#wip? might not come back for this

[surfpent]

The Parent Trap AU, where Techno and Wilbur are identical twins who were separated at birth and somehow ended up at the same summer camp eleven years later.

Wilbur felt as if he were on top of the world. He advanced toward his opponent and lunged, saber flashing in the sunlight.

The other boy stumbled back. He was quick to take advantage of the opening and attacked without thought.

In a blink of an eye, his opponent hit the ground and their counselor, Dan, was lifting his arm up in victory. “The winner and undefeated champion, Wilbur Soot!” he announced.

Underneath his wire-mesh mask, he was grinning from ear to ear. Fencing lessons paid off after all— he’d have to thank Mum after the summer was over.

After being let go, Wilbur gravitated toward the fence next to the arena, where his friends hung around and cheered him on.

“That was sick!” Fundy exclaimed immediately.

“Right? You beat him in like, ten seconds flat!” Tubbo was perched atop the fence, legs swaying. “I swear we’ve been here all day. How have you not lost once?”

He laughed, face burning red from exertion and embarrassment. “Don’t jinx me.”

To his left, Dan scoured the clearing for more participants. “Do we have any challengers?” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“I’ll have a go,” an unfamiliar boy answered, masked and already snapping on a vest. He had an air of self assurance about him, lazily flipping the saber in the air and catching it with one hand.

Dan blew the whistle. “En garde!”

The boy saluted, saber in hand.

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. He welcomed the competition, yet hesitated briefly before returning the gesture.

With another blow of the whistle, it begun.

His first thought upon dueling the boy was that he was quick. If Wilbur came near he would simply glide away, the reflex seemingly automatic.

Through a flurry of thrusts and a parries, he attempted to knock the blade out of his opponent’s hand.

His opponent deflected the attack and whirled around, catching him off guard and getting him in the shoulder.

0-1

They danced back and forth for another eternity. Wilbur managed to get a touch in by going low, though now he was sweating and his opponent still seemed to be going strong.

1-1

Their sabers locked together and Wilbur swept them in a circle, hand steady.

His opponent twisted his wrist, breaking away. Then, to his surprise, charged directly at him.

He sidestepped, but his opponent pivoted last minute and forced him to hop back on his heels. Now off balance, Wilbur retreated, forced to parry blow after blow.

Focused on defending, he failed to notice the water trough behind him before it was too late. The back of his knees hit wood and within the millisecond only gave him enough time to let out a surprised shout.

He fell hard. Sun baked water buzzing with water skippers splashed around his ears and soaked through his clothes. Sputtering, he wiped the murky liquid from his mask and stared up at his opponent in disbelief. A chorus of laughter rung out in the clearing, to his mortification.

The boy had one hand over his mouth, as if holding back his own laugh, and the other outstretched as an offering.

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. He’d lost, but it wasn’t fair. There weren’t water troughs in fencing arenas— at least not in the UK— and he was doing well before the incident.

He took his hand roughly and yanked the boy in with him. Petty? Yes. Jerk move? Definitely, but it made him feel slightly better.

He careened into the space next to him face first, sending up a wave of water. When he surfaced he was thoroughly drenched. He couldn’t see his eyes but his body language implied he was glaring daggers toward Wilbur.

They were both silent as they clambered out of the trough, water pooling in the dirt below.

Wilbur unfastened his mask and crossed his arms over his chest. He refused to look at Dan or his former opponent.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new champ, Mister Techno Craft! Let’s shake hands, gentlemen.”

Water dripped from his curls and into his eyes, forcing him to swipe it away. He still didn’t acknowledge the counselor.

“Boys,” Dan said warningly.

He rolled his eyes, heaving a dramatic sigh as he turned, hand extended.

His opponent, Techno, must’ve turned at the same time because their eyes met. His hand hovered in the air between them, mask dangling at his side.

Techno had curly brown hair that reached the nape of his neck and freckles dotted along his nose bridge.

His eyes were drawn to a birthmark below his lower lip. That would be all well and good if Wilbur didn’t have one in the exact same spot.

After scanning the rest of Techno’s face, he deducted he even had the same curved jawline and pointed ears as him. A portion of his hair was dyed pink and both his ears were pierced, but minus the cosmetics, they were identical. It was as if he’d just been transported into The Twilight Zone or something.

Dazed, Wilbur shook his hand. Surrounding campers close enough to see both their faces gasped.

“Why’s everyone starin’?” Techno asked, blinking familiar brown eyes. His accent was painfully American.

“Don’t you see it?”

“See what, exactly?” His tone was curt.

Maybe he was going insane. “The resemblance between us.”

“Uh, no. Not really.” He shrugged. “Your hairline is way worse than mine.”

Wilbur’s jaw hung open. “Hey!”

“Just sayin’,” Techno continued. “Plus those glasses make you look like a wannabe Harry Potter.” He mimed the circular frames of his glasses with his hands.

Some blond kid was crying with laughter over the fence railing. It wasn’t even that funny.

Tubbo slid off his perch, frowning. “Want me to punch him for you?” he offered with a crack of his knuckles.

Wilbur waved him away and took a step forward, balling his own fists. “You want to know the real difference between us?” he began.

Techno seemed uninterested. “Let me guess, that I know how to fence and you don’t?”

He was about to punch his identical “twin” in his identical nose when Dan stepped back in.

“Okay, okay, gentlemen. Break it up,” he scolded. “Techno …” Dan did a double take upon seeing them together. “I mean, Wilbur, sorry—“

The lunch bell interrupted him mid-sentence and Wilbur was pulled away from the encounter by Tubbo before he could get into trouble.

“Do we really look that similar or am I going insane?” he asked his friends.

“Probably just a coincidence,” Fundy said, kicking a stone on the trail as he walked. “Freak of nature type of thing, yeah? Or a glitch in the multiverse— he’s like, the discount version of you.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Please accept my condolences, Wil. I can’t imagine having your sworn enemy look exactly like you,” Tubbo added solemnly.

Wilbur glanced back and saw Techno being pulled away by his friends as well— one of them being the blond kid who thought him being compared to Harry Potter was peak comedy. He caught Techno staring back at him and quickly looked away.

He’d get his revenge soon, and he had the perfect idea for it. Wilbur would show Techno Craft not to mess with him.

—

They were returning from a morning hike and even Techno was feeling weary, boot soles digging into his heels with each painful step.

“I’m crawling into bed and sleeping for the next week,” Tommy groaned, backpack slung over his shoulder bouncing as he moved. Even exhausted, he still somehow oozed energy with exaggerated motion.

Quackity nodded. “I’m crawling into bed and sleeping for the next year.” He was the shorter of the two, and wore a navy blue beanie with various colorful pins stuck in the wool.

Techno wondered how he could wear a beanie in the heat of the summer outdoors without dying.

The trio rounded the corner, pine trees retreating and revealing the Pogtopia Cabin.

He expected to be greeted with cozy pine logs and screened windows, the usual sight, instead he was met with something abnormal. Techno froze. “That doesn’t seem to be a possibility,” he drawled, pointing at their cabin roof.

“What the hell?” Tommy and Quackity exclaimed in unison.

Every one of their cots were nailed onto the roof, crooked yet somehow stable. The British flag flew high in place of the American flag, stars and stripes no where to be seen.

“This has got to be some sort of hate crime,” Tommy muttered under his breath.

Quackity snapped his fingers. “I know who did it.”

So did Techno.

There was no doubt who was responsible. He’d only offended one British person so far during his time at Camp Manberg and that was Wilbur Soot.

Quackity’s face was scheming. A lightbulb must’ve gone off because he suddenly brightened. “Hey, I have a payback plan.”

“Yeah? What is it?” Tommy asked eagerly.

“I’ll tell you guys later. Let me get in touch with an associate of mine.” He rubbed his hands together, then ran off in the opposite direction— giggling all the while.

Techno mentally stalled and had to boot himself back up. “Alright, then,” he said hesitantly, gaze following Quackity’s retreating back. He didn’t know who his “associate” was nor did he want to know. “Now … how do we get our beds down from there?”

“Beats me, man.” Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets. “Dibs not it.”

“Bruh.”

—

The prank war continued, with Techno and his friends retaliating via rigged booby trap in the enemy cabin.

Quackity’s “associate” turned out to be an older boy dubbed Slime, who— and quote, “don’t ask why”— had a huge reservoir of honey, shaving cream, and maple syrup.

“No, you really don’t wanna go in there, trust me—“ Techno tried nervously, leaning all of his weight against the screen door in an attempt to keep it shut. His gaze wandered to the bucket rigged above.

Schlatt rolled his eyes, foot thumping against the wooden deck. “Give it a rest, kid. You don’t think I’ve seen some sick kids before?”

“He’s contagious,” he blurted out.

Wilbur, still in his pajamas, smiled sweetly at them from inside. “I have no clue what he’s on about. Come right in, guys.”

“Listen,“ Schlatt started and brute forced his way past Techno, yanking open the door. “I’ve had the pox before, no big—“

The bucket tipped.

Five gallons of water crowned both counselors, soaking them through and splashing onto the floorboards.

Schlatt let out a string of expletives that would’ve got him fired if any higher ups were around to witness. He stumbled forward, farther into the mess of a cabin. Dan followed suit.

Techno could only stand and watch in horror.

Wilbur backed away with a smug grin.

They both screamed, scrambling feet finding purchase on nothing but oil slicked wooden planks. Twine filled the cabin like a spiders web, so naturally they hit every possible one on the way down and triggered all the other traps. Feathers drifted in the air like snow along with glittery plastic confetti. At one point Dan tried to grab onto something to steady himself, only to trigger the next sequence.

Wilbur’s friends sat upright in their cots, shaving cream still formed into shapes of beards and wild hairstyles. The brunet one looked like he was having the time of his life, while the older was pale and looked like he was seeing death itself.

It summed up Techno’s feelings pretty well. He was horrified. Shouldn’t Quackity have warned them if they were doing cabin checks that day?

Soon enough, the counselors were covered in syrup and feathers and thoroughly filled with rage.

“That’s it!” Dan roared. “You two— start packing.” He jabbed a finger at Techno, then at Wilbur.

Wilbur’s expression dropped. “What?

“I have never, in all my time here,” Schlatt grunted, steadying himself against the doorframe.

“But I didn’t do anything!” Wilbur pleaded, gesturing around the ruined cabin. “It was all him.”

“The blame game, really?” Techno cocked an eyebrow. The last thing he wanted to do was get sent home because of him. Phil would be furious.

“Well? Get going,” Dan prompted, face red.

Wilbur scowled, turning to leave.

It couldn’t get any worse.

—

It got worse.

“Coming from two brothers that should be setting an example—“ Dan lectured. He’d taken a shower since the incident and no longer resembled a plucked chicken.

“We’re not brothers,” Wilbur spat.

He gave him a dead stare. “I’m sure you understand why I don’t believe you.” Dan nodded toward Techno.

The pink-haired thorn in Wilbur’s side held a duffel in one hand and had a backpack slung over his shoulder. “It’s true,” he responded slowly. “Pretty sure that’s the whole problem here.”

“Now, me and Schlatt have come to decision. Since we can’t send either of you home yet— we had to improvise.”

Uh-oh.

—

“You two will be sharing this cabin for the next six weeks. You’ll eat together, you’ll bunk together, and you’ll be doing all your activities together. Either you’ll find a way to get along or you’ll punish yourselves better than I ever could.” It’s said with finality, with Dan gesturing to the interior of the remote cabin.

Wilbur dropped his bag on the floor with a thump. He made sure to shoot Techno hard glare, saying, “you got us into this mess”.

The message seemed to get through just fine. Techno responded with a middle finger behind Dan’s back.

His nostrils flared.

—

They spent the next morning at breakfast in dead silence. A tacky sign with hurried marker read: “Isolation Table - Do Not Disturb”.

Wilbur could only stew in his misery, shoving forkfuls of salad in his mouth while glaring at Techno between book pages.

Meanwhile, Techno clicked away on his Game Boy, unbothered.

He wanted to slap the stupid machine out of his hands. Wilbur could tell it was going to be a long summer.

—

“Of course you do ballet.” Techno sighed inwardly, meeting Wilbur’s gaze in the wall mirror.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“Nothin’, nothin’. Just suits your amazing, definitely not stuck-up personality.” He made sure to lace each word with heavy sarcasm.

“I am not stuck up.”

“Then start acting like it.”

He could almost hear Wilbur’s jaw crack with the force of how hard he ground his teeth.

“Leave me alone,” he said.

“You leave me alone,” Techno retorted, setting down his boombox. He pressed a button and began blasting music. It had an upbeat tempo, the lyrics incomprehensible.

A challenge.

Wilbur seemed thrown off. “Fine, whatever.”

He went back to the barre, but Techno could tell the music was bothering him.

Served him right.

[birdsofpasssage]

[vebokki]

why did i watch arcane

[valiantmade]

mr. prince of ku please answer my love letters

[ciderjacks]

Wip

[sluckythewizard]

had this thought rotating in my mind since arthur had to wear that Anti-Sun disguise. and well. now u see it too

[hippolotamus]

Fuck It Inspiration Weekend 🪦

tagged in various combinations by @tizniz @dangerpronebuddie @eddiebabygirldiaz @shipperqueen6 @watchyourbuck @wikiangela @bi-buckrights @daffi-990 @diazsdimples

OK! First, everyone please blame thank Di for putting me in my Bobby Nash feels. It’s a short ficlet like thing I expect to actually stay short (for once!)

How long has it been? How many years since mahogany, cherry or spruce? Velvet or Satin? Granite, marble or bronze? Lilies, orchids, forget-me-nots? How long since Ann Margaret Nash was laid to rest, finally allowed to be at peace with the choices she made? Had to make.

How much time since Charlie last looked at Bobby, both of them drowning in their grief? Weighed down with sadness, anger, disappointment, regret and too much pride to admit they wanted to maybe talk about repairing the rift that started the day Bobby chose to stay with Dad.

How many lifetimes between Bobby offering a weak ‘I’ll be in touch’ and his brother’s equally placating ‘Sure, Bobby’.

np tagging @actuallyitsellie @epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @a-noble-dragon @mountedeverest @fortheloveofbuddie @weewootruck @saybiwithme @bidisasterevankinard @ramonaflow @taketheplanspinitsideways @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @stereopticons @kitteneddiediaz @mrs-f-darcy @drowsy-quill @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @underwaterninja13 @lizzie-bennetdarcy @rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @queenmabcreates @inell @jesuisici33 @rmd-writes @shortsighted-owl @queerbuckleys @elvensorceress @bucksbiawakening @giddyupbuck @hoodie-buck @indestructibleheart @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1 @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @the-likesofus @thewolvesof1998 @wildlife4life

and anyone else who wants to 😘

[ace-turned-confused]

wip wednesday

ty for the tags @mermaidgirl30 @joelmillerisapunk & @sixhours !! ty also @oonajaeadira for the first 2025 wip tag :)

life's been......... rough, to put it simply, so i haven't finished anything in so long and now these things are OVERDUE and i feel TERRIBLE ABOUT IT UUUGGHHH

here we have a secret santa fic that is SO CLOSE TO BEING DONE FR I PROMISE

Joel sneaks you out of the house and drags you across the street towards his own. Your eyes linger on his shoulders and back as he unlocks his door. He turns a lamp on once inside and closes the door behind you both, pinning you against it.

“What are you doing?” You ask lazily, taking in his features in such close proximity.

“Givin’ you that night of fun you were wantin’.”

and here we have a mall santa fic that dumb me thought i'd get out before christmas. girl...... anyways.

The dress-up was handed to you when you applied for the job — a tacky, shockingly short green velvet dress with red buttons and matching fake fur glued to the hem, an itchy hat made of the same velvet, and red and white striped thigh-high stockings. What’s worse is the only way to keep them up is with garters, which Joel spotted and blatantly stared at immediately.

You thought maybe he just did the job to ogle at whoever’s assisting him, but he seems to genuinely be good with the hordes of kids that line up every day. He saves his wildly horny Christmas puns for breaks. Each day he comes up with a new one.

npt: @almostempty @evolnoomym @milla-frenchy @burntheedges

@604to647 @beefrobeefcal @clawdee @sanarsi @djarins-cyare

@strang3lov3 @bitchesuntitled @mountainsandmayhem @whocaresstillthelouvre

[mudd-art]

Lossan-Mea Laidir the ACTUAL Bard in-between his Lord of Fortune jobs.

[n0bluev]

I always render the face first (its not even fair...)

[sirens-alias]

Savanaclaw Rät animatic

[charmwasjess]

Late to the game but uh. Come Find Me? 👀

Not late, my wonderful dude, you have some fantastic timing!! <3 I've been trying to finish the first section of this today for a Halloween post.

The premise is, Sifo-Dyas's ghost is wandering through Dagobah-esque swamp, trying to find all of Dooku's severed body parts (body, head, hands) while they're both being low key haunted by the clones who were killed in the war. It's surreal and so weird and not AT ALL my usual thing.

….but uh, I just really needed to write Sifo-Dyas meandering around the afterlife with Dooku's severed head tucked under his arm, having loud arguments with it? 👉👈

Anyway, here's some from the first part -

Come find me!

His last words into the recording transmitter before the Oba Diah moon comes rushing up to smash him, the last time.

It destroys all of him: his past, his future, his dreadful fears and poisoned hopes, the ordinary love in his ordinary heart, even his familiar T-6 shuttle. Funny, the moon’s surface and its dust storms had looked so soft from above, drifting in dancing swirls. They are not soft.

Don’t worry, don’t worry. He doesn’t remember it hurting. 

No, to Sifo-Dyas, it feels like this: a kind of intolerable, shrieking loudness throughout his entire body, rattling his teeth and bones, and then, at last, finally, quiet. 

Quiet for such a long time. 

Come find me, he’d asked. Thinking of his devoted Master Lene Kostana, or his only other true friend, Jocasta Nu, who never left a question unanswered. His former colleagues on the Jedi Council, sure to investigate his death as a matter of protocol. His Dooku - one of the only two people who knew he'd be there to be killed. The other, the Supreme Chancellor. The Force, which connects and directs all, which gave him his gift, but no instruction on how to live with it. 

Well, he doesn't live. And no one ever comes to find him. 

So, ever practical, or perhaps ever impatient, Sifo-Dyas just pushes himself back upright out of the rubble and starts walking.

[cygnus-is-tired]

I like this piece… theoretically. Something about this piece just won’t click for me, I’ve tried to push through and finish it but it just ain’t happening. It’s time to throw in the towel

[tj-crochets]

Next baby quilt top is done!

Not my usual color scheme or pattern or…anything, really, but it’s Georgia Bulldog colors for a charity fundraiser rally thing run by a relative of a relative and that’s what they wanted so it’s what I’m making

[luck-of-the-drawings]

The Oath an older sister takes is on par with that of a Paladins, and sometimes upheld with the very same ferocity…

[demonio-fleurs]

okay. here's my thoughts. hopefully these are coherent.

koala doesn't wears clothes that might show her sun pirates mark, and only shows her sun pirates mark to people whom she is very close to. most of what she wears covers up her back, and she doesn't put herself in positions where people might be able to see it especially when she isn't on base.

and it isn't out of shame, either. koala doesn't seem like the type of person who feels shame about her mark. to me, it boils down to two reasons: one, everytime she sees it there is a lingering reminder, no matter how distant, of the circumstances behind why she got it in the first place (because trauma doesn't just go away like that). and two, and tbh what is to me the main reason, seeing it could raise some questions from people who don't know her as well as say, sabo hack and dragon.

like. she seems to work mostly in gathering intelligence and only seems to take an active fighting role alongside sabo and hack in very specific situations, so she really can't have anything that might draw attention to her. and seeing the mark of the sun pirates would almost certainly raise questions in any nation that she's in, not to mention seeing it on a human would raise more questions. it's probably much easier to just have it covered up than having to explain it over and over again.

hell, i would say that even on baltigo she probably either takes private baths or if there is a communal bath she probably waits till most people are asleep to bathe, because any new recruit who doesn't know her will see it and will almost certainly have questions, even if they don't ask her directly.

i also think this is why i really love when people draw koala with her back exposed and remember her sun pirates mark, because it is such a huge part of her, but because you don't see it much it's so easily forgotten. but it is there. and it is part of her character.