics or YA. It comes from an inability for teenagers to actually voice how they feel towards their parents. A helpless feeling of being ignored.

I don’t wanna point fingers but this is the basis of a lot of Self Harm tendencies (physical, emotional, psychological, or others like EDs or digital self harm) come from. A need for people to notice you are in pain. But because you feel like you cannot voice it yourself (or don’t deserve it, it can vary) you start to lash out. Put yourself in higher risks, to have someone find out there is something wrong with you.

So the moment the main character finally breaks down, or has a moment of weakness, it’s interpreted as someone finally being truthful.

This is how Ciel’s reaction is interpreted by the first half.

The mustard gas is simply a trigger of pain, that causes all of Ciel to unravel. He’s in pain right now, cause he’s always in pain. He’s avoidant to Sebastian, cause he’s always been scared of him. He doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t trust adults. Finny is the only one who actually cares.

This makes the fact that Sebastian ,essentially, slapped him to get him to react, come off as cruel.

The boy is finally being honest, and you just tell him he’s being childish? Horrible.

Obviously, that’s not my interpretation.

Okay so, what happens once you’re not a teenager? Once you don’t have an adult figure to take care of you? What happens once you start avoiding telling your parents the pain you’re in, not because you think they won’t care, but because they’ll care too much and get worried and you don’t want them to get worried?

You start to realize pain is not the end of the world.

While, when being a teenager, getting sick meant someone gets to take care of you and maybe notice you aren’t okay, as an adult getting sick potentially means - not going to work. Which means your won’t have money to buy food, which means you’ll probably go hungry.

So getting sick becomes less of a way to get away from the responsibilities you have, and more of a burden.

That’s why you’ll see, in media aimed at adults,mental breakdown less depicted as an opportunity to be honest, and more of a sickness that needs to be healed.

You can have a more honest and truthful conversation, while you are sound of mind. There’s no power dynamic between friends, like it would with adult figures and children. So this song and dance, isn’t necessary.

You don’t have to be sick to be understood. And your friends will rather try to help you, than understand you when you’re suffering. That’s the nature of adult relationships.

This is more or less the framing that comes from Ciel’s breakdown (in the second interpretation).

The Mustard Gas isn’t showing Ciel’s true nature - it’s showing Ciel at his most vulnerable. This means, not in his sound mind.

Saying things he normally wouldn’t, hurting people he normally would hold close, and clinging to people he generally would never try to get close to.

Simply put, it isn’t just “a bit of pain to make him unravel” but a “Ciel is getting psychologically tortured by a weapon used for chemical warfare”.

He’s past being honest. He’s having such a severe reaction, that he cannot function. He’s being tortured and broken, to the point he is no longer himself.

He isn’t being “truthful” he’s scared.

And fear can make you do things that, in your sound mind, you would never do.

The point is that, Ciel isn’t saying what he truly feels or being “honest”. It’s him scared out of his mind, saying everything and anything to make the fear stop.

And the biggest proof is how he treats Sebastian.

The fact that Ciel asks Sebastian to “go away” or “not come near” is perhaps the most glaring reason as to how badly this Gas messed with him.

I’ve said this before but to Ciel, Sebastian is a lifeline. He’s the only tool he has for his revenge. The thing that, even after he lost r!Ciel, he was willing to sacrifice it all to achieve.

And at this point in time, Sebastian is also the only emotional anchor Ciel has.

As far back as the second episode, Ciel has asked Sebastian to stay. Even when he’s having flashbacks, even when he’s having an episode. In fact, Sebastian leaving him is a great source of anxiety - since as seen in BoC in the Asthma Scene, without him Ciel feels powerless enough to die.

He feels more protected with him, because he KNOWS Sebastian will protect him and that Sebastian will follow his orders.

Again going with the analogy of a dog - He feels more comfortable having the chained beast by his bed, simply bcs others are trying to hurt him and the beast won’t eat him right now.

So him asking Sebastian to go away, is throwing away his biggest safety net for a surrogate for r!Ciel, just means he’s reverting to the mentality he had during the cult.

If Sebastian is constantly telling him “it’s okay, they can’t hurt you anymore, you’re outside the cage, you can do what you WANT”

Ciel clinging to Finny is him going “no, im staying in the cage bcs at least the cage is familiar”

And no matter what the first camp tells you, staying in the cage, trapped inside your pain ISNT the healthy option.

(We could argue Ciel’s need for revenge rather than healing is also unhealthy, but no one in the second camp would even call Ciel anything other than a villain in someone else’s story)

So, Sebastian slapping him and going “no, that’s not what you want”, isn’t as cruel as it would be in the first interpretation. Because as we see, he’s right. That’s not what Ciel wants. And it’s proved by the next scene where Sebastian talks to Ciel about what he truly wants.

Rather than Sebastian telling Ciel to “get over it”, it’s closest to a “snap out of it, something’s wrong”

This is further proved by the fact that, Sebastian first instinct isn’t to scare him. He does back away, he does try to wait and gently coax him. But Ciel literally cannot reason with him.

That small but significant difference in interpretation has wildly different outcomes in how you perceive both, the characters and the story.

If you pick the first, you’re reading Sebastian as an enemy. Someone who does not respect Ciel. You see his attempt to eat Ciel’s soul as a breach of trust, and proof that he doesn’t care for him.

But if you pick the second option, you see Sebastian as an ally. Someone who’s running out of time and ways to save Ciel. His actions, while crass, ultimately help Ciel. What he was trying to do, was help.

Yana, very clearly, wanted the second interpretation. However, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you it’s the only interpretation. People are free to pick and chose how they read the text, irrelevant of how little of the actual text they’re reading.

But I will say, picking the first is symbolic of a less mature way of thinking. Common on those who like to infantilize trauma and trauma responses. It’s the easy, safe and comforting way of reading the text. As I said, it’s common in those who want their pain to be acknowledged.

That reading of Kuro is one that speak to me, that you’re not really ready to confront pain. And someone with that mentality, is not someone who’s reading of the text I find particularly interesting. Sure, you can share it, I’ll never stop you, but know you’re speaking to me in an entirely different language. You’re interpreting the text so differently, that I don’t think it’s even the same text anymore.

Again, you’re essentially writing analysis on fanfiction. And I’m not all too interested in dissecting your own trauma sloppily painted over British Aesthetic.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To the Other Side

Spontaneous fic I decided to write because I want to witness Fellow and Rollo interact (outside of fan art) 💕 I took a lot of inspiration from The Other Side and The Greatest Show from the same musical, and this fan comic and this fan art.

There’s just something so fun about Fellow’s happy, playful vibes mingling with Rollo being deadly serious and hateful 😂

***SPOILER WARNING: Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land!!!***

Imagine this…

The nearby town was the only reprieve Rollo had from Night Raven College. Magic was school-sanctioned (in theory), but the rule did little to curb the spells fired off in spontaneous spats between classes, pranks, resolving minor inconveniences, and—this made his lip curl the most—for fun. He turned the other cheek in the presence of instructors, chided classmates when catching them in the act, and vented his anger in private.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, this loathsome school exchange program would be over, and Night Raven College put behind him. But one man can only take so much sin before his patience threatened to give, irritation spilling over his carefully constructed walls.

Out here, a bus ride away from campus, he was free from those vile villains, however fleeting it was. The air cleaner, his mind clearer, as he breathed in the salt-kissed, balmy air. Waves lapping against the pier, the town’s comfortable hum as time rolled by, a soothing song.

He looked out at the waters, blue tipped with the white of sunshine dappling a painting. It was alive, yet at peace with the world. Knew its place.

Rollo's eyes drift shut, and he allowed the sea to envelop him. Quiet, calming, completely—

“Oya? Oya oya oyaaaaa?"

An exaggerated drawl invaded his ears. It was an unfamiliar man’s voice, slick with overly honeyed friendliness.

“You there, sir!” he called out. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ignore him, Rollo coached himself. He is not referring to you. There are many people in the town he could be accosting.

The crack of a clap on his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Rollo’s tranquility splintered and shattered, like glass dropped. His eyes snapped open again, alert and irritated.

A man had emerged on his left, and a small boy on his right. They stood too close for comfort, and seemed to be leering at him. From up, from down, encasing him in a web of excited stares.

The man had ginger hair in a widow's peak, the rest swept aside to make way for sharp eyes. His suit was fine at a glance, olive vest and neat cravat, violet coat with golden details and tassels cinched over it—but upon closer inspection, there was a hole in the pinkie finger of his long white gloves, and a miscellaneous diamond patchwork of patterns running down his trousers.

Something about him screamed “showman". Perhaps it was the jaunty half cape that hung off his left shoulder or the knee-high spats over shoes that clicked loudly, calling attention to him, with each step. Maybe it was the sparkle-studded top hat upon his head, nestled between two twitching ears, or the cheery flicker of his bushy tail, or the cane in hand, topped with a golden fox. (... Rollo suspected it was his boldness, the sheer audacity to insert himself where he wasn’t needed.)

The boy with the showman was a cat beastman, shorter and disposition shyer. His hair was a red-brown rat's nest even clamped under a smaller, brightly colored top hat, his fur just as unkempt. The only thing that seemed to fit on his slight frame is a lilac shirt and a small bow tie. His mustard yellow jacket looked as though it has had its body sheared in half, then the fabric stuck back onto the oversized sleeves, the pants attached to his overalls saggy and patched up with the wrong patterns. Even his boots were wrong—untied—and socks mismatched.

He blinked at Rollo through eyes that sloped downward, his expression lax. His mouth was steady beneath a spray of dark freckles. The boy held onto a comedically large hammer, hands still trapped in his enormous sleeves as he gripped its handle.

Suspicious, Rollo concluded. They are highly suspicious individuals.

“… May I help you?” he asked, not out of kindness but as a courtesy.

“Ohoh!!” The man grinned broadly. “That composed stride! That stern, solitary gaze! Those extravagant robes! So sensible, so conventional. There’s no doubt in my mind! You, my good man, must hail from THE Noble Bell College!”

Rollo’s mouth was quickly forming a frown. A fan of flattery he was not. "What of it?”

The stranger chuckled, the coy hand on Rollo's shoulder not budging. The warmth of it made his skin crawl in spite of the layers of fabric separating them. "You've come a long way from the Shaftlands then! Tell me, how do you find Sage's Island? Is it everything you’ve dreamed it to be—or, dare I say, more?”

“I was beginning to enjoy it, right up until you and your companion happened upon me,” Rollo grumbled, jerking his shoulder away from the stranger’s touch. “I do not have many opportunities to steal away into town.”

“You have my humblest of apologies!” The man bowed deeply. It took a few seconds of lag, but the boy clumsily followed suit. “Gidel and I, we’re the curious sort, you see! We come across many wary souls on our own travels, and we want to get to know them. Isn’t that right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded eagerly.

The fox beastman stuck out a hand, taking Rollo’s before he was given the chance to reciprocate or decline. He shook firmly, with enough strength to rattle around Rollo’s bones. “Fellow Honest’s the name! And you, my esteemed gentleman?”

“Rollo Flamme.” His reply was curt, intended to cut the conversation short with its bluntness. He tried to sidestep the man, but failed as Fellow slid to block him.

“Rollo—may I call you that? Great, greeat!!” he gushed, again not pausing for a “no” to potentially slip in. “From just a glance, I can tell you’re an upstanding, diligent student. You’ve been hitting the books so hard, you’ve barely gotten in a wink of sleep!”

Rollo’s mouth pinched. It was not an uncommon comment for him to hear, but he wasn’t the least bit delighted to have it spun as a compliment either.

“You poor, poor boy! You must be a nervous wreck!” Fellow sighed, sympathetically stroking the back of one of Rollo’s hands with his own. The student shuddered and pulled away with a slight glare. Rather than taking note of the displeasure, Fellow brightened, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! You are a nervous wreck!! We must diagnose this case at once.”

To Rollo’s bewilderment, Fellow produced a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket and slipped them onto his face. Gidel whipped out a notebook and a pencil from his overalls, poised to take notes.

“Let’s have a look at you!”

Fellow circled the dazed Rollo, poking and prodding at the boy’s lean frame with the butt of his cane. It bit into his ribs, his cheek, his thighs, as Fellow rattled off nonsensical phrases, Gidel reverently scrawling them down. Rollo swatted at the fox as if dispelling a pesky bug—but Fellow was too fast, too slippery, to land a clean hit on.

He at last stepped back, snatching up the notes from Gidel. (Rollo caught a brief glimpse of the writing—it was nothing close to what could pass as language.)

Fellow raked a hand through his hair as he seriously took in the report of scribbles. With each passing second, his features increasingly crinkled with concern. "Oh me, oh my, oh dear!! Alas, it's just as I suspected!"

"... What?"

The glasses and the notepad were promptly discarded. Props made meaningless now that their purpose was fulfilled.

Fellow snaked an arm around Rollo. Firmer this time, not something to be shaken off. "You, my boy, are allergic! To this drudgery! This cage, these walls!" He wildly gestured with his cane to their surroundings. "This life you're trapped in! You're stressed, depressed, mad, sad, miserable, all of the above!"

Each adjective thrown out drew Rollo's brows closer and closer together until there was no hiding his grimace. “I do not appreciate the unwarranted judgments being made of my character.”

"You see! My hunch was right!" Fellow flicked at a corner of Rollo's frown. It deepened. "There's only one cure for what you have: a vacation! And luckily for you, I have exactly what you need right here…!”

Reaching into his sleeve, Fellow retrieved a single ticket, sandwiched between two lithe fingers. The sepia image of an amusement park wreathed in flags was frames in crimson, blue, and gold. Admit One, trumpeted the ticket, to Playful Land.

“It just so happens that I, Fellow-sama, am the manager to the fabled amusement park of wonder, hopes, and dreams... Playful Land! Have you heard of it? It's a magical place with a plethora of rides, games, song and dance! Why, there's even a big stage where any member of the audience can be a rising star! The food, all free and ample!! You can gorge yourself on fun!! Doesn't that sound like a swell dream?"

Rollo deadpanned. "If by 'dream', you mean dreadful. To encourage casting aside one's inhibitions to indulge in all manner of vices... Your establishment is no paradise. It is a den of depravity, hell masquerading as heaven.”

"Eh?"

The strong hostility seemed to throw Fellow for a loop, gave him pause. He fumbled for a moment before finding his words again.

"My, my! Your allergies are worse than I thought...! Every kid needs to kick back one in a while, and you most of all! Since we're such good friends now, I would be more than happy to gift this prized ticket, good only for tomorrow, to you free of charge!" He winked, giving a theatrical twirl of his cane. Stars and sparkles exuded out from it. A small charm, a harmless trick. "No need to thank me!"

Rollo's eyes flashed, instant recognition setting him on edge. Similar items infested the City of Flowers every Topsy Turvy Day—enchanted handkerchiefs, tambourines infused with meager magic.

Disgust roiled through him.

"We have no such friendship," Rollo snippily corrected him. Is this man delusional? "Furthermore, tomorrow is a school day. It wouldn't do to miss it in favor of gallivanting."

“Now, now, I insist!!” Fellow pressed. “Please accept this ticket and take a load off, enjoy yourself. Live a little, laugh a little! The last thing I would want is for you to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity!! Skipping a single day of school wouldn't be too harmful for a star-studded scholar like yourself."

His gaze flicked to Gidel. The two shared a keen glint, a subtle signal, then broke out into a show, a flurry of tap dancing along the pier.

"Trade in your typical for somethin' magical!” Fellow cried with the tip of his top hat. “Where it’s covered in all the colored lights!! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night!”

Gidel fished out a party popper from under his own headwear. When he tugged on its string, crackles filled the air, the popper letting loose a shower of glittering particles. Fellow belted out a hearty laugh, swinging his cane to catch confetti.

"Come on to the theater!!” he urged—mostly likely reciting some park motto, Rollo ventured. “In Playful Land... Life is Fun!!"

Fellow struck a pose with his arms thrust out, punctuating the performance. Gidel was less dexterous, and settled for an awkward approximation of the same pose.

Expectant for applause.

“… Charming display,” Rollo remarked dryly. He picked out a limp streamer from his hair. With a huff, he blew the remaining confetti off of him. “However, only a blithering fool would accept such a dubious offer. Is that what you take me for, Mr. Honest? A blithering fool?”

Fellow recoiled, his ears flattening, and his bravado faltering. Gidel glanced at the older man, soulful eyes full of worry.

"You must have fantasized about a day off before! Don't you want to get away and forget about your work and worries? Don’t you crave freedom?”

"No."

"What of the desire to chase thrills? To see and to experience what few others have before, or to relive a childhood you've perhaps never had? Don't you want to cut loose? Go crazy? Party all day?"

"Never."

"How about stardom? Play a different role? Have you a longing to stand upon a grand stage, hundreds of thousands of adoring fans applauding your passionate performances?"

"Not once."

His patience wore thin like a braided rope down to its final connecting threads. Rollo tapped a finger against his folded arms. "Are you finished? I tire of my precious time being wasted. If you will kindly excuse me."

He turned back toward the town. Rollo was a few steps along a shop-lined street when, suddenly, the odd duo reappeared. They skidded to a panting stop before Rollo, walling off his path. Well, more Fellow than Gidel.

A look of annoyance ripped across the fox’s face. “HOLD ON!! What kind of person plays hard to get and then walks away from a conversation like that?! Would it kill you to stop and just listen to me, you bra…”

Fellow petered off midsentence and backpedaled, smoothing out his spite into a smile. "...aaave soul! I've yet to meet someone as assertive and as self-assured as you are.” He reached out and brushed off an invisible fleck of dust from Rollo’s robes. Simpering. “You're a man that knows exactly what he wants!”

Rollo bristled. He hadn't missed the sudden shift in his chummy behavior. All the more reason to suspect them. They’re very clearly up to something.

"Yes, yes, I can see it now!" Fellow continued, stroking his chin in contemplation. "What you seek is not amusement! You’re longing—no, aching—for something far greater, more ambitious!"

He leaned into Rollo's ear, cupping a hand to it. Gidel came from the other side, staring up curiously. Fellow’s voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Power, perhaps? The magical kind, even.”

Rollo visibly stiffened.

“Oh, have I got your attention?” The curve of Fellow’s mouth cocked, going crooked. A triumphant smirk. “You’re interested, I know it! Buried in those bones of yours, there's an ache, a thirst, for knowledge that you can't ignore!"

The fox wiggled a finger, his words rapt with wonder. “Playful Land is the product of maaany wise and talented mages! If you pay us a visit, you might be able to learn a thing or two from observing how we run the show. It's a valuable learning opportunity for a student of an arcane academy! How about it, kid? This surely is a deal you wouldn't want to pass up!!"

There was no indication of any feeling in Rollo's face. His eyes had glazed over, as though haunted, a veil shrouding his vision. He stared at Fellow as though he were a distant phantom.

Spin, spin. Fellow's cane did a little dance of its own. "Think of it: the fire, the freedom, the flood of magic. Blinding and outshining anything that you could know!"

Fire.

Rollo blinked. The veil lifted, and the man was rudely roused from an awake slumber. Neutrality replaced with a kindling emotion, sparse embers that did not yet know they would converge into flames. "... What did you say?"

"Everything you could ever want. Everything you could ever need," Fellow tapped the waiting ticket, "is here right in front of you. This is where dreams are made, where the impossible comes true: Playful Land. This is where you want to be—"

The fire flared, bile rising from his throat. Beneath his skin, blood came to a rapid boil. Hot, screeching, an intense fever pitch. The heat like a knife slashing through strings.

Hands lashed out, fervently seizing Fellow's arms. Rollo clutched onto him, a desperate parishioner to a priest preaching at the pulpit. But there was no such blind devotion in his expression, only something wild, untamable, twisted.

“What did you say?!” Rollo hissed, low and dangerous. Threatening.

Gidel jumped and skittered behind Fellow, hiding himself from view. The fox's hand found its way to Gidel's back to support the trembling boy.

"You've been mouthing off for quite some time, and I've been far more patient than you deserve." Rollo cut to the mustard yellow sleeve clinging to Fellow's leg. "You have a child with you. Refrain from spouting such ridiculous vulgarities in front of them.”

“Wh-What…!!”

“Is this the game you play?” Rollo’s grip tightened. Voice hoarse, a pained shudder threading through it. “Tempting children with the promise of whimsy and fun, encouraging them to be intoxicated by magic...!"

While you stand by, doing nothing.

An untimely demise by magic, a fate he knew all too well.

Consumed alive in a hellish inferno. Only a curtain of smoke and ash remaining. Slipping through his grasp when he was standing right there.

Brother...

Hot tears stung his eyes—but they dissipated near instantaneously, staved off by his burning fury. Anger and upset rapidly overtaking him.

Not again. He would not stand for it to happen, would not surrender. This, he swore, with a resolute breath, and cried out with all of his seething soul.

"Hmph! I thought you witless before, but it seems you are not a clown," Rollo spat. "You are the entire circus."

Fellow gave a light, cumbrous chuckle—but his eyes narrowed. Gone was his cheer, his merrymaking. What remained was serious, astute. "... Hey now, that's a scary face you're making. Is this really how you want to spend your days? Let's lighten up a little."

A bitter scoff sounded.

“Continue this farce, and I will not stop at raking you across the coals," Rollo warned darkly. Fire licked his fingertips, close to bursting free. "I will show you just how scary I can be. The righteous flames of judgment are cleansing. They will purge all sin, reducing the wicked to mere specks of ash."

He released Fellow with a slight shove. The older man fell back a few steps, finding his balance again when Gidel pushed him upright with a silent grunt.

“If you understand, then I will be on my way. Good day to you.”

With the path cleared, Rollo stormed right by them. Robes billowing in a passing sea breeze and austere face to the town, he almost looked the part of a hero emerging triumphant from battle.

Back to his everyday life, the same side as always.

Fellow gaped after the boy’s retreating figure. At the prey slipping away from every carefully placed trap he and Gidel had laid out for him.

"Well, I never...!!" he groused. A fresh, foul mood ripe like a rain cloud over his head, Fellow discarded his smile for a sneer. "HIIIIIIE~ What was up with that arrogant brat?!”

Gidel shrugged, his comedically large sleeves flopping as he threw his hands up.

"Damn it!!" The curse was out before Fellow could cut it off. "Next time I see that guy, I'll teach him a lesson for looking down on us!"

He angrily kicked at a soda can on the ground—abandoned by a wayward townsperson. With a CRUNCH, the can launched into a nearby lamp post, ricocheting off its base and bouncing back. The can connected with Fellow's kneecap. He yelped and seized his injury, trying to contain the pain.

Eyes blown open in alarm, Gidel rushed to him. The boy was waved off, Fellow's whimpers eventually dying down.

"My sulking worried you? … You're seriously too good for this cruddy world, Gidel," Fellow muttered, shaking his head. He ruffled the cat beastman’s mane of hair, the roughness of it grazing the unguarded pinkie poking out from his one damaged glove. "Never change, got that?“

Gidel bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Good.” Fellow drew himself up and adjusted his jacket. “Tch. Kids these days sure are spoiled rotten. You promise them the world and they still blow you off."

His thoughts settled on the boy from before. The remarks they had traded, the resistance the target had put up.

I thought a bit of magic would help loosen the kid up—but Life is Fun didn’t work on him, Fellow mused. I cast it so many times too. Between my magic and charisma, they usually cave so easily.

Yet Rollo had regarded him like a man possessed, had regarded him with such hatred. The mad, tormented look in his face. An iron barrier against the fluttery, champagne laced lull of his spell.

"... Must be somethin' wrong with him," Fellow concluded. All kinds of fucked up in the head and in the heart. "Yup, that's gotta be it! This Fellow-sama's way too cool to be outdone by any old student.”

Again, Gidel nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s alright, there’s bound to be flops! We’ll have to pick out our next mark much more cautiously.” Fellow shaded his eyes and squinted. “Let’s see…"

Gidel trailed after his gaze. Combing through a crowd for easy pickings was child’s play for Fellow, but the young boy struggled to hone in on the monotony of minute details. Little nervous tics and hesitations, chinks in armor to exploit. They were present, but Gidel’s eyes were like a broken camera. Zooming in, then out, blurring, never able to fully focus.

His attention strayed, slowly meandering back back to the piers. The sea was a simple thing compared to the town—natural, unrestrained. So easy to understand.

“Maybe that one… no, no, that would never work,” Fellow mumbles to himself. “They’re in too large of a group to comfortably break through. The girl over there? Tsk, the parents are hovering, can’t risk that…”

His eyes ran along the bustling town and along the docks. Like fingers along book spines or piano keys, a quick, light caress. Effortless.

Then he came to a full stop.

Did a double take.

And stared.

Hard.

There, lazily parked by the piers, was a small gang of boys, each dressed in the same smart black blazer and trousers, vests and armbands an assortment of colors. Tucked into their breast pockets were fountain pens topped off with magestones. Their style, those emblems, famous.

Fellow smacked Gidel’s back, snapping the boy to attention.

“Look alive, Giddie! You see that?” He pointed with his cane. “Those uniforms are…!”

His face lit up with understanding. Mouth ajar, eyes wide, brows raised.

“We’re in luck today!” Fellow snickered. He tugged on Gidel’s sleeve, yanking the youth to him. “Hurry, let’s get in front of them! We’ll cut them off, pretend as though we’ve bumped into them by accident. Then, we pounce…!!”

Gidel lifted his hammer—a cheer.

The duo scampered down the street, hearts drumming in their chests and adrenaline pumping. In that moment, they brimmed with all the hope and the excitement that Rollo had failed to exhibit. They were children racing to a dream destination, fools wishing upon stars.

Elsewhere in the town, someone sneezed.

Rollo pressed his handkerchief to his nose, retreating further into his robes. “… The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. What an ominous omen.”

[sociopathicartist]

Breakfast Combo (sans one shot part 2)

“What did you plan on doing when you got up to the surface?” You looked at Sans, seeing his side profile clearly as he was busy staring up at the night sky.

Sans took a deep breath. “i didn’t think about it too much. when i was younger i wanted to come up here and get a nice house with papyrus. go back to college and get a higher degree, maybe become a professor.”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze matching up with his when he looked over to you. “You? Sans, the laziest man I know, a professor?”

He laughed softly, his gloved hands moving to rest over his ribcage. “yeaaahhhh, i know. i guess things just changed.”

That was one way to sum up the long cycle of his dreams getting killed. The two of you stared at each other in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Sans?”

“hmm?”

You paused for a minute, looking away from him and back to the night sky, the stars almost twinkling. “I don’t want things to change.”

Sans didn’t respond for a moment. He took a deep breath, ready to joke about how deep that was or make a stupid pun, but he stopped himself. Now wasn’t the right time. “really?”

“Really. Do you think it’s selfish of me to hope that things never change between us?”

Between the two of you.

Best friends, platonically, for the rest of your days, never wanting any more. That’s what you wanted, right?

You held back the urge to say something more. To finally put it out there.

“nah, s’ not selfish.” He trailed off, his voice getting a bit quieter. “i don’t want things to change either.”

You woke up.

The light was shining through the car window, small bumps from the road shaking the car a bit. You must have fallen asleep during the drive to the ski lodge.

Your lips curled down a bit at the dream. It was an old memory of you and Sans. You weren’t sure if he even remembered it himself, it was really long ago.

“honey, we’re here.” Stretch flicked you on the forehead, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked at him, yawning and stretching out with what room you could in the car. “Alright… I’m up.”

The snow was heavy and almost fluorescent white when you stepped out of the car after everyone else, wandering on back to see everyone grabbing their luggage as the wind beat against you, feeling like small needle pricks to your skin. Is Fell’s gym bag seriously shaped like a mustard packet?

“DO YOU NEED ANY HELP WITH-“

“I’VE GOT IT. GO AHEAD AND CHECK INTO THE LODGE, BLUE.” Papyrus quickly cut Blue off, grabbing your suitcase and handing it to you.

Blue meandered off with the rest of the crew, leaving you and Papyrus to trail behind with your things. You liked the one-on-one time with him.

“Thanks, Papyrus. You’re way stronger than I am.” You smiled at Papyrus, seeing that his gaze was focused on the path ahead of you.

“I DO NOT HAVE ANY MUSCLES, BUT THANK YOU, HUMAN.”

You laughed, finding it a bit endearing with how blunt he was. “I know you

don’t have any. Are you excited to ski?”

“YES!” Papyrus answered quickly, a proud look on his face when he glanced down at you. “THOSE SLIPPERY SLOPES WILL NOT EVEN THINK TO QUESTION WHO IS ABSOLUTELY SHREDDING THEM.”

Well, alright then. Both of you chatted until you got caught up with the group inside, seeing everyone making small bicker out in the common area.

“can’t believe we paid a fuck-ton for these rooms and we can’t even get to them with an elevator,” Fell complained, a bit of an annoyed expression as he glared at the carpeted stairs.

“YOU NEED THE EXTRA STEPS IN YOU, BIG BONES.” Blue jabbed, his tone a bit demeaning to Fell.

“where the fuck did that come from?”

“WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP.”

Here they go again. You looked around your group, seeing Edge and Papyrus chatting away, and Stretch monitoring Blue and Fell’s little quarrel.

Where was Sans?

“wanna head upstairs?” His voice rang out, on cue with your thoughts.

You jumped, turning around to see Sans who had conveniently snuck behind you, his voice still ringing solid throughout your ears. “Yes. I’m not sure why we’re all standing in the middle of the common lounge.”

Sans adjusted his backpack on his shoulders, holding out his hand to you. “come on, you know you wanna grab it.”

You gave a quick glance to your friends, all of them occupied. They wouldn’t notice if you left for a bit if you and Sans left. You looked back at him, your hand reaching out to fold over his white mitten.

With a weird, sinking feeling that you had become familiar with, and a flash of black before the world around you faded back in, you were upstairs. The hallway merged into a balcony that overlooked the common room, your friends still down there conversing. You both started to make your way off the balcony and into the carpeted hallway.

“You got a room next to mine, right?” You asked, following after Sans as you walked down the hallway, glancing at the door numbers and some of the images hung on the wall.

“yep.” His voice echoed down the hallway. “you practically begged me to get one next to yours, remember?”

You frowned. You totally did do that. “I did not.”

“please please please get a room next to mine so that i’m not alone in the dark, scary ski lodge stuck next to some other random weirdos that i live with and i definitely don’t talk to every day.” He mocked you in a silly voice, his hands over each other to make a pleading sign. “i’ll be so sad and alone in my comfortable bed.”

You rolled your eyes, not listening to his over-dramatization of you. “The accuracy. It burns.”

“scary dark room.”

“Stop it.” You stopped outside the door to his room, slowly backing away to yours as he stared up at you.

“gonna come ski with me in a bit?” Sans asked you, cocking his head to the side a bit.

You pretended to ponder for a bit, already knowing what you’d say. “Not sure. You’ll push me down into the snow.”

Sans scoffed, shaking his skull ‘no’. “i would never do that to you… probably.”

“I’m going to get changed into proper clothes for skiing.” You opened up the door to your room, dragging your suitcase behind you. “I’ll come ski with you in a bit.”

“time waits for snowmen-“

You closed your door, silencing his words before he could finish the punchline for his joke. Successfully cut off.

The room you were staying in was way nicer than the one at the hotel, your eyes scanning over everything as you set your suitcase on your bed, unpacking the clothes you needed. The mere thought of getting to stay in this ski lodge for an entire week with your friends was exciting. All of you needed a vacation.

Your phone buzzed and you took it out of your pocket, looking down to see the text message.

tall skeleton #1 - WHERE DID YOU GO?

Ah. You should probably get ready then.

“For the last time Edge, the ski-lift will not fall.” You tried your best to console your friend, pulling him to sit down on the ski-life as it lifted the both of you into the air.

He gripped onto the sidebars, worried the seat would fall down and off the line. “THIS IS A HORRIBLE WAY OF GETTING BACK UP. WHY COULDN’T HAVE WE JUST WALKED?”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a look. “Go on, try walking next time. See how well that goes for you.”

When you hopped off the lift, you held out your hand for him to grab. It was a bit funny seeing him so worried about something considering how bold and confident he was. “WE SHOULD GO SKI DOWN AGAIN, THAT WAS FUN.”

You shook your head and stretched out a bit. “Thanks, but I’m gonna take a break for a bit. My legs hurt, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Edge shook his head and scoffed. “IMAGINE.”

Stupid skeletons and their lack of muscles.

You slowly made your way back inside the lodge, the waves of laughter from outside dying out to almost nothing but the crackles of the warm fireplace. You had been out skiing for a long while already, and the sky outside was turning to dusk. You didn’t plan on going back out and skiing again tonight, instead wanting to relax and soothe your muscles. You shuffled your way back up to your room, not wasting any time to change into some pyjamas. You walked over to your window to peek outside, wanting to check out the nighttime snowy view.

Was someone in the hot tub?

You leaned a bit closer to the glass, trying to see who the hell was out here when it was this cold outside and was almost pitch black.

Oh my god.

You scurried out of your room, down the hall and stairs, and rushed out of the lodge, coming to a stop when you finally reached your way up to the hot tub. He was sitting in there, relaxing with his eye sockets closed. You stood with your feet by the water, standing on the damp concrete border.

“Sans? What are you doing out here?”

Sans opened his eye-sockets, looking up to you. He had the same permanent grin, but his expression looked a bit different. “jus’ felt like sitting in the hot water. there a problem?”

You shook your head. Why did you feel nervous all of a sudden? It was just Sans. “No… No problem.”

“you didn’t ski with me.” Sans remarked, calling you out. “i thought you wanted to hang out with me?”

You pursed your lips, slowly crouching down. “I mean, we have the whole week.”

He tilted his head a bit to the side. “i was worried you’d get cold or hurt. you got all these squishy warm bits to you.”

“That was an extremely weird way of phrasing that.” You looked down at the water, watching it bubble up from the little jacuzzi blowers. You slowly dipped your legs in the water, going to sit down on the smooth ledge, getting your pyjamas all wet.

“I’m sorry. I was in a bit of a funk and everyone else kept grabbing me to ski with them.” You apologized, feeling a bit guilty for skimming out on him.

Sans watched as you got in the hot tub, tilting his skull to the side in slight confusion. “water you hoppin’ in for?”

You shrugged, swaying your feet against the grind of the bubbles. “It’s warmer in here, and my legs hurt bad from skiing all day. I want to sit down.”

Sans snorted. “pfft. imagine.”

“All of you have said that same thing to me today but in different forms.” It was almost like you were being made fun of for being a human, which was an odd reversal.

“well, we are the same people in different fonts, so i’m not surprised.” He shrugged, swirling his hand around in the water.

You didn’t answer, staring at him in silence. It was dark outside now, and the blue light from the hot tub was illuminating him from the bottom angle. You felt a weird twinge the longer that you looked at him. He looked different right now for some reason. He looked extremely attractive.

You nudged yourself to slide closer to him, sitting up next to him with your arms touching. Sans glanced over at you, taking a moment or two to think over his words.

“that letter you wrote for me a while back,” Sans started, his voice a bit quieter than usual. “i still uh, have it. i read it sometimes when i’m not feeling well.”

“Really?” You asked. “That was a few years ago. I didn’t think you still had it.”

Sans shrugged again, a few water droplets rolling off his shoulder blades. “i dunno. i didn’t bring it up back then when you gave it to me. i really should have, i wish i had. nobody- nobody ever…”

He paused. Nobody had ever treated him like you did, let alone give him a heartfelt letter that he re-reads a lot more than he’d like to admit. Nobody ever paid close attention to him. Not until you.

“you just… i know i’m not good at sentimental stuff, but you’re the best friend i’ve ever had.” He stared down at the water, watching it bubble and swirl around.

God, it was really cold outside.

You smiled softly, reaching your hand under the water to grab onto his, your fingers tightly intertwining with his phalanges. “I’m really happy I met you, Sans.”

He finally stopped avoiding your gaze, looking at you with wide and wobbly pinpricks. “yeah?”

“Yeah…” You felt a weird swirl in your stomach again.

Say it.

Say something before the moment gets ruined so that you won’t linger in regret when your time passes. Regret that you never said anything. Regret when he finds someone else.

You dragged his hand off to his side, still holding onto it tightly as you scooted up, sliding yourself onto his lap to face him.

Sans faltered, his expression going from relaxed and content to shocked. “whoa buddy- you’re awful, uh, close there.”

“Am I?” You stared down at him, a small smile on your face. “I didn’t notice. Maybe this hot tub is too small for us.”

“yeah,” Sans snorted, looking away for a few seconds before looking back to you, his freehand going to wrap around your waist to pull you in closer. “not my fault i’m big-boned, hehe.”

“Maybe it’s time to lay off on the ketchup.” You laughed, the mood between you two becoming comfortable again.

Sans stared up at you in silence, the area under his eye sockets tinted a light blue that was barely noticeable unless you were close like you were to him. “there really isn’t anyone like you, y/n.”

The small space between you two closed off, your lips pressing against his teeth.

It was uh… a unique experience, that's for sure. You weren’t expecting a normal kiss considering the fact that he literally had no lips at all, and his smile never moved or faltered unless he got hurt, but instead, a nice, almost tingly feeling rushed through you. It was good. It was kind of intoxicating.

You had to pull away first, the kiss being held for so long that you were almost convinced he was not going to pull away at all.

“Check it, now you can tell all your friends at work that you finally got some action.” You joked.

Sans’ gaze on you was loving, and he didn’t respond for a little bit. “uh, yeah. hehe.”

You cocked your head to the side a bit, not sure if he understood what you just said. “Hanging in there okay?”

He nodded, letting go of your hand so that he could trace his phalanges along your jawline before resting to cup the side of your face. “yeah, just thinking. we have the whole week here left. when are we gonna tell everyone?”

“Tell everyone?” You paused, not realizing the repercussions of the situation. “We should probably wait until we get home. I don’t want them to get any weird ideas while we are all out skiing.”

“that’s probably a good idea.” He leaned in again, giving you another quick kiss. “so… we’re a thing? what do you humans call it? datemates?”

“So close. That’s what you guys call it, but good try.” You leaned into his hand, finding it to be a bit warm for some reason. “But yes. Datemates is nice.”

Sans chuckled, finding it a bit odd at how you leaned into his hand. He had never done this before with anyone. “cool.”

You both sat there in each other's arms for a while, talking and giggling over random things with several kisses in between words, some for the moment, others to make up for how long you went without being able to give that sort of affection. The problem of telling everyone else would wait for later. Both of you were happy right now.

Hello! Sorry it took so long to come out, but tysm for reading!!!

[moonlit-imagines]

Robin and the Stray (Part 1)

Dick Grayson x reader

warnings:

a/n: you already know this is based off of an oc and you already know im gonna write it like its just your average y/n. i dont even know if yall hate this or not but TOO BAD (im kidding please start paying attention to this blog again i long for the days i mattered)

prompt:

part 2

Gotham City, all the way back when you were kids. Didn’t feel like it, though. Not when you two were up all night off on adventures—more like missions—and occasionally crossing paths. Batman and Robin weren’t too fond of you and Catwoman giving them headaches from time to time with your heists and all that fun stuff. But sooner or later they cracked and started letting you two off the hook.

The flirting was just playful at first, a literal get-out-of-jail free card, if you will. But somewhere down the line, you started to mean it. You liked your time spent with Robin, and every once in a while you’d even let him catch you.

Nights that you and Selina split up, the Bat and the Bird had to do the same. That’d when you got him alone. And after a while, you’d just end up on a random rooftop teasing him in some silly, flustering way. A cute comment here and there to let him know you were still interested. Jumping across rooftops and crawling up fire escapes to keep him on his toes while you talked. Although you were still strangers out of these costumes, you still managed to drop a little personal detail every once in a while to bond. Part of you worried if he was only letting you escape to trick you into some false sense of security, lately you’ve been returning stolen goods to him just to see him again.

And night after night there were new encounters, only in these you weren’t really doing anything wrong. Just pouncing around and watching the city, almost like you were on patrol. You could tell him you were just watching over Gotham while he was elsewhere.

It was funny how awkward he was at first when you met. But it’d been some months since the Cats got out of the bag, and Selina was starting to warm up to Batman, too. It was kind of cute. Robin seemed so much more confident talking to you nowadays, he flirted back and laughed with you and pretended you got away when Batman asked where you went (oh, and Catwoman also got away!).

There was one particular night that you’ll never forget. This one night where you’d just snuck out to be in the city, secretly hoping Robin was out, too. All suited up in your catlike garb roaming the streets and rooftops of Gotham, and hours went by without a sighting of your special guy. You sat at the ledge of a rooftop overlooking Downtown Gotham—a bit too close to GCPD, but maybe that was where you needed to be.

It wasn’t long before Robin saw a figure concerningly close to the edge of a high building, and he could just barely make out those cat ears on your head. He awkwardly split off from Batman, who warned him not to do anything stupid. They had just put away a D-list villian and, let’s face it, they’re the most annoying ones to deal with and Batman now had to wash ketchup and mustard out of the crevices of his armor.

Robin met you up top, cheeks warming when he saw your immediate smile when you turned around, he gave you the same one. “Do you want to get a pizza?” He asked you with a shrug and a tilt of his head. You furrowed your brows just barely. “I guess not?”

“I mean—sure. But you want to go now? Like, dressed like this?” You sort of giggled, leaning into the idea just a little.

“Why not?” Robin asked you, eyes gleaming with just a bit of boy wonder. “Gotham’s seen weirder.”

“How’s that gonna affect your ‘image,’ huh? A good boy like you hanging out with the likes of a cat burglar, what would dear old Jim Gordon have to say?” You kept teasing him, but it seemed he was set on the idea. “You don’t even care, do you, Birdy?”

“I don’t, actually.” He said, extending his gloved hand to you. You accepted his help off the ledge and got to your feet.

“Got a place in mind?” You asked him as he walked off without an answer. “Okay, Batman.” You crossed your arms and walked behind him, only half-amused with his manners. But he was still cute the way he acted like Batman in those bright colors and tight pants. At least they’d been tweaked over the past few months, you couldn’t tell if he’d hit some kind of growth spurt or he just really liked tight clothes.

“See that sign over there?” Robin pointed down the street, a bright neon sign displayed the word “PIZZA” in red lettering, encased in a yellow circle you assumed was also pizza. “Twenty-four hours. You’ll be glad to know they do their best work in these hours.”

“You mean ‘vigilante hours?’” You joked, nudging him with your elbow.

“Something like that.” He nudged back. Suddenly, he leaped off the edge of the building—which actually wasn’t that tall if you were used to this sort of thing—and used a grapple gun to break the landing.

“Wow. We’re doing this, huh.” You equipped a whip and secured it to the neighboring building, descending yourself in a much more anticlimactic way—but still impressive if you weren’t used to this sort of thing. “Show off.”

“Had to do it one of these days, you’re always one-upping me.” He said walking forward, just a casual stroll down the streets of Gotham in costume, ignoring any pedestrians or nearby residents that may be up this late. Part of you hoped that you’d run into trouble just to see how it’d feel to fight side by side, show him you’re more than just mischief, you’re a bit kickass, too.

After a few minutes of chatting, the pair of you made it to the pizza shop. Robin opened the door for you where the bell above the door chimed when you entered. The employees watched as two masked freaked walked inside and casually asked what they could get for you. You shrugged when Robin looked at you for your preference, letting him pick for you. Then he pulled out a couple twenty dollar bills from his pocket and told them “keep the change.”

“Got any more of those for me?” You batted your eyes and tilted your head.

“You want to get paid for this date?” He chuckled, wondering if he should make his next joke, but he knew you had a sense of humor. “Wouldn’t that make you a hooker?” You broke into laughter that he joined in on and tapped him on the arm.

“Hey, whatever you wanna call me. As long as I get a couple bucks, what’s the harm?” You joked back and Robin thought to himself how nice your genuine laughter was, not just those careful little chuckles and giggles were. Your true smile was goofy and brilliant to him. Lost in the moment, your order was called up and the two of you left the shop with a hot box of pizza.

“Hold this real quick?” Robin handed the box off to you, then grabbed your waist and grappled to a nearby rooftop as you squealed from surprise.

“What ever happened to a gentlemanly warning? I could have dropped the pizza!” You told him as he took it back.

“Looks good to me.” He peeked in and brought it to another ledge. “I take it you like the view?”

“What do you mean?” You walked closer and took a seat.

“I always see you sitting or standing on the edge of these buildings. You just brooding?” He raised a brow.

“That’s more of a Batman thing.” You took a piece of pizza and took a bite.

“Then tell me why you’re always hanging out on tall buildings.”

“I like looking around, is that a crime?” You asked with a mouthful of cheese and bread.

“No, but breaking and entering is. And stealing, of course.” He took a slice and sat beside you. Below your dangling feet was just another street of Gotham City, a street he protected and you would just watch. Nothing special about it, especially since there were no museums or penthouses here.

You sat with your hands at your sides, leaning forward a bit to get a better view of the ground. It was then that you felt a gentle touch, Robin’s hand on yours. You glanced at him from the side and he saw as your lip curled slightly. If you didn’t know any better, you might have seen him blush. It was strange in a way, feeling so drawn to someone without a name. “Robin” had a nice ring to it, though.

taglist: @volturi-stuff // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @brutal-out-here // @jinxll11 // @swanimagines // @captainshazamerica // @greek-mythographer // @cipheress-to-k-pop // @summersimmerus // @glxwingrxse // @azazel-nyx // @simsrecs // @xoxobabydolls // @ruvaakke // @ravenstrueluv // @evilcr0ne // @sydknee624 // @retvenkos // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @elenavampire21 //

[awkward-fink]

In times of sickness - Simon "Ghost" Riley

You stare at your mobile phone and the message that your boyfriend had send you not too long ago. ‘Ordered groceries online. Be on standby. Coming home soon.’ Why had he ordered groceries online if you could have gone shopping easily in the supermarket down the street? Furrowing your brows you open the shared website login for the online order of groceries, and you could see the list was quite extensive on first glance! Spinach, Gnocchi, garlic, mustard and so much more.

And then you saw it, chicken thighs, root vegetables for soup base and little noodles in star shapes to go into the soup. And bone-marrow and rusk. Ah. Your boyfriend had ordered so that neither of you two would have to go shopping this weekend. Or a few days following. And your silent man was obviously sick. He never bought soup base and chicken thighs if he wasn’t sick, soup in general was not one of Simon’s favorite foods. ‘Sick People food only, Luvie’ he had once told you in no-nonsense tones.

And now he was sick. And that man, that stoic man, never even told you he was feeling unwell, he would hide it until he couldn’t anymore. You smile to yourself, readying the kitchen for the coming groceries and the task of cooking the best chicken soup you could produce! All for that silently suffering man.

Maybe you should preheat the barrel sauna he built you last summer as well, put some herbal liquid into the water to steam with, could help with a running nose.

Hours later, groceries are put away and the soup is simmering on the stove, the front door opens and your boyfriend trudges into your shared house with heavy steps and slightly drooping shoulders. Those were the only signs that he wasn’t feeling well, and the soft coughs from behind his medicinal mask as he bent down to unlace his boots. “Luvie, ‘m back.” His deep, grumbly voice calls out and you stand ready at the kitchen door, a glass with a ginger-carrot-shot in hand, and a loving and caring smile on your face.

“Hey there, Si. I see you are not feeling well, I made you some soup and a few fruit shots for your immune system. And the barrel sauna is heated for us both. How does that sound?”

“Sounds heavenly. How ever did you know?” “I have my ways.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon “Ghost” Riley does not do illness and being sick

There is no time for this, never and nowhere and being sick puts a damper on this man’s plans

He will hide being sick, because if he doesn’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t really happen, right?

Wants it hot and steamy to get every little bacterium out of his body again, so he built a barrel sauna for you both

Will ONLY eat soup if he is ill

Heard once that spicy food is the way to go when sick, so he has a secret stash of Buldak Ramen on base and even hidden in the most uppermost cupboard at home. If the nose aint running after one bite, it’s the wrong kind of helpful spicy

Doesn’t want to get you sick as well, but cant sleep without you on top of him, your weight being a security blanket for his weary mind and body

He will fall asleep alone, with you beside him and will wake up with you nestled on top, his face buried in your hair and his arms around your waist holding you tight

[meguwumibear]

angsty toge writing warm up

"I'm the only one left you know," Toge tells you, slumping down next to your exhausted form. "From my clan, I mean. The higher ups think the technique is dangerous and have outlawed it. Those who inherit it anyway, well..."

This is the most he's spoken in years. The words don't feel right on his tongue. They take up too much space. He has to think real hard to force them out.

"That's awful," you say, rolling onto your side to get a better look at him.

The two of you were dispatched hours ago to deal with a second grade cursed spirit. The assignment wasn't supposed to take very long, but it seems jujutsu society is struggling to understand curse ranking these days. The curse may have appeared weak, but it's technique was anything but. Somehow, someway, it had nullified your own.

Toge noticed first after his command to explode went unheeded. His purple eyes widened in surprise as the curse continued its attack as if he had said nothing at all.

With no cursed technique to rely on, the exorcism took a few grueling hours. You took turns brawling with the monster while the other attempted to poor their limited cursed energy into a tool. You're both a bloody mess by the time the curse finally fades away.

The curses death did not return either of your techniques to you.

"How long do you think it'll take for our techniques to return?"

There's a nasty gash on Toge's forehead, right above his left eye. The curse was strong and had sharp, pointy claws. Toge wasn't able to dodge all of its attacks in time.

The sorcerer is flat on his back, staring up at the starless sky. The light pollution from the nearby city blocks out even the moon's light.

"Don't know," he shrugs. "Maybe never."

There's a sad little smile on his lips when he replies. He doesn't roll to meet you as if he's worried looking you in the eyes will allow you to see past them into the crevices of his brain.

"Would it be so bad if they never came back?"

"Dunno," you shrug. "I don't feel particularly attached to mine. I think I'd miss the school though. And Yuuta and Maki."

Slim fingers pick anxiously at overgrown blades of grass, "you could probably stay on if you wanted. Used cursed tools like Maki. I'm sure they'd even give you glasses if you needed them."

What goes unsaid is louder than what does.

"You wouldn't stay? Even knowing what you do?"

He doesn't respond right away. It's been some time since he's had to communicate more than a greeting or affirmation. His thoughts have spent so much time stuck in his own head, they aren't sure how to come out.

"It would be hard to leave."

It's getting late. The two of you were due back hours ago. The starless sky is vast but your time on Earth is short.

"Let's go," Toge says and instantly regrets. He hadn't felt his technique return but the way you jolt forward confirms it's back. It isn't one of his usual commands. He didn't even realize he'd put any cursed energy into the words.

How could he be so careless? He knows better.

"Mustard leaf," he manages, turning from you. "Cavier."

"Toge," you try, reaching out to grab him. "I'm not hurt. I know you didn't mean it. It's alright."

He doesn't let you touch him. He doesn't want your comfort or sympathy. There's no point. Your techniques have returned which means you can both go back to your training and exorcising.

Would it be so bad if they never came back?

For society maybe, but not for him.

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

A Second Chance, A Father's Curse - Part 6 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)

This is a bit longer than usual because it took me a while to find a stopping point that I felt made sense, but I'm really excited to keep writing this series, after all it's only just beginning! Thanks for your patience :)

Part 5 here

Warnings: None

Word count: 3.9k

“Mustard leaf,” The small murmur makes you look up from your desk. You hadn’t even heard the door open, but in front of you stands your man-of-little-words royal advisor. He tilts his head, his question remaining wordless, and you sigh, “Good morning Inumaki, no I am not alright, but I suppose it’s partially my fault so I have no right to complain,”

He frowns and pulls a chair up, resting his elbows on the desk, “Salmon,” He encourages you softly, “Salmon salmon,” You take that as encouragement to speak up about your woes and so you put down your pencil, “I can feel him out there,” You murmur.

“I can feel his pain clearly now, I can feel how uncomfortable he still is here, he pretends for my sake but I wish he would tell me what he wants,” Inumaki pulls a blank sheet of paper and borrows your pencil, scrawling something quickly. News of his father?

You shake your head, “Nothing so far, but the coronation is in a few days…” You trail off, rubbing the scar on your cheek, “It seems his paranoia has rubbed off on me, I haven’t slept well since this happened,” You gesture to the thin line of crudely healed skin. He taps his masked chin with the tip of the pencil before writing something else: My technique, help you sleep?

Seriously contemplating it for a second you get lost in the idea of finally getting a full night of rest but you shake your head, “As much as I’d appreciate the help, I can’t risk not being of right mind if something does happen, I need to be able to lead my people especially this close to the coronation,”

“Bonito flakes,” He grumbles, pushing the paper towards you again. You cannot lead on no sleep. “He’s right, you need sleep my lady,” Gojo’s voice rings out from the doorway, which you once again hadn’t heard open.

“What are you doing here? What happened at the training session?” You ask quickly, pushing to your feet and stepping around the desk towards him. He pushes his hood back, adjusting the blindfold over his eyes and dipping his head respectfully, “Ryomen is incredibly strong, and more than willing to learn, but occasionally I have noticed that he struggles with internal conflicts. I don’t know if this is some remnant curse placed on him by his father or if this is just his lingering discomfort,”

You look back out the window past your desk, leaning your hands on the old cherry wood as you sigh. “Your highness,” Gojo says, “I have reason to believe that Ryomen’s bloodline, on his mother’s side, was incredibly powerful. Maybe even more so than his father,” You clench your hands into fists, trying to control your breathing.

You’d brought him here, if he turned out to be a threat it would be your fault. But… he’d been so willing, so pliable. Maybe even too pliable. You’d never wanted control of him, you’d only wanted to save him from his father.

His damned father, seemingly the root cause of all of this. “Jin Itadori doesn’t have a recorded domain expansion, but Ryomen is strong enough that there is no doubt he does, maybe even one without a barrier,” This makes you look back at the blindfolded sorcerer, your blood going cold, “…What did you just say?”

It’s not as if you’d doubted it for a second, from the moment you met him you knew deep down he must’ve had a domain, whether he knew it or not. Heck, you had one and you aren’t even half as powerful as he is.

“Mustard leaves!” Inumaki exclaims towards Gojo, before grabbing your hand and making you look to him instead of getting lost in your thoughts, “Salmon, salmon,” He emphasises the positive affirmation of his linguistic range, “Tuna,” He grabs the paper again and shows it to you.

Do you trust him? You look up into his purple eyes, slowly shaking your head, “I don’t know, I don’t know, can I anymore?” You whisper, “What is his domain? What is his technique?” You ask Gojo. “We… haven’t figured that out yet, in fact he doesn’t even know that I’m here, I came here to talk to you while he spars hand-to-hand with Geto,”

Your shoulders droop again at the mention of your personal guard, “I still need to apologise to him,” You murmur. “You did nothing wrong,” Inumaki’s voice is a bit hoarse and hesitant, but there’s no chance that sentence could affect you in any way despite the soft wave of cursed energy that washes over your ears, “He should apologise,”

Gojo slaps a hand over his mouth and Inumaki apologises quickly before falling quiet again. “Sorry your highness!” Gojo blurts, before poking his tongue out, “Blegh! God I hate when you do that,” Inumaki grumbles wordlessly and folds his arms, making you smile slightly at the mishap, “Gojo will you fetch Geto for me? Tell him I need to speak with him,”

He nods, “Oh, and let Ryomen know he’s free to sleep in the castle tonight if he wishes, I know how cold the sorcerer tower can be, I’ll have the maids prepare the room across the hall,” You bite your thumbnail a little, “I… I think?” “You think?” He raises a snowy eyebrow, half turned to leave. “I…” You shake your head, “Yes, tell him that, Inumaki will you tell my maids to prepare the room opposite mine?”

Your advisor nods, writing the instruction on a separate piece of paper before the two men leave, allowing you to slump back into your chair. You pick up the pencil again and scrawl down a quick note addressed to your husband detailing first an apology, then your wish for him to become accustomed to Iqoria in his own time, and finally informing him that your decision was not made without hesitation and anxiety, but you need him to come to you when he is ready and you will no longer command him if he doesn’t wish to be commanded.

Once the letter is finished there is a knock at the door and you sign it, “Come in,” You look up at Geto who looks nervous, something you hate seeing on his face particularly because he’s been your rock for almost your entire life. A second older brother, a guardian, someone you can lean on. Now he looks like a scared dog, hackles raised, a cut on his cheek matching your own.

“You wished to see me your highness?” You screw your eyes shut for a moment, rubbing your forehead to try and rid yourself of the memories of your bloody nightgown, “Yes, please sit down,” You gesture to the chair Inumaki left behind.

He moves to sit, keeping his hands neatly folded in his lap as you look up to him. A drop of blood trails down his cheek and he scrunches his nose slightly, trying to ignore it as you quietly watch him. You reach over the desk and wipe your thumb over the cut, feeling him flinch slightly as your energy stings the wound, sealing it up neatly.

It won’t scar, not like yours has. “Suguru,” You murmur, bringing your arm back to your body, his blood drying and making the tip of your thumb slightly tacky. “Your highness,” He breathes, refusing to meet your gaze, “You have my sincerest apologies for the way I have been acting since the ball in Khoccadia,”

You hadn’t summoned him here for this, but you know he needs it so you allow him to continue.

“I… Forgive me for overstepping but you are my sister, not by blood but by soul, and… and I don’t want to lose you. The prince is powerful, more powerful than anyone I’ve ever met before, and if I can’t protect you from him if the need arises then what use am I?” You can sense his frustration, he stands and starts pacing the room, his strides long as he flexes his knuckles.

After he does a few laps of the room he takes a deep breath, “Your highness, please say something,” He whispers.

“Y/n,” You reply softly, “Suguru, it’s always just been Y/n for you,” A tear slips down his cheek through the smear of blood, leaving a clean trail, “Our societal standings would say the opposite,” You shake your head, “This isn’t the ancient times, Suguru, you grew up alongside me,” You stand up, smoothing out your skirts, “Though we quarrel now and then, I don’t want to stop being able to trust you. I want to be able to look to you if I need a shoulder,”

Though you don’t move around the desk to him, he still dips his head slightly at your words, “I accept your apology, and would like to extend my own, in the hopes that when Ryomen’s discipline training is complete you will return to your post as my personal guard, renewed and stronger than ever,”

You see his shoulders stiffen slightly and he looks back up into your eyes, searching for something within them, “You… still want me to protect you?” You nod, “Of course you will have the help you always have had from the other guards, but I need you Suguru,” You say simply, “I am to be Queen, and the Queen chooses her guard, does she not? Who better than the Captain himself?”

He nods, “Yes, she does, thank you for your kindness princess,” He whispers as if he still doesn’t believe it. You nod, satisfied with how the meeting has gone, “Now, the coronation is in three days and I expect you and your guards to be looking their best, understood Captain?”

He nods, his smile returning softly, “I will make sure of it,” “Go then, and take my blessings and well-wishes for the guards with you,” He sweeps out of the room with renewed confidence, but yours is only crushed more so. With a wave of your hand the door is pulled shut by one of the guards outside and you sit heavily back in your chair, rubbing your temples with fingers sore from writing all day.

A few rogue thoughts cross your mind and you find yourself wishing for company, but loathing the idea of conversation. You don’t know who you would call to talk anyway. Ryomen doesn’t want to be around you right now, you sent Inumaki away, Shoko would just tell you about your parents and even your maids have become closed off in the wake of your brother’s death.

Perhaps they fear that you’ll become harsher upon your ascension to the throne, but what good would that serve you? Turning your own people against you would be a foolish move, especially now.

Your mind begins to wander amongst a dark forest of thoughts and questions you’re not even sure you want the answers to. Why was Ryomen so powerful? Who was his mother? Why do you feel so drawn to him? And why can’t you shake the sickening feeling that something awful is happening beyond the city walls?

His father, of course, must be rallying his forces to march on your kingdom. This you’re sure of, you didn’t personally meet the man but you could tell just by looking at him that he doesn’t play by halves. No, there’s something else, something just beyond your sight that you can’t put your finger on.

You scribble another letter, marking it with the royal seal, before leaving the room with your head held high, both letters clutched in your hands. The first, detailing a search mission, you give to Gojo’s apprentice Yuta Okkotsu, equally strong to his teacher and loyal beyond mortal ties. The second, addressed to your husband, you ask Yuta to deliver before he leaves as you don’t know which room Ryomen will seek refuge in tonight.

~

“You didn’t think I’d just let you leave, right?” A voice pierces the darkness and a form melts from the shadows. It’s Megumi, and Choso puts himself between the Shikigami user and his brothers, “Not without a fight it seems,” The man growls, his hands clenched as he summons his energy.

Thanks to his father’s experiments Choso is no longer human, cursed with his father’s ambitions and his toxic pride he finds himself unable to die from his own technique, a form of extensive blood manipulation that hasn’t been seen for many centuries. He knows he must reveal this trump card to his brothers if he wishes for them to escape, but before he has the chance to make a move Megumi steps fully into the light, brushing a few stray hairs from his face.

“Come on, your dad will be able to sense us going, if we want to get out it has to be quick,” Choso hears Yuji sigh with relief behind him and he reluctantly lowers his guard, “You’re not here to stop us?” “Look I ran away from one awful family, I’m not about to stop you from running from another, in fact I’d much rather go with you,”

Kechizu shifts on Yuji’s back, “Is that Megumi?” He asks quietly, “Is he coming with us?” “Yes, yes he is,” Yuji murmurs, “But we have to go now,” The group makes their way under the protection of Megumi’s shadows to the stables, where they take no more than three horses and ride out into the night, Eso sharing with Choso and Kechizu still clinging to Yuji.

Megumi out the front leads with Nue high in the sky, keeping watch behind. They stay off the main roads, barely able to see Nue above through the trees but following behind Megumi’s confident form as he pushes a path through the underbrush on his black stallion.

They ride well into the morning as Nue calls out every so often, warning them of travellers or hunting parties, but none are so foolish as to stray from the path and stumble into the runaways.

“We will reach the Creyarean district by midday, I recommend we stop there to eat and then continue on, if you wish to reach Iqoria as close to the coronation as possible we cannot waste time,” Megumi informs the group as he drops back slightly, “Does your brother know you’re coming?”

Choso and Yuji exchange a glance, “He doesn’t,” Eso answers for them, “But… but he won’t send us away, will he?” He looks to Choso, “He might be mean but he loves us, right?” Choso finds he cannot reply, only nodding to the fifteen-year-old. Eso and Kechizu are so small for their age, both sharing Choso’s technique which came from a close family of lords they were related to distantly by blood, but Yuji inherited an ancient family technique from their mother’s side instead.

Ryomen had ended up with a deadly combination of Jin Itadori’s technique and something he’d never revealed to them from his mother, something that amplified his power beyond safe limits and had driven Jin Itadori to curse the castle with a powerful suppression technique. It had taken a toll on the five boys, Ryomen the least, and weakened them all so much that Choso found he couldn’t perform his duties or attend to his studies to their fullest.

Now that they were free, now that they were gone, Choso could feel the cursed energy surging through his body, could feel his connection to his brothers through their blood clear as the sun shining above. It also meant he could reach out and sense Ryomen in the mist, more shrouded than the other three because of their different lineage, but still there. Still alive.

He didn’t know if he was comforted by the knowledge, but it certainly made him feel better to be able to sense all of his brothers again. “You stay here, I’ll go and get food from the market,” Megumi breaks into Choso’s thoughts as they approach the edge of the outer Creyarean district. “You can’t go in there alone-!” Yuji exclaims, but Megumi shoots him a glare.

“You two stand out too much,” He looks between Yuji and Choso, “And we can’t leave Eso and Kechizu on their own, just stay here,” He urges his horse towards the buildings, “If you see Nue without me, ride like the wind for Iqoria and don’t look back, once you’re inside their borders you should be safe,”

None of the boys liked that answer, that meant leaving Megumi behind in an unfamiliar place with people who more than likely wanted to kill him for assisting their escape. Once the Captain is gone, Yuji looks at Choso, “We’re not leaving him behind,” He grunts, “I don’t care if you’re older, this is non-negotiable,”

“If we’re not leaving Megumi behind, then we’re sending Eso and Kechizu on without us,” Choso shoots back, standing his ground, “They’re still not strong enough to help us,” “We’re strong!” Eso complains, but Choso shoots him a look, “Kechizu cannot navigate the world unaided as of right now, and you can barely control your technique, you’re no match on a battlefield with experienced fighters, understand?”

Eso slumps down onto his butt, Kechizu shuffling until he’s sat nestled against his brother’s side, “Just… be careful,” Kechizu murmurs, looking up in Choso’s direction with his black eyes, “Please big brother,” The black haired prince clenches his fists, gritting his teeth, “I would tear apart the heavens and the earth to keep you all safe, careful comes second, that is my non-negotiable,”

~

Nothing in this world can prepare you for the overwhelming loneliness of your bed inevitably being empty tonight. Despite the fact it has been a few days since you liberated Ryomen from his cage at your side, you felt even less prepared to return to your chambers where you know the sheets will remain cold even with the fire in the fireplace set to burn until the morning.

So its at your desk you remain, the dying light of the sun at your back not serving as distraction enough to make you raise your head. You’ve been reading up on old coronation customs, reading the literary accounts of your mother’s coronation and looking through the designs you chose for the day itself.

From your dress, the flower arrangements, jewellery and most importantly the tiara which will serve as your unique ‘casual’ diadem separate from the official state crown. Your mother had a hand in designing it, you could tell from the ways in which it would inevitably complement your features such as your face shape and hair type.

After signing a few official documents regarding civilian movement and protection orders, you lean back in your chair, slipping your feet out of your comfortable heels and tucking your knees up to your chest. It can get so daunting in the endless quiet, the stone floor of the castle layered with thick carpet dampening almost every sound and making you feel isolated.

Minutes pass and you eventually curl up, the chair big enough to support you sitting sideways pretty comfortably, resting your head and taking in the details of your skirts. Maybe you could go to Geto, but would he welcome you with open arms or do you still need to regain his loyalty? Inumaki is a no, you’ll just be tempted to ask him to put you to sleep.

“My lady?” A voice beyond the door calls for you and you look up, inviting them in. It’s one of the guards stationed at the door, her face young but downturned with worry, “Do you wish for us to accompany you to your chambers?” She asks.

You stay quiet for a few moments before sighing, “I do not wish to return to the emptiness of my rooms, but if I must then I will,” She smiles softly, “Surely you do not intend to sleep in here my lady?” You smile sadly in return, “In fact that is exactly what I was intending,” After a few moments where the guard shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say, she bows her head.

“Come, allow us to accompany you to your rooms, it will be much more comfortable despite the emptiness,” Eventually you stand, leaning down and grabbing your shoes so you don’t have to put them back on, “Lead the way then ma’am,” You gesture with an arm and the pair of them, the other a middle-aged gentleman, guide you unobstructed through the halls back to your room.

You’ve been unable to look at the bedsheets without seeing flashes of blood, feeling twinges of phantom pain in your cheek, “Will you be alright?” The female guard asks you, her hand resting on the doorknob as you stand just inside, thinking deeply. You look back to her, “Yes, I think I will be, will you send for Shoko? I want to see if she can do anything about this scar,” You gesture to your face.

With a nod, the door swings shut and you’re alone once more. This is what you dreaded, being left with only your thoughts for company, but you decide to passively fight back by quickly drawing a bath for yourself to cleanse your mind. The warmth envelops your body and you sigh, slouching down until just your head is above water. The foetal position becomes your safe space, your ankles crossed and legs hugged tightly to your chest.

It’s not long before you doze off, the weight of the day finally pushing you under as you go back over everything, making sure you didn’t forget anything important. “Your highness?” A call from your room rouses you from your drowsy state. You’re irritated for a few seconds before you remember you called for Shoko, “In here,” You grumble.

“Your guards said you wanted to see me about the scar?” She asks as she comes into the bathroom, moving until she’s sat beside the bathtub on the floor, “Is it bothering you?” You reach up to it, bringing your hand out of the water and running your fingers over where you know it lies, “Not visually, but it stings from time to time,” You explain, “Can you get rid of it?”

She nods, “It’s also probably a good idea because it cuts through one of your tattoos,” She murmurs, examining it a little closer as she leans over the tub, the ends of her hair draping into the water and getting wet. Her thumb passes over your cheek and though you feel nothing, she nods to herself, “There, now you’ll be perfect for coronation day,” She blinks drowsily, “Any news from Khoccadia?”

You shake your head, “I wish he would just do something, I hate waiting, every passing day is another day that my people are threatened by an enemy I cannot strike first,” You sigh, leaning your head back, “Will you pass me a towel?” She stands up and grabs one of the fluffy white towels on the shelf nearby, leaving it at the edge of the bath for you to grab, “Will you be needing your maids?”

You shake your head, “As much as the silence is killing my morale, I need to be alone,” You scoop some water and rub it into your face a little, “I’ll be alright, go get some sleep yourself,”

She leaves, and you spend a good few minutes crying. At least this way nobody will be able to tell when you get out of the bath, or tomorrow morning when you wake up.

Where are you when I need you the most?

Where is anyone when I need them?

~

It’s only a matter of time.

After all, we have him now.

We have everything we need to topple the thrones of man.

“This is going to be fun!”

I hope you're all enjoying it so far :) much love

Part 7

Taglist: @love-jelly @nousija

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part three - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: bullying ; asshole security guards ; mentions of traumatic pasts ; heavy drinking ; suicidal ideation ; depictions of suicide

She vaguely wonders when she had become such a cry-baby.

It’s her second favorite activity. The first is drinking alone, although enough liquor and she is immediately crying anyway.

She takes another sip of the vodka in the glass, puts her head in her other hand, lets tears drip onto a scuffed kitchen table.

These tears are from the fear that eviction could soon be in her future. Her new job, although awful, pays well, and she’s been picking up as much overtime as she thinks is safe.

She would be taking more open shifts if there wasn’t a hulking security guard out for her blood.

She tries to rationalize through the misery, but her brain can only sooth with thoughts of disaster, and eventually she always ends up giving in to things like this, so she does that, and lets herself sob for a long while.

Yearning for an actual mother she can call and ask for advice, she picks up her phone and stares at the screen longingly. Maybe a dad would be better for this situation, but she doesn’t have one of those either.

She doesn’t have anyone in this lonely city.

It’s times like these when the thought of slitting open her wrists in the bathtub sounds like a lovely escape. Her eyes catch the glint of scattered kitchen knives on her counter, but she doubts they would be sharp enough. She could walk to the corner store and buy a razor blade, but the fact that she is too lazy to do that right now tells her that she’s not yet fully committed to the idea of suicide.

Sure, it sounds great in theory. Kill yourself and make the pain disappear. Grow up with enough religious trauma, and the thought gets less appealing. The hell of life is nothing compared to the biblical one, at least not from what she’s learned about it, and although she has no belief now, the eternal damnation and fire-brimstone combo still sticks inside her brain and scares her alive.

When she had told her landlord she didn’t have enough for rent, they had hung up on her. That action alone was enough to interpret as a 30 day eviction notice.

So here she is, nothing to live or die for, head on the table, unpleasantly drunk, crying on her poor raw cheeks. Three cups of ramen left for dinner, a fourth case of pop in the fridge, salt and pepper and a bottle of ketchup and expired mustard, half a bottle of cheap vodka, and eight dollars. And too cowardly to even kill herself.

She remembers John telling her something about taking shitty care of herself, and he’s absolutely right. Out of line, but right. It’s funny how a guy that’s known her for a week can see her better than she can see herself. Her vodka brain suggests asking him for more advice since he seems to care so much. She thinks about it for a minute, the irony of asking an inmate for life directions, decides it actually is a great idea. It surely has nothing to do with her wanting to talk to or spend more time with him.

He is very handsome, even sporting that long, unkempt facial hair and prison jumpsuit. And of course she would find a prisoner attractive because he showed her the tiniest bit of non-negative attention. Yes, he’s convicted, but they’re not all bad. Some are in for stupid shit. Maybe he just pissed off the wrong person.

But he is good-looking. Anyone with a functioning brain can see that. Unless they hate tall, dark, broad-shouldered men with muscles. Not obscene muscles either—

She catches her wandering thoughts, screams into the thick wood of the kitchen table, vows to stop thinking about how hot her patient is, because crying is better than jumping down that terrifying rabbit hole.

She reaches for the bottle of vodka, drunken brain convincing her that she doesn’t have to look because she knows where it is. However, her brain is very wrong, and instead of gripping the bottle, she ends up knocking it over.

Before she can rectify the situation, there is already liquid all over the table and floor. The bottle is empty. She tries to look on the bright side because she doesn’t want to cry anymore. At least it would disinfect everything. Less cleaning that she had to do in the morning. It doesn’t work and she’s crying again.

————— ———————

She feels like an idiot creeping into the break room to search for cameras. Of course, there are none. She doesn’t keep her drinks or food in here anymore and she decides that this will be the final time she visits altogether.

Benny can’t get to her if she’s always in the open. The most he can do is scowl at her and make stupid comments, and these things she can live with.

She is at the desk doing her paperwork when she sees him again. Immediately, she wants to run, especially since he is walking her way. She stays put, though, determined not to let him see how scared she is of him.

He slides up to the counter and looks down at her, grinning. “Hey kid, nice shiner.”

She doesn’t look up.

He continues. “I forgot to get your number for the camping trip, mind giving me your phone for a minute?”

“I don’t have a phone.” The lie could have been a better one, but she’s still proud of herself for coming up with it under pressure.

Benny laughs, leans more toward her, his bulging shoulders hunched in and squeezing his cheeks. He reminds her of her old school bullies. “Bullshit.”

She sighs and puts her pen down. “I really don’t,” she says, “I broke it a week ago and I can’t afford another one.” She hopes the square outline of a smartphone in her pocket isn’t visible once she stands up.

His smile dissipates. “You better not be lying to me.”

That registers as a threat. She tries not to shrink, holds herself steady.

Diane, the other, older female nurse, comes through the swinging door of the nurses station.

Benny backs off the counter and leaves, scowling.

She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She should have told him off, explained to him that she would rather jump into a ravine full of crocodiles than give him her phone number. She at least likes crocodiles.

She’d like to think she’s never felt this helpless, but she’s wrong. Growing up in  foster care, she had met plenty of men like Benny. It grew hair on her chest, so to speak, formed her into a protector for those who needed one. But all those traumatic experiences never made it easier for her to stand up for herself. If anything, they made it much harder. It’s hard to show your backbone if you never learned how to grow one.

She can’t focus on the paperwork, not when Benny is here and she hates herself for not telling him to fuck off. So, she decides to round on her patients—one in particular she’s very worried about.

Although he did cross a line, the line was already breached anyway, and she can’t convince him or herself that she’s mad at him for it. First of all, because that would be admitting to him…and herself that he can get under her skin even further than he’s already burrowed, and, second of all, because admitting she’s angry at him would be establishing that she has some sort or relationship with him outside of the professional one.

In a provider patient scenario, it’s often the case that the patient feels weak and helpless, especially if the provider has feelings for them. If John finds out she feels drawn to him like this, he will probably hate her and think she’s a creep, and she’d honestly rather get fired than have that happen.

She doesn’t want to put him in a position where he has to tiptoe around her.

Trying to lie to herself, reasoning that this is her job and John is her patient and she needs to check on him periodically anyway, she stands up and pushes her chair in. A bunch of people have been discharged over the past few days, and her case load is light tonight—light enough to be boring. She only has three patients including John. The other two sleep soundly, both with only one wrist cuffed to the bed.

She knows that John won’t be sleeping.

She’s right, he’s not asleep, but he’s got other company tonight. Mike stands beside his bed with his phone held to John’s face. The blue light of the screen illuminates his kind smile. It’s a polite, slight upward turn of his mouth for Mike’s benefit, but when he catches her eyes, it turns genuine.

She smiles right back, almost involuntarily.

Mike doesn’t notice her, flips through his phone pictures. John has seen at least twenty photos or more of his grandkid’s since the janitor began talking to him tonight.

“And that’s my daughter-in-laws little girl, Ashlee.”

She almost steps back out to leave them to it, but John catches her with his voice. He says her name and Mike turns around, smiling wide.

They both greet her, and she greets back. Mike shoves his phone into his pocket and looks at her apologetically. “I suppose she’s here to do her job, and here I am slacking off,” he jokes.

She chuckles. “How dare you take a break, Mike, you know we don’t get those.”

“Right, right,” Mike sighs, sarcastic, “must have forgotten. My age is finally getting to me.”

“You’re like 30,” she tells him, waving a dismissing hand in the air.

“Aw, I love this girl,” Mike giggles, looking at John. “Best nurse in the building, you’re lucky to have her.”

She rolls her eyes, flushing, still smiling. “If you keep lying, you’ll go to hell.”

“Well, I hope so. I already bought my ticket.” He nudges John with an elbow, winking down at him. “I’ll leave you kids to it and get back to work.”

Mike starts to walk out, mop bucket in tow, but stops, addressing John, the freshly awakened guards, and herself.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?” He asks.

“Why?” She asks, already smiling for the punchline.

“Nobody knows,” Mike sighs. He looks off into the distance, adopting a dramatic, grave expression. “But the road will have its revenge.” With that, he is gone.

She’s the only one that laughs. John’s smile perks, although not for the joke.

She promises herself to find Mike later and ask for updates on his adorable little hoard of kiddos, then focuses her attention on the man cuffed to the bed.

“I don’t need anything,” he tells her before she asks. “But, I’m glad you came in.”

“That’s my job,” she shrugs.

“I really am sorry,” John says, looking like he means it with his droopy, apologetic eyes. It makes her heart seize to see him moping like a dejected dog.

“Don’t be sorry because you’re right,” she says, past the point of giving a shit what she talks to him about or what he knows about her. Maybe this is her way of living dangerously because of a shitty existence. Some people choose meth, she chooses alcohol and alluring prisoners. We all have our vices.

“Maybe not,” he says, “you’re alive, that’s saying something.”

She laughs without humor. “But I can’t pay my rent, and I can’t afford food.”

She waits for him to say something mean like ‘you clearly look like you can afford food ’, but instead, he thinks critically on her situation for a moment. “Do you have a partner, children?”

“No.”

Then who hit you. “Get a roommate.”

It’s so simple, and so easily slides from his mouth, and she can’t believe she didn’t think about it before. A roommate could help her afford rent, especially in New York where it is obscenely high. And she could ask for first months, which would give her half the payment she needs while waiting for her own supply of money. Perhaps a portion would delay eviction.

She stares at him. “That’s actually a great idea.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I have those.”

She laughs again, but there’s humor back in it. “You shouldn’t be in prison, John. You should be an advice counselor.”

“That’s what I keep telling them, but I don’t think they’re listening.” His dry humor makes her giggle harder, enough that the security guards glance over at them curiously.

He’s tried more than his share of addictive substances, and her laughter is quickly becoming one of the sweetest to invade his senses.

“No, really, you’re a genius, thank you for that. And I forgive you.”

He just hopes she can pick someone who’s not a scumbag, but based on her judge of character so far, that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he shouldn’t have suggested it.

“Good. Now I can live with myself.” She thinks he’s joking but the only funny thing about it is he’s really not.

[toast-in-a-cowboy-hat]

The whole debacle with the Felix Remix of biscuits and gravy is equal parts hilarious and unfortunate for me, in particular, because like, ya know, yeah, Oreos in beef granules, Oreos & Beef, that sounds bad.

To most folks at least, probably.

I, tragically, am haunted by the presence of, in my opinion, a much worse sounding execution of that general concept.

That beast being the Oreo Stuffed Cheeseburger.

Which is something I have seen, irl, at both local restaurants and fair grounds, and, as you might could guess from the name, is where they take a beef patty, put Oreos in the middle of said patty, and then follow it up with the rest of the steps one might take to produce a cheeseburger.

And it's been a while since I seen it, so I'm not entirely sure but I think they also put either icing, crushed oreos, or both, on top of the patty with the rest of the condiments.

I've seen another version too, the Deep Fried Oreo Cheeseburger, which is a cheeseburger with deep fried oreos on top, and then again I think the icing and maybe crushed oreos.

And who knows, maybe that actually sounds good to y'all, idk, but that seems worse to me. Like Felix's thing just got beef and oreo, cookie and sauce, these you have the beef and the oreo, but theres also cheese, mustard, onion, etc, etc... all along with a bunch more oreos, and none of those things are something I'd want near an oreo to begin with so.

Sounds bad!

But people eat and enjoy all of these things, I had people tell me that they thought it sounded bad, but it was actually surprisingly good!

And so! It's very funny to me because like, that means Felix is not entirely wrong! Oreo and beef is a flavor combo people enjoy, people would like his biscuits and gravy, there's places you can buy this sort of thing from out there in the world, right now.

There's even been kinda similar concepts served widespread via chain store like, you ever thought your cheeseburger wasn't sticky enough? Well, you're in luck, there was a point you could buy the Peanut Butter Bacon Cheeseburger, and also the Peanut Butter Bacon Milkshake, which yes, had real bacon chunks in it like Look at these things

People ate these People enjoyed these

To me that sounds awful, but a whole lotta people really liked them

And so between that and the Oreo Cheeseburger, I think Felix's true calling in life was to have some sort of food truck. Like, he should be at a state fair, making concoctions of questionable edibility that people are either disgusted by or adore, and instead, alas, he was British.

This man is gonna end up visiting Outlaw in Texas one day and accidentally start a trend, like, he's gonna invent the Brown Gravy Oreo Cheeseburger or some shit like that. We're gonna end up with Cowboy Felix where that's what he does now, no more assisting with horrific medical experiments, he's making his own, in the culinary field!

Let him have fun with strange food combinations, he deserves it

[gaberlungi]

Trans Kids Deserve Better - Way Too Much Macaroni Cheese

I’ve been making this one for years. I made 3x regular quantities for the protest - scale down as appropriate. The cheese doesn’t have to be the expensive kind - I use whatever’s cheapest at the supermarket - but it does need to be mature cheddar

1kg macaroni 2 cloves garlic 2 dessert spoons mustard 9tbs plain white flower 150g butter or a little more 1.5l milk 750g mature or extra-mature cheddar, grated, for the sauce More grated cheddar for the topping, maybe 100g Dry white breadcrumbs - panko work well but anything is fine

If you’re making big quantities it’s good to have a food processor with a grater attachment for the cheese.

Heat the oven to about 190°C

Cook the macaroni for the minimum time suggested on the packet. Drain as thoroughly as you can and put it in an oven-proof dish

Melt the butter in a pan over a low heat. Make sure the pan is big enough - the cheese will add volume as well as the milk. Add the chopped garlic and stir in the flour to make a smooth paste. Add more butter if it seems too thick. Then gradually add the milk, stirring all the time so the sauce doesn’t get lumpy. It helps to heat the milk for a couple of minutes in the microwave first, and to use a hand whisk to get the sauce smooth. Then add the cheese in batches, stirring and giving it time to melt. Add the mustard along with the cheese

When the sauce is nice and thick, pour it into the dish with the macaroni and gently mix it in. Macaroni has holes so it won’t take as much extra space as you think. Though if you’re me, you may find it’s still too much and you need to find an overflow dish.

Mix the rest of the grated cheese and some breadcrumbs and sprinkle over the top. You just have to eyeball this. Quantity doesn’t matter too much, but more is good.

Put the dish(es) in the oven and bake until the top looks nicely brown and crispy - maybe 20min. Check after 15min and then every five minutes or so.

Remove from oven, cover with foil, wrap in towels for insulation, and take down to the protest. If you only have heavy ceramic oven dishes then you may find you need a taxi

[yuurivoice]

Any foods u just don't fw?

I know I've got some amazing answers for this and my brain just doesn't want to cooperate so I'll give you one, but trust me when I say I will come back and reblog this when I remember what I hate. Lmfao

So, Texas BBQ, specifically in the Austin area gets hyped like mad and I'm gonna be honest...it hasn't lived up to the hype for me. I am more of a saucy BBQ guy, so I'm more like a Kansas City type. But specifically it's the ribs and the pulled pork that ain't doing it for me.

And you know, pulled pork SHOULDN'T be that damn hard to get right. If it's moist, it really shouldn't be tricky. These mfs putting all kinds of shit in the pulled pork like brother why is there mustard in this shit? I just want meat and some goddamn hot sauce.

The usual suspects are fine, but like, you don't get points for having good brisket, it's fucking brisket. Getting it right should be the minimum. Like the pork. 😂

I just don't fuck with dry rubs too much. I shouldn't be getting more dust in my mouth than meat. Damn.

Anywho, I would be eating BBQ all the fucking time if there was any place I could reliably get my favorite meats at with any sorta resemblance of how I like it done. 😤

That being said, you'll struggle to find any piece of meat I won't put in my mouth. It's just funny that ATX BBQ gets so much love and my ass is here like........eh.

And don't get me started on the sides. Fuck. Can only find one half decent baked bean, potato salad is store bought, not a piece of corn bread in sight.

When it comes to TX food, Houston is where I would rather be. Folks down there know what they're doing.

It's crazy I've lived here for years now and I really haven't found my spots that I swear by. I could try a little harder but also maybe not because I'm losing weight and it's going well. 😂

[manorpunk]

To Seize and Hold - Act III

+++++

Liam starts making more steps towards independence - he goes to see a therapist, but soon leaves in disgust after a tentative diagnosis of “obsessive co-sentiment disorder,” which sounds an awful lot like “caring-about-other-people disorder.” He finishes his future-GED, applies for citizenship, and gets his first job - prep work in a co-packer, making industrial-sized batches of potato salad. The work isn’t great, but Liam finds a strange sense of peace there, surrounded by the hum of machinery and the smell of ground mustard, hidden behind a face mask, hairnet, and earplugs, the solitude, the peaceful oblivion of line assembly.

Bad news comes in from Webersberg. The situation in Liam’s hometown has gotten worse - Remington Weber and his compatriots are in open revolt, and in response, Solomon van Gekkenhuis (Liam’s old friend who has admittedly been very underdeveloped in this outline, but he’s a pseudo-intellectual authoritarian type - “if only everyone would realize how smart and right I am, I could fix everything”) has been appointed as the new temporary manager of Webersberg, and Solomon is now hoping to go along with Bogdan’s “Plan A” of flattening Webersberg and starting over.

Liam thinks about his hometown - the good times, the bad times, its cruelty and compassion, and what would it mean for it to be destroyed. Would it be the act of a tyrannical state, steamrolling over anyone who won’t play by its rules? Or is it the sad but necessary suppression of a bubble of retrograde provincialism? After all, we’re trying to move forward, to leave the madness of the Polycrisis behind us, and there are always some people who won’t like that. But who’s ‘we’ here? Everyone has their own take, but Liam frankly just wishes that nobody had to hurt anyone else.

Jacob is shocked and disappointed by Liam’s take. What’s the matter with you, Liam? Don’t you want revenge? After all the shit they put you through, don’t you want your chance with your thumb on the scales?

No, Liam says, I don’t.

Jacob tries to brush it off, but he’s clearly lost respect for Liam, and Jacob doubles down on the ‘advice’ that Anton gave to him earlier - it’s time to make something of all these kids, teach them to fight, teach them to stay vigilant, and teach them how to listen to him unquestioningly. Liam’s earlier suspicions have been confirmed: he can’t stay here for much longer, he doesn’t want to be a part of this. Jacob was so charming and generous, it was so easy to forget that he’s got the cold, cruel heart of a military commander.

And so, finally, Liam contacts Sunny and tells her everything - the way Jacob not only openly discusses matters of state with his maidboys, but the way he’s turning them into his own little private army. Sunny is pleased - her scheme worked! - and shortly after, Liam’s bank account starts getting dividends from an anonymous fund. Pretty respectful dividends, too. Enough to live off of. He can start looking around for a new place, maybe finally feel like his life is going somewhere. Though it’s hard to think too much about that when, I must repeat, his hometown is about to be shelled to the ground.

Because by this point, it’s going to happen. After getting Liam’s info, Sunny’s response was not to try and de-escalate the situation, but rather, to beat him to the punch. She contacts Bogdan and requests they mobilize the Great Lakes Republic State Guard. We get the climactic scene of Sunny showing up in her mech (of course she has a mech) and ceremonially launching the first rocket into Webersberg to start the assault.

The battle is short and decisive. Webersberg - it started as a mall, then became a bandit fort, then became a small town, and then, in just a few minutes, became a pile of glass and concrete. Casualties are few - most people had evacuated, only Remington’s family held out to the end.

Liam lies down and stares up at the sky as he has one last conversation with Leona (She’s been talking with him the whole time, I forgot to mention. Look, this is a pretty bare-bones outline, if I mentioned someone at the beginning just assume they’ve popped their head up every now and then). She tells him that opportunities to reinvent oneself like this are few and far between, and he should take advantage of it.

But how, Liam asks? What should I do? What should I become?

Leona titters and paces around him. Do you still not get it? Think back, about everything. The restlessness and dissociation that has nagged you your entire life. The way you never felt comfortable in your own body. Didn’t feel comfortable as a straight guy, barely felt comfortable as a gay guy, and felt most comfortable completely hidden behind your protective gear at work. Do you remember what you felt the first time you wore that maid uniform? When you looked in the mirror and felt this deep, wonderful ache, like you were so close to something, and yet just far enough away that you felt like a dismal parody? Like you had just wished upon a monkey’s paw? What do you think that feeling was?

Oh, says Liam Hessian.

Ohhhhhh, says Leona Hessian.

+++++

They say that a good ending to a story is surprising, yet inevitable. In some ways, Leona coming out as a trans woman happens out of nowhere, but at the same time it fits snugly within the story’s themes: America/Usonia’s identity crisis as it transitions out of the Polycrisis parallels Leona’s identity crisis, and damn near everything about Sunny Roosevelt plays off of the universal theme of “public persona vs. internal truth” - there’s something deeply spiritual about vtubers, isn’t there? Voluntarily subsuming oneself into a new identity, like a shaman’s mask, dissolving one’s physical form to become an avatar - a word derived from Sanskirit term which referred to a god descending from the heavens into a corporeal form.

But it’s also for that very reason that it’s hard to make a story that’s ‘about’ Sunny, in the same way that Lord Vetinari was never really the ‘main character’ of any of the Discworld books, no matter how often he appeared. If he was the main character, he would need to have a character arc, but Vetinari is already his consummate self - there is nothing left to transform. Growth and transformation are for mere mortals. But it’s also for those reasons that she works fabulously as a major supporting character - she loves to meddle and she has a skeleton key to the internet, so she always has a reason to get involved in someone else’s business.

Jacob Martin Rider, meanwhile, is pure candy to write (specifically Cosmicandy (another joke for five people)). At first glance he seems completely absurd and impossible, but like… just imagine what T.E. Lawrence would have gotten up to if he lived in an era where queerness was more accepted. I resisted making him the bad guy at first, but it all made too much sense - underneath the charm and flamboyance he burns with spite like a collapsing star. Sort of a peak anti-tenderqueer.

And all this is the beauty of the writing process, I started with “what if there was a vtuber and a cavalry officer in a future-balkanized US” and now I’m here.

Anyway, I have my marching orders. I turned the one-sentence version into the ten-page version, and now it’s time to turn the ten-page version into the hundred-and-fifty-page version.

Shit, did I even mention how the Global Logistics Network plays into all this? Okay, so the GLN is… [the audio slowly fades out and the camera pulls away as I continue rambling about the lore]

[running2reanimation]

@tulipsempai - I blame you for this.

Ketchup

The King of Condiments.

It hadn't been that long since he'd inherited the cart from his old man. Maybe a month, but really, he'd been working the business for as long as he could hold a stick.

He twirled the dog and handed it to the little girl with a long mastered flourish, drawing and excited gasp and a admiring "Ooooh" from somewhere nearby.

A golden child charged down to his cart, only barely avoiding crashing into the girl and her family. They stared wide-eyed at the cart and at the corn dogs prepped and ready for frying, "What are they?"

"Corn dogs," He smiled down at the inquisitive tot, "If you want one you hafta' ask your parent."

"Okay!" And the child was off like a shot back up the hill, just as the tall orange stick crested the hill.

"Dad! Dad! Can I get a corn dog?" The kid asked as the guy leaned down with his hands on his knees, clearly catching his breath.

"That's not exactly a healthy lunch," The tall stick wheezed, straightening up while the excited kid tugged at his pant leg.

"Pleeeease, I'll... I'll eat all my vegetables at supper tonight!" They wheedled, and the Dad placed a hand on their head, clearly about to relent.

"Promise? Even if it's asparagus?" They made a face but nodded with a sigh.

"Even s'gus."

"Okay then," Dad nodded, turning to look at him finally, "How much?"

"Two bucks each."

He dug into his wallet and handed him a five, "Two corndogs, keep the change."

"You got it, big guy. Two dogs, coming right up," With a grin, he set to work his magic. Obviously it wasn't actual magic, but it was enough to have the kid enraptured.

"So what are we putting on this thing?" He asked, twirling the dog casually.

"Put on it?" The kid tilted his head curiously.

"Like ketchup, mustard, relish, mayo." They looked at their Dad.

"I usually just get mustard on mine."

"Then I want mustard too!"

"You sure? Mustard's pretty sour. Usually people like ketchup better - it's considered the king of condiments, y'know?"

"Condiments?"

"The stuff you put on corn dogs. N' burgers, n' stuff," He explained, twirling the ketchup now. The kid put a hand to his chin, before shaking his head.

"I want mustard too! Dad is King, and his con-condeemint is mustard!"

"Okie-dokie!" With a casual flick of the wrists, he drew a little smile on the corn dog, then deftly grabbed and dressed the other one, "Here you lovely folk are, two of the best corn dogs in the city, courtesy of your pal, Ketchup."

Technically his name wasn't Ketchup, but he sold more dogs with a funky nickname than his real one. Having your food prepared by Rust didn't really... appeal.

"Oh! You're King too! King of the Condeemints!" The kid beamed up at him, before taking a big bite of his corn dog, "Mmmm!"

As the two walked away, Ketchup couldn't help but feel more than a little confuse

--

The kid and his Dad came by the park every Saturday. And Ketchup was always there (at least in spring, summer and autumn) to sell them corn dogs.

And eventually Ketchup learned what the kid - Gold - meant. His Dad's name was King. So they were both Kings. So they were both royal, which according to the twig's logic meant they had to get married.

Wasn't that crazy?

--

"Looking forward to the cultural festival tonight?" Ketchup asked, handing the pair their usual, corn dogs with mustard.

"Yeah!" Gold nodded, still full of that same enthusiasm he'd had as a kid, "Are you gonna set up there?"

"Nah, costs too much. Besides, if I'm selling, I can't go as an attendee."

"Oh, you're going? Maybe we'll see you there?" King seemed surprised to hear that Ketchup might go.

"Maybe," Ketchup winked and Gold looked between him and his Dad before giggling. Fortunately King was as oblivious as ever, and just arched an eyebrow.

"I think I missed the joke."

"Don't worry about it," Ketchup reassured and Gold rolled his eyes, "Anyway, I'm actually about to close up. Gotta go get cleaned up if I want to go out in public."

"Alright then. See you, Ketchup!" He really should get around to admitting that's not his name.