#to write this silly little thing

[stardayzzing]

Every day, my mental state wanes, and I grow closer and closer to writing out an entire book of the movie version of the hobbit, like full send, everything in the way the movie protrays it.

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[bizarrelittlemew]

Are you frustrated you can't leave second kudos on AO3? or third kudos? or whatever-who's-counting kudos?

Well, have I got the html for you!

Plop any of these in a comment (by copy&pasting the code) to make an author's day and show your appreciation!

Second kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/tHMjbb6/second-kudos.png" alt="second kudos">

Third kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/52bggQH/third-kudos.png" alt="third kudos">

nth kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/6y7qGtC/nth-kudos.png" alt="nth kudos">

yet another kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/wKtcj0s/yet-another-kudos.png" alt="yet another kudos">

It will look something like this (and will be transparent with white outline on dark backgrounds):

Feel free to spread and use these as much as you like! (and if you have ideas for other variations, let me know ✌️)

[egophiliac]

happy new year Ego!!! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your twst fanart and the tags are just an absolute pleasure to read! You are my greatest inspiration for my personal twst art and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful masterpieces <333 if possible, may I ask what are some of your headcanons for the diasomnia family? If not for diasomnia then any other characters are fine as well!

thank you, and happy new year! 💚💜💚 that is amazing to hear; it's always a little bewildering but super flattering that other people like my silly little doodles so much!

I don't think I really have any really solid headcanons and also canon keeps validating me left and right (FLUFFY DOMESTIC DIAFAM IS REAL). mostly just kind of...impressions and general thoughts, if that makes sense! lately though I've been kind of obsessed with thinking about Lilia's hair, and specifically when/why he ended up cutting it. (l-look, we're bouncing around the timeline and I gotta make decisions about these things when I draw, it's relevant) (I mean I would probably be weirdly fixated on this anyway, but.)

I think I've settled on the idea that he kept it long until he went to NRC, partly because 1) I like drawing The Ponytail, and 2) I think he thought of NRC as a chance to reinvent himself a bit! he gets to go and be a wacky carefree teenager for a few years and have fun! (officially he's there to keep an eye on Son #1, but how much trouble could he get into, really.) so he gave himself a Cool Teen Haircut to go with his fresh new Cool Teen Persona!

also maybe he had some reflection on his hair's troubled past with three kids...

...and had to weigh his vanity versus the fact that he was going off to be around hundreds of kids on a daily basis, and. the choice suddenly seemed obvious.

[gojoest]

—reunion ;

how many times was it, you wonder.

that you opened the closet in your shared bedroom and found yourself staring at satoru’s clothes, and teared up because the last time you had them ironed, he was sitting on the bed behind you, throwing silly remarks at how you’re hotter than the steaming iron in your hand. you would roll your eyes and tell him that half of the time you were steaming hot was out of annoyance because he left the toilet seat up. and he would chuckle and say “my bad, love. won’t forget next time”.

that next time never came.

you would tear up every time upon seeing the toilet seat left down. so you got used to his habit and purposely kept it up at all times. because that way the bathroom had more semblance of when he was still around.

you would tear up simply glancing at his toothbrush placed in the holder because the bristles looked too hard and stiff since he didn’t get to use it in a long time. or the sunglasses he left on the nightstand that you couldn’t bring yourself to move and would carefully dust around so you didn’t change the way they were placed. because he left them there. he touched them last.

was it silly to think that as long as they stayed there, part of him would always be in that house? you didn’t know. but you clearly remember the day you had a breakdown in the middle of your kitchen because your friend threw the empty box of kikufuku mochi in the trash. it was the box he bought. the box he ate from. it was just an empty snack wrap, a trash. yet it felt like part of his presence was torn out of your life.

and this morning your alarm goes off. you open your eyes and sigh because you know how the routine goes— get up, see his sunglasses on the nightstand, tear up, wash your face, brush your teeth, see his toothbrush, tear up some more, smile at the toilet seat being up but then cry because it wasn’t him who left it that way but you, see his clothes when picking your outfit, cry, get dressed and go to work with puffy eyes.

but every once in a while, certain circumstances make it so you’re unable to stick to your daily routine. like oversleeping in the morning and then being forced to skip half of the steps in a rush so you don’t run late to work. or missing sunglasses on the nightstand, or the toilet seat left down, or a white-haired man, making pancakes in the kitchen (or an attempt at least).

“is this a dream or..”, you mumble with a shaky voice.

“if i burn the kitchen down— yes! it’s a bad bad dream”

tears build up in your eyes and you quickly rush to nuzzle into his chest, wrapping both arms around him and squeezing tightly.

“you.. you idiot”

“kept my word though— did you see the seat? left it down this time!”

“took you long..”

“my bad, love”, he chuckles resting his chin at the top of your head while squeezing you back into the hug, “but think i need a new toothbrush, this one hurts my gums”

he does need a new toothbrush. and this time you don’t mind throwing away the old one.

[frm9pm]

Sometimes I remember they lived through the 90’s which also means boybands

[steddieasitgoes]

Eddie survives the Upside Down but ends up losing his leg in the process due to blood loss and the bats going too deep. With the help of Dr. Owens and some highly expensive, expert doctors, Eddie is granted a prosthetic leg free of charge -- thank you guilty government.

Sure, Eddie can get around perfectly fine without it, but he does enjoy the prosthetic especially since he thinks it makes him even more metal. Plus, it's great for drama. He's been known to slam it down on the table during D&D sessions to get the Party's attention when they get too rowdy. And, don't even get him started on the party tricks he can do with it.

There is one disadvantage though.

He's constantly forgetting it behind.

Turns out Wayne's constant teasing over the years about Eddie forgetting his own head if it wasn't attached to his body was right.

Somedays, Eddie makes it all the way to school before he realizes he forgot to attach his leg that morning.

On other days, he catches the mistake when he runs back inside for something else he forgot. Usually his weed or D&D notebook, never his leg.

He even left it lying on Steve's bedroom floor for three whole days until Steve finally got tired of waiting for Eddie to realize it was missing and showed up at his house leg in hand.

"You found my leg," Eddie screeched, yanking it from Steve's hands before pulling him in for a hug. "Now I don't have to make missing posters for it."

"Did you think it just got up and walked away?" Steve asked, bemused.

"Well, it is a leg, Stevie. That's what it's supposed to do."

[courfee]

Regulus finds a label maker. That’s useful.

Reg with a label maker from early morning, coffee cups by @alarainai stuck with me for some reason...

[teddybeartoji]

thinking about burying your face into shoko's chest when the scary movie is getting a litte too scary during the usual sashisu get-together. suguru is acting all calm, (you know his heartbeat is racing, though. he's not as cool as he thinks) surpressing a little smirk while satoru is clutching onto his sweater for his dear life.

shoko isn't focused on the boys, nor is she focused on the tv screen that's filled with blood and guts – your scrunched up face being way more intriguing. she's trying to be smooth, trying to just catch a proper glimpse of you but it's hard without making a fuss. she needs to turn her head and she knows that's gonna get your attention; she doesn't want that. she wants to look at you without you looking back. she wants to study you and your face, you and you expressions, you and your birthmarks and you and your scars. she can't do that if you're staring up at her. she can't study you like that - she'll get distracted.

but c'mon, you're right there – one hand on her stomach, holding yourself up a little while the other is lost somewhere between your bodies. she has to look at you.

and she does. from what she can see, your face is in fact all scrunched up and it is in fact as adorable as she'd thought it'd be. your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes screwed shut as the screaming and yelling continues booming from the tv. your bottom lip is a little jutted out; shoko's lips twitch. so do her fingers.

her one hand is securely holding wine glass while the other... has somehow found its way to your back. for comfort, she thinks to herself. she didn't even realize it was there. instinct, she thinks to herself.

she leans back a mere inch, eager to see more of your pained face but that's when your eyes open; staring right back at her, you feel small. you feel flustered. she has that effect on you. the fingers on your back have now found a lock of hair, twirling the ends between her fingers; surely tainting you with the faint tobacco smell. you don't care.

"scared?" she whispers. her lips move so smoothly, the dark hue of them inviting you in. maroon; the mixture of her own lipstick and the wine - you wonder how she'd taste.

"maybe..." you whisper back. she hums quietly, trying not to attract attention from the boys a few feet away.

"aw..."

it's hard not to burn at her words, her small coo.

"what about you, hm?" you hum back and she can feel it; feel it start from the back of your throat and make its way through your body and then through hers. you're so close. "your heart is beating pretty fast. you sure you're not scared?"

...

it's not often you, or anybody else for that matter, is able to catch her off-guard. this is... new.

she just blinks down at you a few times, her pretty eyelashes fluttering against her soft pale skin. her lips part, yet nothing comes out. for about twenty seconds, it's just you and her. no blood, no gore, no tv, no boys, no noise, no nothing - only her eyes and your eyes. when your own lips quirk up, ready to bark out a tease at her - satoru screams, pulling your attention from her.

while suguru is muffling trying to muffle satoru's awful noises by slapping a palm in front of his mouth and you're trying to keep your laughter from bubbling up - shoko is still staring at you.

[ren-054]

Tiny AIW Excerpt…

(This doesn’t guarantee a bigger story in the future, have mercy on me pls /lh)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

(prologue thing?)

They took away everything I had left to hold onto. Everything but them, at least. It almost felt freeing, a relief, in a strange way.

The scent of flowers was thick and sweet to my senses. My thoughts slowly blur together as I drowned in the heavy aroma.

No longer did I have to uphold myself as a person. In this land, responsibility was merely a word. A silly word, at that. I was being offered the chance to be freed from the pressure of my former life on a silver platter by the people who have unfailingly proved their devotion to me again and again. Who would I be to deny them?

Gentle hands of cool metal joints and warm motors take my own of flesh. There is an unspoken promise in our grasps.

Out there, there wasn’t anything waiting for me. Really, I had submitted to my fate long before I came here. Before I met them.

I would miss the surface.. My friends.. My brother..

If I just stayed right where I was, surely I’d be happy. He said so. They both did. And I believe them, as much as they believe in me that I’ll stay. I have nowhere to run, therefore I’d never think to walk.

Here, I’ll be safe. Here, I’ll be happy.

• • • • •

(Main excerpt)

“Sugarcube!~ It’s time for tea!”

I shift as a voice rouses me awake and I groan in protest. I felt so warm… I didn’t want to get up… Get up…

Get up from where?

Eyes snapping open, I sit up, finding myself on a grass and wool-stuffed mattress. A warm blanket made of soft fibers had been wrapped around my body, shrugged off when I began to scan my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit and the air was crisp, making me imagine the walls were made of stone or perhaps bricks. Unfortunately my vision wasn’t the best without my glasses. Candles were lit about the room. There were no windows, but there was a lone door on the far wall. Was I underground?

“There’s my little sunshine!” The same voice from before warbled, followed by the clinking of porcelain. “Come! Come! Before your tea gets cold!”

With bleary vision, I turn toward the voice. At a small wooden table set in the middle of the room sat a familiarly flamboyant red-clad figure with their knees up to their chest as they tried to sit in one of the child-sized chairs. I began shuffling off the bed, brushing myself off.

“M-Mister Hatter?” I mumbled as I walked over. “Wher—“

The Hatter tutted at me before I could finish, placing a delicate finger up to my lips. “Dearest little dewdrop, I told you, you can just call me Sun!”

“Uh, Sun?” I eyed the liquid the bot was pouring into the cups. Yellow flower petals and flecks of green herbs floated prettily along the surface of the unknown brew.

“Hmmm?” Hatter hummed, the swirls in his eyes seeming to glow with warmth at the sound of his name.

“Where am I? I didn’t fall down another hole again, did I?” I rubbed at my eyes. “And have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

“Oh! Those are right here!” Dodging my first question, the Hatter pointed at the other side of the table which sat the other teacup along with the distinct sheen of my lenses against the candlelight. “Come on! Have a sit with this lonely hatter!”

“Ah, right.” I nodded before taking my seat across from the bot, putting my glasses back on once I sat. Ah, vision at last.

The first thing I realized was the room was dingy, dustier than I expected. Before I could really notice any other finer details, Sun piped up once again.

“Very good, my dear,” he praised with a light laugh that made me nearly blush. “Now then, where you are. That’s a simple one!”

I leaned in with anticipation. With a relaxed—almost smug—gaze, the Hatter answered.

“I brought you home.”

[its-your-mind]

*deep breath in*

the fears 👏 have always 👏 been (in one way or another) 👏 parallel 👏 to 👏 desire 👏

let me explain.

so many of the statements given by actual avatars center around some sort of need that was met by their entity. Lots of them even had a positive relationship with the fear that drove them.

Jane Prentiss is an excellent example - the Corruption has always been about a form of toxic and possessive love, but she personally has a deep desire to be “fully consumed by what loves her,” and finds a perverse joy and relief at allowing herself to be a home

Jude Perry is another - she fucking loved watching people’s lives be utterly destroyed. The Desolation only offered her a power of destruction on a grander scale, and then gave her a more intense rush of joy as she did its work. When she tells Jon that he needs to feed the Eye before it feeds on him, it’s almost as an afterthought; she was happily feeding the Desolation long before it burned her into a new existence.

Simon Fairchild. Every time that old loose bag of bones wanders into the picture, he is having a fucking EXCELLENT time playing with the Vast. He loves showing people their own insignificance, and he loves luring them into situations where he can throw them into the void as he smiles and waves.

Peter Lukas (hell, the whole Lukas family (except Evan. RIP Evan.)) hated. people. all he wanted was for them all to go away, to leave him alone. The Lonely only fulfilled that desire.

Daisy, Trevor, and Julia, all devoted to hunting those things they deemed monstrous.

Melanie, holding tight to that bullet in her leg because on some level, she wanted it. It felt good, it felt right, it felt like it fit right alongside the anger and spite that drove her to success.

Annabelle Cane first encountered the Web when she was a child, running away from home in order to tug on her parents’ heartstrings in just the right way to have them wrapped around her little finger. Later on she volunteered to be the subject of an ESP study. Hell, she’s the one who dangled the “Is it really You that wants this?” question over Jon’s head in S4.

And that brings us to Jon, beloved Jarchivist, the Voice that Opened the Door. Ever since he was a child targeted by the Web, he was looking for answers. He joined the Magnus Institute’s Research Department looking for them, he stalked his coworkers in search for them, he broke into Gertrude’s flat and laptop out of desperation for them. And when he realized that all he had to do was Ask to get truthful answers to his questions? It was only natural for him to jump at that opportunity.

Elias told S3 Jon that he did want this, that he chose it, that at every crossroads he kept pushing onwards, and the inner turmoil that caused was one of the focal points for Jon’s character through the rest of the podcast.

There’s a certain line of thinking in many circles about the power of the Devil: he’s not able to create anything new. All he’s able to do is twist and warp that which was already present, making it something ugly and profane while still maintaining the facade of something desirable.

Jon didn’t choose the Eye. But he did wander into its realm of power, exhibiting exactly the qualities it was most capable of hijacking and warping to its own ends. Jon didn’t choose the Apocalypse. But Jonah picked at him little by little, pointing him towards each Fear individually. Jon didn’t want to release the Fears. But the Web tugged on his strings just so and laid a pretty trail for him to follow until he reached its desired conclusion.

Jon didn’t choose ultimate power, or omniscience, or even his own role as Head Archivist. But he said “yes” to the right (wrong?) orders and kept on pushing for the right (wrong?) answers. He wanted to succeed at the work he had been assigned. He wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to rescue them when they were lost. He wanted to prevent the apocalypse, to save the world. He wanted to know why he was still alive, when so many had died right in front of him.

The Great Wheel of Evil Color that is the Entities might not fit as neatly into categories in this universe - maybe there was no Robert Smirke trying to impose strict categories on emotional experiences, or maybe the ways they manifest in the world has turned on its head (goodness knows many of them have been showcased and blended in some very fun and new and horrifying ways so far) - but their fundamental foundations seem to be the same. Hell, in episode one we learned that there had been enough individual incidents to create a distinction between “dolls, watching” and “dolls, human skin.”

Smirke’s Fourteen isn’t going to be relevant as common parlance, RQ said that already, but I don’t think that means the Fears themselves (and their Dream Logic-based rules) are different - I think it means that the levels of understanding, language used, and personal connections among people “in the know” are going to be entirely unfamiliar

[chessb0r3d]

i cracked the code.

[nburkhardt]

Oh hi, welcome to whatever this is. Somewhat based off real life ✌️

CW: mentioned heart attack, but nothing explained in detail.

Everything is very loud when it’s one in the morning in this waiting room.

Eddie can hear his own knee shaking with how much he’s bouncing it. Every noise he does hear is from another part of the hospital, people walking or pushing something along, sometimes even doors opening and closing.

Did he mention he’s alone right now? Because he is. Very alone, besides his backpack and the bag of Wayne’s stuff the paramedics and nurses took off him.

This was not how he wanted to spend the day before Valentine’s Day.

February 13th, 9:50pm.

Eddie was in the middle of looking for something to keep the leftovers in, “Wayne, we seriously gotta organize better!” He shut the one cabinet door and opened another, letting out a little victory ‘ah-HA!’ As he stood up with an old butter container.

His smile dropped a little as he watched Wayne grunt and nearly fall into his chair. Eddie quickly sat the empty container down and nearly went to his knees in front of his uncle, “Wayne?”

Wayne grunted and rubbed at his chest and that was all it took.

Eddie jumped up immediately and after that things went by so fast, Eddie doesn’t even remember driving.

“If you wanted a little more time with your favorite nephew, all you had to do was ask, Uncle” Eddie pointed a cheeky smile at Wayne before dropping into an uncomfortable looking chair, “I didn’t have plans, ya know”

Wayne rolled his eyes, “boy, shut it.”

“But I-!” His mouth automatically snapped shut as a nurse knocked on the door half way into the room.

The nurse smiles over at him and Eddie doesn’t quite hear what’s said, his mind still racing from well, everything. The nurse must realize it, because she repeats herself, “You made the best decision here, your uncle seems like a tough man.”

All he can do is nod and she explains how the doctor will be in soon to explain what happened officially or what the plan is, Eddie isn’t quite there.

Before he can even blink, Wayne’s being moved and Eddie’s feet is following. He’s told Wayne’s in good hands and shown the waiting room and all Eddie can do is stand there in the middle for a few minutes or maybe an hour.

Time is funny in a hospital waiting room.

February 14th

Eddie feels off kilter. Waking up to an empty home, brain already running a mile a minute as he gets ready for the day. Does a quick clean of the kitchen and living room, grabs whatever he knows Wayne will want before finally picking up his keys and leaving.

Once at the hospital he’s directed to the ICU and finds Wayne on the bed laying down with his eyes closed, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you just wanted some quiet, could’ve asked”

Eddie doesn’t have to see, Wayne is rolling his eyes and it makes him smile. There’s a twitch of a smile from Wayne too as he stops next to him, “ha ha, Ed. What’re you doing here?”

He shrugs, a playful smile as he sets the back on Wayne’s bed before eyeing the ledge by the window, “Had to come back sure you’re letting the nurses and doctors help you” he hops on the ledge and smiles widely at him, “oh, also bought you a few clothes and that book you’ve been reading.”

“Didn’t need to”

Eddie shrugs and leans back against the glass, “So, doctor come in yet?”

Wayne explains it, Eddie only cutting in once to tell him that no; it was not the meatballs they had last night, it’s called a heart attack for a reason, Wayne. In the middle of it all, someone knocks on the door and Eddie’s blinking at a ridiculously pretty face.

“Oh, you have a visitor,” Pretty Face also has a pretty voice, “Sorry to interrupt, wanted to check in.”

Wayne looks over, “chest pains gone, got a splitting headache but otherwise fine”

Pretty Face smiles and frowns before looking at everything connected to Wayne, “I’ll inform the doctor, besides that, everything is good?”

“He’s a little deaf, did he tell ya?”

Wayne rolls his eyes and held his hand up to flip him off and it makes Eddie giggle, and Pretty Eyes to look between the two. Wayne drops the finger before shifting in the bed, “sorry, Steve. That is my nephew, Eddie. A bit of a smartass. Eddie, this is my nurse Steve.”

Pretty Eyes- or, Steve turns at him with wide eyes, “Oh! This is your- of course, it’s nice meeting you, Eddie. Your uncle here has been a blast”

Eddie dangles his legs on the ledge and grips it with his hands with an eyebrow raise, “My uncle? Really?” He looks back and forth between the two before meeting Steve’s gaze, “You sure about that? He’s usually refusing help, did someone mix him up?”

Wayne’s rolling eyes and shaking his head, but Eddie’s not paying attention to him. He’s watching Steve freeze and stare wide-eyed at him before looking back at Wayne then at him again, “uhh”

“Boy, don’t scare him. Steve, ignore him, Ed thinks he’s funny.”

He smiles wide at that before looking at Steve again, pleasantly surprised to see his face turn red. That’s interesting.

Steve stays another few minutes checking again over Wayne’s numbers before excusing himself and smiling one more time before shutting the door and once he’s no longer in view, Eddie immediately jumps down and is next to Wayne in two seconds, “Uh, how come you didn’t tell me your nurse was a goddamn beauty? Prince Charming? A gorgeous beautiful man? What kind of uncle are you?!”

Wayne snorts and smirks at him and it pulls a pout out of Eddie.

“Oh, did I not tell you? I got me my very own prince here, I think he might even like ya.”

Eddie can feel his checks heat up and he shifts on his feet, looking away from his uncle and accidentally meets Steve’s eyes in the window.

(After a two night stay, Wayne is back and as healthy as one can with a new heart condition and medication to take. Eddie hovers for an hour before Wayne kicks him out with a threat to not come back until he has Steve’s personal number.)

~~~

If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed it! It’s mostly focused on Eddie & Wayne. But I had to throw in steddie 🤗

This is based on true events because Tuesday night my mom had a heart attack and we had to call 911 and they had to put two stents in. She’s still in the hospital but getting better. She was a little out of it and told me that all the paramedics were very cute and the nurses too. Even said “the girls too!!” (Which is not like her 🤣) THEN TODAY, I go visit and she told me “I got a princess for a nurse, Aurora! She’s very pretty” And oh my god, she is. Very much so also very funny.

So that was my last two days lol.

Permanent Taglist!! @strangersteddierthings @spectrum-spectre @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @bookworm0690

[theminecraftbee]

“Alright, Iskall, pay up. You know the price. Three diamonds,” Stress says gleefully.

“That doesn’t count!” complains Iskall, from where he’s stretched out on the floor, rubbing at his poor, poor ankles. He’d misjudged a jump while building and, despite being a pro gamer, hadn’t managed to throw his water bucket out in time.

“Well, why not?” Stress says. “You told me I needed to help incentivize you to acclimate to vanilla again, you did. It’s important to make sure you don’t do silly modded things and get hurt. So, pay up. Three diamonds. Hurry up!”

“It doesn’t count,” Iskall says. “I don’t use Stonefall. I’m a professional. I use a water bucket.”

“Well you didn’t there,” Stress says.

“I don’t understand why I’m letting you do this. You tried to Dash earlier too!”

Stress huffs. “Yeah, which means neither of us paid. I’m sympathetic. That’s why I’m doing it.”

“You? Sympathetic? To me?”

“That’s what I said,” Stress says. “Three diamonds.”

“And I’m not paying! I didn’t use Stonefall! I just missed a landing. Because you distracted me. You’re a distracter,” Iskall says.

“I wasn’t talking about Stonefall anyway,” Stress says. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not out of sprint yet?” Iskall says, baffled. Sure, now that she says it he’s plenty hungry, but there’s not really a purpose if he’s not out of sprint yet. There’s…

Wait.

“That doesn’t count either!” Iskall shouts.

Stress cackles. “I think people normally eat when they’re hurt in vanilla, love, pay up!”

“No! Nein! No! That doesn’t count! It’s a bad habit in the overworld in modded too!”

“I don’t know, sounds like you thought you could just Heal the injuries.”

“You’re bleeding me dry! This is—this is highway robbery!”

“Yep! Welcome back to Hermitcraft!”

Stress grins at Iskall a while longer. After several seconds staring, he grumbles and fishes for the diamonds in his pockets. “I’d been playing early game. I’ll adjust faster, I thought. I won’t have as many skills and talents and busted gear to get used to not having, I thought. Even with her silly scheme, I won’t be paying, no sir.”

“Well, you are a bit of a moron,” Stress says.

“Hey! I’m giving you free, undeserved cash! And you mock me! You mock me!”

“Just telling it like it is.”

He grumbles in mock offense.

(…yeah, he’d missed Hermitcraft.)

[livingincolorsagain]

apparently the Still Not Funny deleted scene is about Bucky ‘bringing a treat to Sam's family gathering’, and after talking to @logicheartsoul about it, i obvs had to write something

It was a joke.

Sam’d—very casually, if he’d say so himself—invited Bucky to the cookout. He’d been trying to relax into Bucky’s lone armchair, the TV on and playing something he’d never seen before.

Bucky, who had been sitting on the ground and leaning into the side of the chair, had froze, very minutely, then relaxed, asked what he should bring.

Sam had, very dryly, said, “Ice cream cake,” because Bucky’d tried to make them breakfast that morning and almost burned the eggs to a crisp. Sam was just being cautious, and yeah, okay, maybe also a little shit, but mostly cautious.

Bucky, the biggest little shit to have ever existed, took it personally, apparently, because here he was now, sunglasses on, wearing Sam’s Henley, driving Sam’s truck and joking with Sam’s nephews, carrying a lopsided ice cream cake that was very bravely fighting for its life in the heat of the afternoon.

Sam’s stupid, stupid heart did a stupid, stupid somersault.

He went on taking pictures and joking around and filling up his plate, feeling light and happy and on the edge of something wonderful, then Bucky was close, sunglasses hanging from the collar of his—Sam’s—Henley, his cheeks a bright red from the setting sun.

“Hey,” he said, voice light and so soft.

“Hey yourself.”

“Want a piece of cake?”

Sam gave him a flat look. “You’re not funny.”

Bucky’s smile went bigger, brighter, like he immediately knew what Sam was talking about.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You’re full of shit,” Sam said, “and, still not funny. You’re not funny.”

“I just couldn’t come empty-handed, Samuel, I have manners.”

“You brought an ice cream cake.”

“It was a no-brainer, honestly.”

Sam rolled his eyes, fighting back a smile, then he turned back to watch the gentle waves and the sky as it changed colors.

The music was dying down, the day slowing and easing into the evening. Bucky was still standing just a step behind him, and Sam could feel his eyes on him.

His heart skipped a little as Bucky knocked his knuckles against his shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, so soft once again.

And Sam turned, gave into the urge and wrapped his arm around his shoulder to pull him closer.

Bucky came easily, his warmth seeking into Sam’s alright sun-warmed body, until it was almost too much.

He didn’t pull away.

[mollymagician]

Matthew didn’t go immediately.

When Death visited the Dreaming that day, it was just he and Lucienne she was there to see. A quick visit, she said. Informal. Just the three of them in a quiet corner of the library. Because, she said… if anyone deserved to know, it was them.

She smiled that smile of hers, and he swore something that had been broken in his little bird-sized heart started to knit back together.

He would have been gone in an instant, out the window in a flash and demands on his…er…afterlife?… be damned. But Death crooked a finger at him, and leaned down, conspiratorial, to whisper, “Matthew, give them time, okay? It won’t be easy, at first. He’s going to need it.” A quick hand stroking his back feathers, like an apology.

He coughed and studied the wood grain of the desk . “Uh…yeah. I mean…right. Of course. You…you got it, uh, Ma’am.”

But she was already gone.

So, he gave them time.

A month passed, in the Waking, by his reckoning.

How much time was time, Matthew wondered.

What did ‘time’ mean to someone who was a few billion years old? Was a month enough time for the anthropomorphic personification of everybody’s brain-stuff to become Some Guy? How did that even work, anyway? Did he need to, like, solidify? Like a pudding? Probably not the instant stuff. But what the hell did he know about pudding, he’d only ever eaten it out of a little plastic cup.

While he pondered the pudding-to-Endless equivalency method of time measurement, another month passed.

Then one evening, as he perched on one of the palace spires and watched the sun sinking down towards the rippling mirage that concealed the horizon, his patience snapped completely, without warning, and he found himself winging his way into the Waking before his own common sense could sweet talk him out of it.

He landed on the narrow sill outside of a very familiar window. Mellow lamplight spilled through the glass. He could see inside, across the comfortable living room with it’s well-worn couch and cluttered dining table, to the two figures standing together in the small kitchen.

Holy fucking shit, Matthew thought.

He lunged foreword to tap out that familiar little rhythm on the glass— shave and a haircut— and Hob was hustling over to open it in an instant, grinning like a searchlight. Then he was skidding to a stop in the middle of the kitchen counter and before him was

Before him stood

If possible, he seemed even thinner than before— whatever had happened over the past two months had happened to him hard. But he was also…softer. Was that a thing that could be? Standing in the kitchen in a faded blue (blue. blue?) tshirt and threadbare gray sweatpants and smiling. SMILING. He was Some Guy and he was looking at Matthew and smiling.

He was exactly the same. He was entirely different.

“Holy fucking shit,” Matthew said.

Dream leaned his forearms against the counter, bringing himself down to ravens-eye level and said, “Hello Matthew.”

Very eloquently, Matthew said, “Dude.” Then, the floodgates opened and he couldn’t seem to stop. “DUDE. Fuck…it’s…you! It’s you! Look at that! Holy shit! I can’t even…I mean why am I surprised I died and woke up a fucking bird but I mean…look at you!! FUCK!!” He flapped his wings emphatically and stomped, as best he could with his spindly legs. “Goddammit! These…fucking…ARRGH. No thumbs! An’ no arms! I just wanna…HOB. My dude. Would you help me out here????”

Hob, who had been standing by with the expression of someone who had sprained an internal organ with the effort not to laugh, drew a shaky breath and a hand across his mouth and stepped foreword.

“Okay, I think I see. I get you.” He stepped up to Dream, laid broad palms on his narrow shoulders, and said with great formality, “Dream…from Matthew.”

And tugged Dream forward into a crushing, bone-creaking hug, compressing the breath clean out of him.

Dream squeaked like a squeezed balloon and that…that, more than anything else, made it real.

“Yeah,” Matthew said, “That’s the stuff.”

When Hob released him a solid minute later, Dream staggered a bit and caught himself on the counter, looking slightly stunned. But the smile was back, tugging up the corners of his mouth.

“I…I thank you, Matthew,” He said. “I missed you as well.”

Matthew looked down at his skinny little bird feet, listening to the sound of his claws clicking as he fidgeted. He felt…what was this? Shy. When the hell had shy ever happened to him? Never, that’s when. Fuck that. Matthew cleared his throat and looked up at the pair standing there beaming at him under the gold kitchen lights. “So, uh. What’cha up to? Got any big plans for…uh…for your afterlife tonight?”

“Ah. Hob is teaching me how to.” Dream paused. “Not set the stove on fire. We are making—what is this?” He plucked a small box off the countertop and studied it. “Pudding. Apparently.”

The sound Matthew made would have been pppPPPpppffffftttttt if he’d had lips. Which he didn’t, so the noise that actually came out was more or less indescribable.

“It’s a step up from tinned soup,” Hob said. “Progress is being made.”

Dream slanted him a look and picked up the can of whip cream, fiddling with the nozzle. “I did make perfectly adequate tinned soup. The second time. I believe I will be more than capable of—“ The rest of the sentence was obliterated by the sound of aerosolized dairy product spurting across his face.

Dream sighed.

Hob turned around to face the refrigerator, his shoulders shaking silently, organs once again in peril.

“…Oh man,” Matthew said. “This is gonna be great.”