#the-scrappy-urchin

[scrappy-urchin]

"'William Shakespeare'? I'll make his spear shakes when I KICK HIS ASS!!

"'Britney Spears'??? Now THAT sounds like a worthy opponent!

.

.

.

"I''LL KICK HER ASS, TOO!"

[undyingguppywarrior]

⚠️ for my teenage fishy!

@scrappy-urchin

"QUICK, YOU GOTTA HELP ME CLEAN UP WOSHUA'S WALL!" Undyne had splattered some mud onto the wall that Woshua had clean moments ago and knew making that monster angry was a bad idea. "WHERE'S THE SOAP?! WHERE'S THE SOAP?!" The guppy clearly wasn't doing very well under pressure at the moment.

[bcrnt-petcls]

@huds-hub​ cont. from here:

Undyne had stepped out of the diner, making another round outside to check if that old friend a town over was waiting outside. It was warm. No, frustratingly hot for this time of year. A gust of wind forced her eyes shut and the tears she denied stained her cheeks. What the hell happened? Did they just... decide not to come? Did their ‘parents’ stop them...?

Maybe she should cave in and finally get a damn phone...

She didn't want to go back "home." What good was that going to do? Of all places, that "family" made her feel lonelier more than anything. Meeting a good friend from back in her elementary days would make her feel some kind of connection, at least.

Better than alone.

The child stepped back into the restaurant. What was she gonna do now? It was too early to leave. The diner's busy hour ended and there were more seats than customers. While lingering, the purple-flamed woman behind the counter grabbed her attention.

Eh... why the hell not? Undyne wanted to use that wad of bills her "family" gave her to buy something, anyways. She planted herself at the counter in front of the woman, not giving eye contact at first. Then, a quick acknowledging glance -- a neutral stare, cheeks saggy and tear-stained -- as she stirred the milkshake with a straw. She hunched over the cup, slurping the drink while looking off to the side at some kitschy framed poster of an old car on the wall.

“Thanks,�� the kid muttered, barely audible.

[ Hey, anytime. ] The flame elemental signs, wiping down the countertop with a towel that smells a little too strongly of artificial lemon. There’s a particularly stubborn ring of dried soda that takes a bit of scrubbing to finally clean off, but she’s satisfied once the counter wipes smooth. 

Balling the towel up, she sets it down near the sink before turning back to the fish kid. [ You waiting on someone? ] Mara signs, keeping her face curious and neutral. It wouldn’t do to look too concerned, though it’s unlikely that she can keep her brow from knitting into a worried wrinkle. [ Lunch is almost over, so if you want to eat you should probably do it soon. Otherwise you’d ruin your dinner, yes? ]

The tears on the girl’s face are... worrying. But that alone shouldn’t make Mara concerned for her safety. No, it’s the combination of rumpled clothes, pale, clammy skin, and frazzled hair that makes her wonder just where the hell this kid’s parents are. 

She offers a grin instead of a grimace. [ Then again, I suppose you’ve ruined lunch since I gave you a shake. Sorry about that. ]

[fallenunderground]

From @scrappy-urchin​: Undyne squinted, staring directly at the sunlight peaking from the cracks of the castle's ceiling, certainly treading on a bunch of yellow flowers in the process. It was so... warm. Not like the sweltering heat in Hotland. It was pleasant. Soft. It made King Asgore's flowers grow so healthily.

"Woooowww..." she exhaled contently. This light is on the surface everyday?? She finally cupped her hands above her eyes. Even a tough girl like Undyne couldn't handle looking directly at the bright, natural light for too long. She turns to Asgore. "The surface must be REALLY cool! What's up there??"

Asgore looked away for a moment, daring not to say anything. It would be easy to talk about the negatives: the cruelty of humans, empty space filled with dust and bodies as the rain pattered on the mud… But no. She was just a child and not just any child. He mentally shook his head and a warm smile came unto him instead as he knelt down, not commenting on the flowers and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“The surface sure is an adventure. There is the sun, the light coming in now! It helps grow flowers but as well lets people know when to wake up. The night is when it gets dark, it changes up there and the moon comes out. It’s a rock but further above the surface separated by the sky. It’s similar to the ceiling of the cave but you can build a ship to go up there. The stars are similar to the wishing room. As far as you can see the sky has nothing but stars.” 

If Asgore had to be honest, he loved the day more than night. Even when he used to be on the surface, maybe it was because flowers liked the sun or maybe it was the warmth that comforted him? 

“The day has no stars though, but it has a lot. The sun, clouds that are actually small bits of water! It can rain there sometimes but it happens and stops… You also have seasons. Things change a lot up there. For example it is very easy to grow flowers in the spring and summer because it’s warm and cozy but in the winter it gets cold, like Snowdin, so the flowers go to sleep. From the temperature inside here, I’d say it’s Spring now. But I’m rambling. You probably want to hear about other things, don’t you?”

[chimingwinds]

Whoa... what happened?

Hey, this is HUDS, the mun who runs reindeer-dad, scrappy-urchin, etc...

My blog has been terminated for an unknown reason. I'm working on getting it back and made this account so friends know I still want to be around.

Reeeeeaaallly hoping I don't have to start from square one and would rather have my blog completely restored instead... ...

[akumadayo777]

ok, so backstory time since I couldn't stop thinking about it. the brainrot has gotten to me lol

the day Pomni and Gummigoo met in the Digital Kingdom

Ten years prior to the events in the AU, Gummigoo had been traversing the streets as a visiting noble from the Candy Kingdom. I'm not certain of his age but I like to headcanon him as a couple of years younger than Pomni, so he's about 13 here while Pomni is 15. At this point in time, Pomni was somewhat of a poor street urchin. She happened upon a group of thugs ganging up on Gummi trying to rob him of any valuables, and being the scrappy street rat she is, she beat the crap out of them in the most slapstick of ways. Gummigoo was very grateful and felt in debt to her ever since, they formed a very fast friendship from this moment forward (and maaayybe some unrequited feelings)

Now Caine had witnessed the whole kerfuffle and was quite amused by her antics and impressed by her quick wit in a fight, and being Royal Advisor he saw fit to make her the Court Jester immediately. And so she's been living at the castle ever since. Gummi would visit the kingdom every once in awhile, but one day he stopped showing up and they haven't seen each other in years, which brings us to the present day. How did a sweet noble boy become the most notorious criminal in all the neighboring kingdoms? ...not sure yet still getting there lmao

also apologies if this looks awful, I'm not much of a scene illustrator, I'd love to make comics in general some day but I'm a total comic making noob, so this is the best I can do for now 😭

[scrappy-urchin]

From her oh-so objective opinion, Undyne did a mighty-fine job doing what she assumed was this "adulting" thing everyone talked about. How she spoke all highfalutin, being in control of her emotions... that kinda stuff. After all, those are the epitome of adulthood, aren't they?

If Grillby were to look toward the seated child as he made the fire dance, he'd see the teenage fish's "mature" façade drop and melt into a starry-eyed 5-year-old watching pyrotechnics for the first time. Then, after that finishing touch -- the flames of her twofer drink BURSTING in the air! -- she took in a sharp breath through her teeth and exhaled with an "OhmyGODthat'sSOstinkin'COOL!"

As much as Undyne wanted her excitement to boil under the surface, it spilled over as soon as Grillby walked away from the table. This supposed "adult" bounced in her seat and clapped like a baby seal awaiting morsels thrown at her.

The FRIES look sooo... good. And so does the DRINK!! Bet it tastes like FIRE! Oh, what was she gonna have first?! Her hand went STRAIGHT to the basket of glistening cheesy fries...

...the flavors were AMAZING! They were gooey and greasy and crunchy and the grease made the saltiness better and it completely hit the spot! The gleeful squeal Undyne emitted from her gills turned only a few heads of nearby patrons.

SCREW the amount of time it took to wait for her order -- those things were worth every minute by the taste of it!

If these fries were that good, then logically, so must be the drink! Sure, it sucked it wasn't actually two drinks like the picture on the menu, but the explosion it made cleared any disappointment from her mind.

While swiping her salt-stained fish lips with her forearm, she stared at the concoction before her. The mysterious milky-brown haze seems to have won the fight for dominance at the top of the glass, floating at the surface above the loser amber-yellow. This stuff looked COOL. She took the glass in her hand.

This was it. The teenagers stood at the precipice separating adolescence and adulthood.

After drinking this, Undyne'll see the world through the eyes of an adult. All the kids at school will be awe-struck by her newly-acquired knowledge! Her magic will be unstoppable! And she'll totally kick Asgore's ASS the next time they spar!

With the same passion she shoveled the french fries into her mouth, she downed the drink in one shot.

... ... ...

As soon as it hit her tongue, her mind went to INSTANT REGRET. Her throat gagged at the indescribable concoction. With pursed lips, she heaved foward, spraying the beverage across the table and onto the opposite bench of the booth. "PPPppp... choooooooo!!"

This... certainly caught the attention from the entire bar. Royal Guard Canine Unit included.

@the-scrappy-urchin​

Ahh, perhaps he had given the small fish too much credit. Regardless of their oblivious nature he still would act the part as a most humbled servant to his patron. Shifting in place he made eye contact with Undyne as the thought had crossed his mind to simply mix everything but he wouldn’t waste the food, that was the only edible thing on this table in his opinion.  Slowly he reached over to take the shot of chocolate syrup with a dollop of milk in it then paused as to place his finger close to the highball glass filled with apple juice. In real time fire from his finger danced around the glass before seemingly igniting it in a furious roar of high flames. Bringing the shot closer to the rim of the highball glass, he then angled the tall flames to bend down to pour into the tiny shot glass as to give the illusion it was on fire. With the short burst of his more showy fire magics, he held the once large flames in the small glass before hovering it over the apple juice.  Flicking his gaze once again over to the young fish he did hope that this tiny prank would teach them a lesson in… well not trying to buy alcohol from a well established tavern for one, but the latter of waiting till one is old enough to tell the difference between actual alcohol and a phony prank. “Enjoy.” With that Grillby dropped the shot into the apple juice then watched as his flames shot up like an erupting volcano before zooming towards his open palm in the form of a medium sided ball before sinking down into his palm thus vanishing from sight.   Walking away from the table back into the kitchen, he made a point to prepare a drink to wash down the disgusting concoction that now sat biding its time before Undyne would be brought in by its enticing allure.  Poor Flame-ling, but it needed to be done. 

[amandacanwrite]

A Plain Stack of Parchment - Gale x Tav/reader

Pairing || Urchin Backstory Tav/Reader (unspecified gender) x Professor Gale

POV || Second Person

Length || 3,200 words

Scenario || Gale has tasked you with writing your wedding invites so that he can finally take them to the courier. The only problem is, you don't have anyone to send invites to. In hopes of smoothing over the conversation in which you finally tell him that you really don't have any family, you attempt to make dinner....and destroy his beautiful kitchen in the process.

A/n || This is my first piece of fanfic I've ever shared publicly, please be kind to me about it. I don't really know what the rules are. This has been brewing in my head for days, though and I must get it OUT.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” you’d asked. 

“Hah…I suppose I am,” he’d responded.

He’d carried on about how much Tara would love it, and of course his mother. Words to fill the silence while you’d found yourself bound in stunned silence; words to cover his nerves while you’d worked through the shock of having been asked to join his family. 

Family…a real family. You’d never had one before. It had been an easy answer to give, a joyful one to give. 

“I accept. I’ll marry you, Gale Dekarios.”

He’d begun to prattle on again in that way that you’d loved and it’d been impossible not to smile as he spoke about arrangements. That was until he’d said it. 

“--And you’ll have invites of your own to send out, I’m sure…but that’s all to come.”

You’d not had much time to worry about it, though. Moments later he was kissing you, his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of your neck in that way that always made you melt. You could worry about this conversation another time, you’d told yourself. 

But that time never came around. Gale had accepted his position as professor at Blackstaff, and you both had spent so many long nights on repairing the crown of Karsus so that he could finally be free of netherese magic inhabiting the space so dangerously close to his heart. The day Mystra cured him was one you’d remember forever, because you were both finally free of not only the danger looming over your love for one another, but from the ghost of the past Mystra had been since you’d met him. 

But now? Now you felt regret. 

Gale was working late–a problem student he took on as a project needed his help. He implored you for the umpteenth time to please finish your invitations. They really must be sent out, dearest, if our families are to have time to travel for the wedding. 

How could you tell him you had nothing to send out? How could you explain that you didn’t come with a family; didn’t come with any kind of support system? 

His mother had accepted you as one of her own so quickly. Tara had become just as doting and fussy over you as over the wizard himself. But you couldn’t give him that in return–with your there would be no inlaws, no great aunts, no distant cousins…no grandparents should you decide to have a family of your own one day…

You looked at the optimistic stack of parchment he’d left for you, the quills, two pots of ink. He’d even left you his very own signet ring to press the Dekarios clan crest into your sealing wax, so ready for you to join his family that he would let you claim his name prematurely. 

You wondered if that would change once he knew…once he knew that you’d always been scrappy and alone before the tadpoles and nautiloid brought you and the others together. That was why you’d done everything that you did. It was why you helped Astarion destroy Cazador, why you did everything you could to figure out how to fix Karlach’s infernal engine, even now. It’s why you lifted the shadowcurse for Halsin and helped Wyll rescue his father. It’s why you’d urged Shadowheart to endure the pain of her curse…

Because they all had family, and with time they’d become your family. You’d wanted so long to have one, to have a reason to be good. No one had ever asked after you–where you’d come from, how you became who you were. And you were relieved to not have to tell the truth of the matter. 

You were unloved. 

Thrown away by a mother who couldn’t care for you and living off of scraps you could find in the streets or coin you could slip out of the pockets of strangers. 

So all you could do was stare at that pile of parchment and try to scrape every recess of your memory for anyone; any single godsdamned person to send a wedding invitation to. Damn Gale Dekarios for sending off the ones for your old companions. At least you would have had something to show when he got home today. 

In the end, you gave up. You took the time to put the fine linen parchment away and place the ink pots back on the shelf with the others. You placed the sharpened quills back in the glass goblet he kept dozens of others and…and simply placed the signet ring in the middle of his writing desk where he’d left you hours before. 

And then you decided you would make dinner. 

Gale always cooked, even after his longest of days. You’d offered to do it many times but he always insisted that he liked to cook. That he liked to feed you. 

But the sun was setting lazily behind the Waterdhavian horizon, and Gale was certain to be exhausted after dealing with his problem student all evening. Dinner was the least you could do. Sure, you were never much of a cook, but it couldn’t be that hard to roast a chicken and some vegetables, right? There was certainly no shortage of recipe books in the tower. You were the savior of Baldur’s Gate, you’d taken down an elder brain! Certainly you could figure out cooking a bird. 

You got to work. 

Things seemed to be going pretty alright at the start of it, too. Coat the skin in butter and herbs; check. Scallop the potatoes; check? At least you thought that’s what a scalloped potato looked like. Blanch the asparagus…what did blanching mean?    

 Okay. No asparagus then. Gale could be a meat and potatoes man for one night, couldn’t he?

When you put the chicken and potatoes in the oven to roast and started working on reducing some red wine and spices for a sauce that things started to go south. Things started to go south very, very fast.

First, you realized the red you grabbed was not a Waterdhavian red as you’d thought, but a bottle of fire wine. Fire wine was already heavily spiced, so the the spices you added would be too much. Okay, okay–so, you would try again. 

But when you lifted the saucepan to…hide the evidence somewhere, you also spilled that fire wine directly onto the stove, directly into the flame. You eyes landed on the quickly spilling liquid just as the puddle ignited.

“Oh, for fuc–”

The explosion was nothing less than spectacular; it sent you sprawling across the room, smashing into the brick wall on the other end of the kitchen. The room filled up with black smoke as you tried and failed to get back up to your feet. Your head was spinning and you could barely get a breath in your lungs. 

Shit, shit, shit. You needed to get up. You needed to get up and figure out how to clean this up before Gale got home. He was no stranger to explosions, sure. But gods help the man or woman that prevented him from making his morning cup of tea and enjoying it at the kitchen table. 

You steeled yourself. “Come on. Savior of Baldur’s gate. Come on, get up,” you said. 

But as you slowly got up onto shaky legs you heard a familiar voice booming through the room. A second later, a great storm cloud formed above you and then doused the room in torrential rain. Your soft-soled boots caught on the wet tile floor and you slipped, falling to the ground again. Gale had casted Create Water. 

“Nine hells,” he shouted as he ran over to you, cupping your sooty face in his rough hewn hands. “Are you alright, my love?”

His hands patted over your body, then. Your arms, your hands, bending and extending your legs, checking your ribs. “Is anything broken?”

“I’m fine,” you coughed out. “Just…wet. And embarrassed.”

“Better than being incinerated. Did I leave something out–we’re working on disarming traps in class and–”

“No, no,” you said. “I–I was just trying to make dinner.”

His face contorted into an expression that looked almost affronted. “Make dinner?” he said, sounding confused. 

He looked back at the smouldering wreckage of his kitchen. “Oh no,” he said as he slumped onto his knees and slipped his hands into his wavy, brown hair. “What have you done?”

He must not have fully registered the room he’d doused, which you supposed was very sweet in it’s own way. He’d only hurried to make sure you were okay, he didn’t think for a moment on the damage. At least not at first. 

“I just…I thought that you would like to come home to dinner prepared for you, for once. I was trying to surprise you,” you said. 

“Well you most certainly succeeded in that, didn’t you?” he asked, his tone biting. “This is just what I needed after dealing with Jeremi all day. To leave a destroyed classroom to come home to a destroyed kitchen. Just–fantastic.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just–”

“Tell me that you at least got your invitations done,” he snapped. “That this wasn’t some sorry excuse for a distraction from planning our wedding? That you didn’t destroy my kitchen and almost kill yourself and potentially Tara so that you could claim you forgot again?”

He looked at you, his brown eyes tired and a little sad. You almost wished you had been incinerated. You knew he didn’t need to use Detect Thoughts to read your mind. You were certain your expression said it all. 

“Your silence speaks volumes,” he said as he stood up and started cataloging the extent of the damage. 

You knew he’d just had a bad day, that the vitriol was more because of the late hours and the unpleasant surprise. The sharpness of his tone still cut like a knife. It was all you could do to sit there and watch him clean up after you. 

You usually loved to watch him do little mundane tasks with his magic. You found the delicate flourishes of his hands so charming, loved the spark of joy in his eyes as the weave spun to meet him. But watching him now, watching his sharp, staccato movements as he zipped recipe books back into place and disappeared broken glass into some pocket dimension…you felt like an utter failure of a partner to him. 

You just sat there while he worked, wanting to get up and help, but afraid that another sharp comment would eviscerate you. You’d had disagreements with him before, of course. And he had been sharp with you about a few of your more adventurous choices (he still brought up the time you licked a dead spider once in a while.) But he had never been truly, truly angry with you. Not like this. 

He opened the demolished stove and took out the raw bird sitting on the bed of potatoes. He hissed out a tight breath and brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“I have a feeling I am not ready to hear the answer to this question, but have you changed your mind?” he asked. 

The question took you by surprise. “Changed my mind?” you asked. “About what?”

“What do you think?” he snapped, looking at you. “About the wedding. About…about marrying me.”

“What?” you asked. “Of course I haven’t changed my mind, why would you ever think something like that? I’m more excited than I’ve ever been to be a part of your family.”

“Then why?” he asked. “Why have you been avoiding writing your invitations. I have asked you to do them at least half a dozen times now, and every time you have some excuse to tell me. ‘Oh, I just got caught up in this book.’ ‘Sorry, dearest–the tadpole headache strikes again.’ And now? Now dinner?”

“Is it a crime for me to want to make dinner for my intended?” you said. 

“My love. My flawless, exquisite, darling,” he said. “You are many things. A gifted fighter, an astonishing leader, an excellent dancer, and none too shabby beneath the sheets. But you. Are not. A cook. I allowed you to cook ONE time. A singular time in our travels together and do you remember what happened?”

You pouted. “Everyone got sick,” you grumbled in a low voice. 

“YES! Everyone GOT SICK,” he shouted. “Everyone got so sick that we had to spend THREE DAYS in camp. And do you remember what you swore to me that day?”

“That I would never cook for people again,” you said. 

“THAT YOU WOULD NEVER COOK FOR PEOPLE AGAIN!” he shouted triumphantly. “So then, why, my love. Why would you be cooking now if not to avoid sending your wedding invitations? And why would you want to avoid sending your invitations unless you had changed your mind about spending the remainder of your days with me?”

You nibbled on your lip and exhaled, looking down at your soot-covered hands. 

“I don’t…” you said, almost choking on the words, almost looking for a lie. “Gale, I don’t have anyone to send invitations to. And every time I think to tell you that, I get terrified that you’ll realize the mistake you made in proposing to someone who brings nothing to the table.”

“No one to send invitations to?” he asked, seeming surprised. He looked at you with a quirked eyebrow.  “No, I’m sure that isn’t true. We’ve talked about your family before, haven’t we?”

“Not that I remember,” you said. 

“During our travels, you…we…we shared stories,” he said. “All of those times around the campfire. The nights alone between us.”

You watched as his eyes became distant, as if he’s searching his memory for some cache of data he’s stored about you. He smoothed his hand over his chin before covering his mouth with his hand. His brow furrowed and his expression saddened before he dropped his hand and crossed his arms. 

“Gods,” he said. “Every story you told us, everything you shared…tales of treachery, of bar fights and street brawls, the times you told us you almost lost a hand. All the times you told us about those…strange meals you would scrounge up with that glimmer of warm nostalgia in your eyes.”

He walked slowly over to you and kneeled in front of where you sat, still soaked to the bone and covered in soot. He took your hand in his and squeezed your fingers. 

“I may be an impressive scholar, but I am a fool, my love,” he said. “All of this time together and I was always so caught up in how lovely it felt to be truly accepted and understood. All the times you told me that I was enough for you as I am and I couldn’t even spare the proper courtesy of asking you about your family. You must think me an ogre of a man.”

You forced a little airy laugh from your lungs and shrugged. “Not much to tell about,” you said weakly, swallowing as your throat became uncomfortably tight. “Nothing really at all.”

You bit the inside of your lip and looked down at your hands again, willing yourself not to cry. You promised yourself a long time ago not to cry over this anymore. No one got to pick their hand in life, it was useless to cry over it. 

Gale cupped your cheek in his hand, angling your chin up again so you’d meet his eyes again. “I asked you to write invites to a family you didn’t have. Then you tried to make dinner for me when you couldn’t do it, and I shouted at you for ruining my kitchen. Please forgive me, my love. I have been a miserable, self-centered ass.”

“I’ll forgive you if you forgive me for ruining your kitchen?” you offered.

“You have yourself a bargain,” he said.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft at first; chaste, even. It reminded you of your first kiss with the girl who sold papers in the lower city. But then it changed. He scooped the hand cupping your chin back into your hair, curling the locks around his fingers before smoothing his free hand up your thigh, gripping your leg and pulling you closer. 

He hitched you up onto his hips and stood, still surprisingly strong despite the more sedentary life you both were living these days. You draped your arms over his shoulders, loosely hooking your fingers together as you tilted your head, parting your lips to breathe in that ever present scent of cinnamon and warm tea. 

He let out a low hum, the sound of his buzzing against your mouth. 

He parted from the kiss and pressed his forehead against yours as he sat you down on the charred countertop. “You are lovely,” he said. “Your beauty, your generosity? As intoxicating as any glass of wine.”

You let out a little huff and are surprised when you feel a few drops of wetness fall onto your cheeks. Gale tuts, backing up just far enough to swipe that wetness away with the rough pad of his thumb. “I’m so sorry,” you said. “I…I never cry.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he said. “Don’t you even think about it.”

You gave a sheepish smile and exhaled, nodding once. 

“You know what?” he said. “The kitchen can wait.”

“But your morning tea…” you said. 

“Tomorrow, you and I will get tea together at that little bakery I haven’t had a chance to show you, yet. And tonight? Tonight we’ll walk to the vendor down the road, we’ll get some delicious Waterdhavian street food and we won’t think at all about the origin of said food, trust me, it’s not worth it,” he said. “And then we will cuddle up on the balcony and I will ask you extensively and exhaustively about your life before you met me.”

“What if you don’t like what you hear?” you asked. “What if I was never honest, or smart? What if I didn’t have a wholesome youth like you did?”

“My love,” he said. “When you met me I was a man with a tadpole in my brain and an orb in my chest that would level the whole of Waterdeep if I didn’t eat your precious magic artefacts. I was a man who tried to become a god, and when I thought of making the same mistake a second time, you’re the one who talked sense back into me. You’re the one who showed me that I was worthy of love, just like this.”

You smiled and nodded as he kissed your forehead. “You’re a remarkable wizard of great renown,” you teased. 

“I’m just a man, and a teacher with a student who seems intent on torturing me,” he said. “I’m also remarkably humble.”

“And?” you said. 

“And nothing you do or say could make me stop loving you,” he said, “Not even you…destroying my beautiful, wonderful kitchen.”

“I thought I was forgiven,” you said with a look. 

“I have most certainly forgiven, but I have not yet forgotten, my love,” he said. 

“Perhaps I could remedy that tonight, after your questions,” you suggested, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Give you a bit of a distraction.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time you made me forget something with your diversions,” he said. “That sounds like the perfect way to end the night.”

“Well, then, let’s get cleaned up and go buy some of that questionable food,” you said. 

“With pleasure.”

[arealphrooblem]

The Promise

Synopsis: An officer of the Empire makes an offer of marriage to his former friend, now a rebel and his enemy, to honor an old promise they had when they were street orphans.

The rebels he put in separate cells, spread across the detention block. He knew a daring rescue would be fronted by their friends — they were always making reckless stupid decisions,  risking the many for the sake of the few. But at least this way they would have to break into each cell separately. 

And they wouldn’t know who would be interrogated in what order. 

To be truthful, the antagonist did not care much for information. He captured this cell for one purpose only. The rest could rot or scatter or break free for all he cared. So long as he kept one rebel in particular. 

Seeing their face through the small grate in the door twisted something in his gut. It had changed so much in the intervening years — baby fat melted and hardened into sharp gaunt lines. Body grown into sinewy strength. Scars. 

But their eyes were still the same, wide and dark and kind. Expressive eyes that betrayed their every emotion. And their body still small and scrappy and dirty. 

So many things had changed since their days at orphaned street urchins, their paths diverged into wildly opposite directions. What used to be his only ally in the world had turned into his enemy and vice versa. 

Well that would change by the end of the day. Folding his emotions up carefully, tucking them away and smoothing his face into an apathetic mask, the antagonist took one silent breath and then stepped through the door into the interrogation room. 

The rebel sat at one side of the table, hands changed to a rung  in the middle, legs chained to the chair. He fought the slice of guilt at the sight of it. 

The shock of seeing him lit up the rebel’s eyes. He knew he looked much different than the last time they saw each other, wild hair combed back and tamed, skin spotless of dirt, body tall and strong in his uniform. Sometimes he didn’t even recognize his own self in the mirror. 

“Hello, old friend,” he said. 

“We haven’t been friends in a long time,” the rebel said, the accent he tried hard to banish singing through their voice. 

“True,” he acknowledged, though he never stopped considering them as such even as they blew up his ships, cut supply runs, drew more rebels to their cause. 

They stared at each other, drinking the other in. He could see the rebel struggling to hide the pain and yearning at the sight of him, but their eyes gave it away, as always. 

“I’m not going to tell you anything,” his friend said finally. They swallowed. “You will have to kill me.”

“I’m not interested in information,” he said. “And I’m not going to kill you.”

Wariness cross their face. “Then what do you want?”

“You,” he said simply. 

Then he pulled out the crisp folded paper from his pocket and slid it across the table. His friend gave him one more searching look before dipping their gaze to the paper. He watched in breathless anticipation as they took in the information. Then their gaze jerked abruptly back up, eyes sharp and glaring.  

“I don’t understand,” they said slowly. 

“It’s a marriage contract,” he replied. 

“I understand that. It’s the rest I don’t get. What do you want me to do with this?”

They were being deliberately obtuse but the antagonist was happy to spell it out for them. 

“I want you to marry me.”

The rebel had no answer to that. Only speechless, suspicious shock. 

“I know you don’t agree with my choices,” he said, “but I chose them to give us both a better life. I promised you that.   I went to look for you after basic training and you were gone. When I finally found you again . . .you were with them.”

They glared at him. “The Empire is the reason why we grew up starving on the streets with no parents. Of course I joined the people trying to eradicate it.”

“Eradicating the Empire is not going to eradicate tragedy. We could have been orphans either way. At least now I have no worries about where I will sleep next and when my next meal is coming.” He nodded at their ragged clothes. “Can you say the same?”

“I’d rather starve than get fat off of other people’s suffering.”

“Doesn’t that get old, starving?” he asked softly.  “Doesn’t it get old, never sleeping in the same place for long, never feeling safe, never knowing if you would survive the next day? Aren’t you tired of it?”

The rebel had no answer to that, biting  their lip against the sudden wetness in their eyes. Because he knew the answer. It’s what drove him into the Empire’s arms, knowing what they did to his people. And in basic training he slept all the way through the night without fear for the first time in his life. He felt full after dinner for the first time in his life. He could predict each day for the first time in his life. All things he would happily give his friend and they wouldn’t even have to work for it.

“Marry me and I will release you rebel friends in my cells. No muss, no fuss, no hair harmed on their heads.”

They were too noble to take the easy way out for themselves, but perhaps they would do it to save someone else. Make them feel like a martyr. Already he could see the wheels turning in their naked gaze. 

“Sleep on it,” he said, standing up. “I will expect your answer in the morning.”

The answer the next morning was yes. 

[natade-art]

ive already introduced guildenstern but dnd character creation brings out a catgirl in me or something so my latest character is guildensterns estranged cousin. theyre both perhaps-unconventional healers (jackie was inspired by her cousin but wont admit it) and is a scrappy little urchin

[chaifootsteps]

Solas and Varric are what Viv fuckin wishes Stolas and Blitzø were:

Powerful, handsome, and depressed tall guy who comes from a shitty rich snob family and has been abused by the women in his life meets a short, scrappy, little guy who’s a street-smart wiseass with a sailor mouth; runs his own business of misfits who go on wacky adventures where they kill and or steal stuff; and is a bit of a jerk but also genuinely cares about people. Their involvement with one another is made inevitable when the short guy steals something that belonged to the tall guy. They’re essentially co-parenting a socially challenged street urchin with oodles of trauma they adopted. One of them has a sexy accent and sophisticated disposition and the other is just a Guy TM. Short guy is always wearing the same goddamn outfit but tall guy has the most melodramatic threads in the land.

Really the major difference is that Solas and Varric are well written characters by actually talented writers. Also Solas respects Varric, acknowledges his personal autonomy, and isn’t generally the worst…

Blitzo and Stolas will never touch this kind of writing.

[scrappy-urchin]

"LOBSTER MAN IS A SURVIVOR!!!!!!!"

Lobster Man stats while standing over a pile of bones with fire ablaze behind him and the man coated in random cutes, bruises, and scars. Holding his spear and letting out a battle cry.

"LOBSTER MAN IS A WARRIOR!!!!!"

Undyne stares at Lobster Man's POSE of EPICNESS with eyes sparkling as bright as the sun.

"LOBSTER MAN is the BEST!!!"

She joins him in the pose, raising her own spear above her head in triumph.

"NGGGAAAAHHHHH!!!!!"

[undyingguppywarrior]

continued from x

@scrappy-urchin​

“THE SOAP IS FIGHTING BACK! DESTROY THE SOAP!” Undyne clearly wasn’t thinking things through as she hurled a spear at the bar of soap full force, easily causing the bar to be split into several pieces. The guppy was quick to realize her mistake upon looking at it. “I DESTROYED THE SOAP! WE NEED A PLAN B!” The young monster began trying to think of another plan on what to do, though nothing was coming to mind which made her even more stressed about things. “What if we destroy the mud? Magic can do that, right?”

[conkreetmonkey]

Let's build a Splatoon OC! pt. 11

(sorry for the long abscense, I forgor 💀 (fucked up my meds and have been completely out of it for roughly 2.5 weeks))

So far, this character is an extremely tall (over 6'6"), very fat (obese, pear-shaped), dark-skinned Octoling tgirl with purple ink, and tentacles with cyan tips and red spots.

WE'RE BACK, BABEY! A huuuge thanks to the anon who reminded me this poll series existed! Memory issues I should probably get looked at at this point! Woo!

The people have spoken, and they've collectively said "Conky, please give us a dark-skinned Octoling girl too tall and wide to fit through most doors without great effort and/or outside assistance," and I said "lol, ok ya crazy bunch'a lesbians." Y'all have a very clear type. Y'all want a girl with skin like fresh espresso, thighs like wine barrels and a frame as tall and broad as an Urchin sumo stable outhouse. I respect it. She will survive the winter (provided she's stocked up on E).

We're probably nearing the end at this point, but idk. I never had a plan. I've been flying by the seat of my pants all this time.

Well, we've built her physical body (for the most part, might add spice later...). Time to decide how she wields it to slay (in the gay slang way, not the medieval knight sent on a quest to defeat a foul wyrm way)

(btw I see all your asks and cherish every one and keep meaning to post all the "I'm into fat bitches" ones (of which there are many), pls keep sending them don't hesitate it can be about nothing idgaf)

[bearofohu]

my original idea for my rook was to pick the antivan crows backstory and just have him be a scrappy sera-like tevinter urchin but now i have my heart set on him being the living embodiment of "ERM ACTUALLY......the archdemon was slain by the gray warden.. not the king of ferelden" just like a real smartass, a bit of a history fanboy, super sheltered but also stupidly brave in a way only autism can explain. sarc personality like my hawke was but its extra insufferable now because he actually knows what hes talking about

[dear-mrs-otome]

Shut up shut up not Jude... (event spoilers bitter end)

...offering to hire some scrappy lil street urchin orphan that had been trying to make his way into a gang out of sheer desperation, even if he fiendishly gives the kid a near-impossible task to prove himself worthy (learn to read first)

Not Kate seeing right through him and despite his denials sensing that he was trying to help the kid, even if it was by motivating him out of pure spite to succeed as a way of sticking it to Jude

(Completely irreverent and shitbrained summary of their convo here)

Kate: I knew it you were trying to help him Jude: .............. Pfft the fuck kinda help you think it is throwing him out there with like a 90% chance of dying >.> Kate: but you gave him a chance and made him think you thought he COULD do it haHA

Not Jude being hella impressed by the kid's cajones and telling him if he's got the balls to sneak aboard the ship he's got the balls to do anything he sets his mind to

Not Kate noticing Jude's slight air of being somewhere and sometime else when talking about how shitty of a time that kid will have trying to make it through some charity school to learn to read (Orphaned gutter rat Jude past I called it before I'm sticking by my prediction)

Not Kate realizing she's also motivated to stick it to Jude and prove herself to him out of spite for his jerkface attitude not Kate realizing maybe that's what he does on purpose to push people to succeed, fuck all if they hate him along the way??

Not Kate concluding that Jude may not be a good man but he can't even have the decency to be 100% Awful so she can freely hate him. AKA damn him for being Complicated and for making her kinda like him just a teensy bit

Not Jude being not only amused at Kate trying to analyze him but poking fun at her metaphorically and literally, pinching her cheeks and nose as he mocks her (sir just admit you like her already and you can get to making some rugrats of your own)

Not Jude having earlier been absolutely fucking livid at Kate for putting herself in danger and nearly getting shanked in the brawl

In summary, the premium end was cute but holy shit the bitter one felt like so much more in terms of character background and revelations