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got-any-references · 3 years

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What are your fav beetlebabes headcanons? Also, love your stuff <3

Thank you <3. And thank you for the wait cause oh boy if I don’t answer this ask with a ridiculous amount of art how will I live?

*Digging out the dust covered manuscript that is my nonexistent Beetlebabes fic from under the floorboards* It’s showtime.

So...Lydia is the one who falls first. She is about 17 or 18 at the time, so this is very much an “I have a teen crush on someone I am not supposed to” type of deal. Honestly they fell in love with each other way before that but like, platonically

Beej is...horribly oblivious XD. Honestly its for the best because Lydia spends the better part of her pre-college summer freaking about because any time her best friend walks in the door her heart wants to go bull-riding in her chest and if she actually has to confront her feelings she might just explode.

Then, just before Lydia was supposed to go away to college, Beetlejuice...disappears. He leaves a note, saying he’ll be back, but weeks turn into months, months turn into a year, and no one either in the living world or the netherworld has seen a hair of him. Lydia goes through college without really knowing what to do with herself, missing what was probably the closest person in her life. She graduates with a journalism degree and a minor in photography. She works for a newspaper as an investigative journalist before breaking off over less than great circumstances and going off on her own.

She’s 25 when she establishes herself as a pivate eye, with an enormous amount of anonymous sources being dead people. Also, this takes place in New York City.

(Yes she absolutely does exorcisms on the side).

She’s following a rather stange missing persons case when one of her sources points to a run down establishment that is 100% totally haunted. Except when she goes there she doesn’t find any ghosts, but rather

Beetlejuice. And he looks awful. And very much human.

Lydia: You look like hell.

Beej: Yeah, I just got back.

...

Beej: Also I’ma pass out now so you better catch me.

So he crashes at Lydia’s place, and the whole thing turns into solving the crime as well as Beej’s mysterious aquirement of a beating heart and working lungs. He doesn’t remember how that’s happened, only now everything is Too Much with Too Many Feelings. Speaking of feelings, you bet your ass there is PINING. SO much pining. Lydia’s best friend comes back and suddenly those feelings she’d dismissed as a stupid teenage crush come FLOODING BACK.

While Lydia’s internally feaking out over her feelings (it's totally normal and platonic to wanna kiss your best friend while he sleeps, right??), Beetlejuice is, you guessed it, totally oblivious! To his own feelings especially! All he knows is that it's his best friend only now she seems like a completely different person, and hot. She is now hot. His mad respect for Lydia makes him bury that thought deep, deep down. Also the whole marriage deal is a source on bad memories for both of them and he doesn’t wanna ruin the only good thing he’s ever had and-

Anyway, more pining:

Lydia’s feelings bring out resentment, too. She hates that Beej calls her kid, because that means he still sees her as one, and her ego and her desire for him make her want him to see her, the woman who's seen some real shit in the name of finding the truth, who can take care of herself, and who is very different from that angsty 15 year old girl on the roof.

It all comes ahead to a big confrontation where Lydia is shot, and Beetlejuice has to drag her to the hospital without any knowledge of how human bodies work and he has no magic so he can’t help her-

The hospital needs to know his relationship to her when they take her away, and Beetlejuice knows they wont let him in unless he’s close family so he is blurts out: “Husband. Yeah, I’m her...husband.”

Lydia wakes up with a patched up hole in her side and Beetlejuice clinging to her hand. She’s happy she’s alive, but also angry, because she could have avoided all of this. She was competent enough to not need anyone to rescue her.

She wants to get back on the case as soon as possible, she found the key lead, but Beej doesn’t wanna hear it, cause he saw way too much of her blood and he’s not big on how human bodies work, but he's pretty sure that shit’s supposed to stay inside. They’re arguing when the nurse comes in and adresses him as “Mr. Deetz.”

Lydia snatches the clipboard away, sees that he’s told them she’s his wife, and is livid. Because crush or not the wedding thing had a whole lot of baggage she does not want to unpack. She has to confront the fact that her feelings are for someone who manipulated her into marriage at 15 and who she’s not supposed to see in that way but she does anyway.

And Beej, a dumbass but also angry cause she almost died out of a stupid reckless mistake is like: "Why are you all mad? It was a green card thing. It's not like it means anything." And that gets Lyds even more upset, with him cause he's an idiot, and with herself because she's still pining for someone who, she thinks, still sees her as a child.

Lyds, getting her coat: "Fuck off."

BJ: "Kid-"

Lydia: "Stop calling me that! I haven't been a child since my mother died. I haven't been a child since you showed up! I haven't been a child since I've started this, since I moved here, since the first asshole tried to kill me. I've been through literal hell and I've had to pull myself out of it all on my own because I was still here and you left."

There's a beat of silence as Lydia realizes what she just said.

Lydia: "And that's fine. Because I don't need you. I don't need anyone. You taught me that, at least." She yanks her coat onto her shoulders and turns to go.

BJ, quietly, but its clear he's angry: "Do you think I wanted to leave?"

Lydia: "I don't know what you wanted. Do you even know what you wanted?" She pauses at the door, turns to him. "Do you know what you want, Betelgeuse?"

BJ: "I-"

He stops. He can't look her in the eye anymore. You. I want you. Lydia scoffs, turns to go.

BJ: "Lydia, wait-"

Lydia: "Fuck. Off."

She leaves, and he just stands there, floored by his too little too late realization. Lydia thinks the best thing to do after leaving the hospital with a bullet hole in her side and hopped up on painkillers is to go get drunk! Self-preservation? None

Beetlejuice finally finds her drunk off her ass and suddenly in a great mood. He grabs her under the arms like "Whelp. Time to go."

Lydia: "Nooo come on-"

BJ: "Aren't you on hospital drugs? Doesn't that shit kill you breathers if you mix it all up?"

Lydia: ":D I stopped taking them :'D it hurts like a bitch."

BJ: "I guess I have the shared braincell now. Okay, time to go."

He manages to get her in the car without incident, but when he gets in the driver's seat suddenly Lydia's all over him.

BJ, with a lap full of drunk Lydia: "What. What are you doing."

Lydia: "Beeetlejuice."

BJ: "Yeees?"

Lydia, smiling all dopey as she cups his cheeks: "Beeetlejuuuice."

BJ: "What"

Lydia's finger hovers over his nose, as if to boop him. He closes his eyes. And suddenly her lips are on his. She tastes like alcohol and hospital food and as she pulls away he can't think. Then she starts laughing. "Ha! Gotchaaa! Classic Bait and Switch!"

And he’s pissed.

BJ: "Ha. Ha. Good one, Lyds."

He dumps her out of his lap and into the passenger seat. Lydia blinks in confusion. Now she's cold. She wants to ask, but her mental faculties aren't all with her at the moment. He drives them home and helps her up the stairs before dumping her onto her bed. "Well. Bye." Lydia scrambles up the bed. The car ride gave her enough time to be at least a bit sober, and everything before getting here is blurry. "Where are you going?" Beetlejuice turns around, the widest smile on his face. She's confused for a moment before she realizes he's vibrating with rage. "Ya said you want me gone? Great! You don't need me, you can do your weird little suicidal quest thing yourself!" Lydia looks lost. They had a fight but she'd rarely seen him this angry. "If its about the thing at the hospital, I didn't- I didn't mean it-"

Beetlejuice: "Really? You'd think you'd be glad to have me gone. Why would you want a creep like me around? The whole marriage thing didn't just disappear, after all! Great to know you can still pull one on me, huh?"

Lydia: "Pull what, Beetlejuice-"

She remembers, hazily, the car ride.

They stare at each other for a moment Beej is breathing heavily, he's not used to living person emotions, ones you can feel with your whole body instead of just as an abstract thing, but its clear he's holding back

Lydia: "I wasn't-"

Beej: "You weren't what?"

Lydia (quietly): "It wasn't a joke."

The angry grin slips off Beej's face. He suddenly looks very, very tired. She might have believed just now that he'd lived for millennia.

Beej: “Why are you doin' this, Lyds? Did you know the whole damn time? It's not like I was gonna do anything, I just thought- I just-”

Lydia suddenly realizes that they are having two different conversations. And something else. She looks away, trying to wrap her head around it, and Beetlejuice doesn't read it correctly. He turns to go.

Lydia: “Wait!”

She jumps off the bed, feeling the whole world tip over slightly, still drunk, and stumbled over to him. He catches her instinctively as she grips his forearms for support.

Lydia: “Beej. Beej, look at me.”

She takes his face in her hands, and turns it toward her. He looks so lost, like one word from her might actually break him. She'd only seen that look on his face once before, and she never wants to again.

Lydia takes a breath.

Lydia: “Beetlejuice, I-”

Aaand then she throws up all over his shoes.

She doesn't quite remember what happened next, only that she was in the bathroom, leaning against the door, the toilet was flushed, she was sweating, and he wasn't there.

Lydia: “Beej?”

Beetlejuice (through the door): “...hi”

Lydia: “What-”

BJ: “-happened? Well, that's a story!”

His voice sounds cheerful, but it’s shaking slightly

BJ: “First ya threw up all over us both! then that little experiment of yours with mixing the meds went off, and you started babbling about...rocks? Then we got here, you heaved out the rest of your insides, and then ya kicked me out and said you were gonna shower, and now we're sitting here, so, yeah”

Lydia: “...Are you still covered in puke?”

BJ:”...yeah”

Lydia: “...sorry?”

BJ: “Pshh, what's a best friend if ya can't throw up on 'im a couple times.”

They both fall silent

Beetlejuice (quietly): “Lyds, do ya still want me here?”

...

Lydia takes the time to find the words. Want him here? After everything, he was still asking that question. Did he still think, after all this time, that she'd throw him out at the smallest inconvenience? Would he ever stop thinking that way? Why did he think so now? Was it because he- Because he-

Lydia: “I love you.”

The other side of the door is silent.

Lydia: “I love your stupid laugh. You sound like a fucking cartoon villain, its so fucking obnoxious. I love your jokes, all of them, even the shitty ones- you always look so god damn proud when you say them.”

Is she crying? She tries to wipe at her face, but the tears keep coming.

Lydia: “I loved you since that last day on the roof, and when you left-”

Her throat closes up. She chokes back on her tears, she has to finish it, he has to hear it.

Lydia: “When you left I thought I might die again.”

Lydia: “I kept seeing things, dumb branding on cereal boxes, that shitty college play I went to, my first client, and I kept thinking aw, Beej would have a field day with this one. I thought about what you'd say. You were like a voice I couldn't scrape out of my head, I thought I was going crazy, I thought I'd imagined it all, some lonely little girl with no life or friends, needing someone to talk to- But you'd been real, and then you were just gone- “

The words dissolve in her throat as she sobs, pulling her knees up to her chest. She feels like a child now. She feels more childlike than she had at 15. She’s clinging to a scrap of hope she doesn’t have a right to demand from him. And yet he'd said-

Lydia: “I love you. Please, don't leave.”

They sit is silence for a while. Lydia tries to stop crying. Then, quietly from the other side of the door:

BJ: “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”

Lydia: “Here’s a suicidal teen haha what a riot?”

BJ: “What? No, not then. Like now.”

Lydia: “Oh. What?”

BJ: “I thought wow, who the hell is that and why is she so dang hot?”

Lydia laughs.

BJ: “And then I thought oh God that’s Lydia.”

Something in his voice makes her pause. Maybe it’s the strange fear that she feels coming from him.

BJ: “It’s like, you’re Lydia, and I don’t know shit about you! You’re the same person, but you’re a stranger to me. Lyds, do you know how fucking terrifying that is? You’re someone I never got to know because of a shitty decision I don’t even remember making.”

he falls silent. She can hear the pain in his voice. And something else. Longing.

Beetlejuice: “I’d like to.”

Lydia opens the door. Beetlejuice scrables up, only for her to throw her arms around him.

They figure it out. It’s a slowburn 200k fic that I’ll never write so it takes a while for them to actually kiss, or do anything more, but they get there.

This turned out...ridiculously long XD. I don’t know what you meant by “headcanons”, exactly, but have this instead.

Thanks for the ask!

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thetomorrowshow · 2 years

Text

drunk with stagnant breath - ch. 8

First - Previous - Next

been a bit busy lately (finals are coming up my dudes) so couldn't edit this more than a once-over. lmk if you notice any mistakes! anyway I feel we all knew this was coming at some point: SICK FIC

reminder that this fic features scott possessed by xornoth, causing him to act as an abuser to other characters. please block the tag ‘abusive scott’ if you don’t want to see this fic. it’s very heavy, please stay safe.

cw: illness, vomiting, angst, implied sexual content (in a memory), suicidal thoughts, blood mention, mentioned abuse, scott's not a good guy

CHAPTER 8: The one where things heat up: literally, with bonus That Isn’t Blood, That’s Corruption Babey!!

They told him that evil men were searching for him, and that’s why he had to stay hidden. Jimmy knew better. He saw it in their nervous glances at him, the pity in their eyes, the way Lizzie came in when she thought he was asleep just to sit near and watch him.

Scott was looking for him.

Jimmy didn’t let on that he knew. Joel and Lizzie were already skittish enough—they wouldn’t let him outside, stayed in the bathing room with him, made certain that any room he went to didn’t have windows or other outside access. It was as if they expected him to run outside as soon as possible, yelling and waving his arms. And maybe he would. He wasn't sure.

He wasn't going much of anywhere today, though, because he couldn't get out of bed. At first, he had hidden it, pretended he was still sleeping after the exertion of the previous day (Lizzie had built a hallway conduit from her kingdom to Joel's, then had taken Jimmy on a short test run of it), but if one of them came into his room again, he wouldn't be able to keep it secret.

Jimmy was sick, more sick than he had been in a long time. His thoughts clouded more with each passing hour, jumping from this to that with no concept of what came next or what was previous. His stomach clenched sickeningly, and if he could move through the full-body ache, he might have rolled over and vomited. As it was, he swallowed compulsively, doing his best to keep it down—it wasn't too hard: his gag reflex had been trained out of him long ago.

His teeth chattered as he shook and shook and shook, freezing cold but too hot for the covers, too sensitive for the fiery touch of the wool. He lay alone, shivering and soaked in sweat, and all he could properly think about was Scott's kiss.

He could taste it, choking ash and bitter ink and the sweetness that made all other tastes bland in comparison. He smacked his lips, imagining that Scott was licking into his mouth, running their tongues along each other in a burning dance, more and more of his taste being pushed into Jimmy's mouth with each second.

Scott would straddle Jimmy's hips, kissing down from his mouth along his jaw and down his neck, thin fingers deftly loosening the ties of his corset. And Jimmy would lay his head back and moan, the cloying sweetness of ScottScottScott making his head light and the world swim as Scott bruised his neck and chest. In those moments, Jimmy was happier than ever, loved Scott more than anything.

Try as he might, Jimmy couldn't maintain the fantasy. It faded away within seconds, leaving only the memory of taste as Jimmy's wandering mind leapt to a new train of thought. He wanted the taste of Scott. He needed the taste of Scott. Scott's kiss would make him feel better, Scott's kiss would cure him, Scott's kiss would taste so good.

He wasn't sure how long he floated alone in that feverish state, licking his lips over and over again as he dreamed of Scott kissing him a thousand different ways. Open-mouthed and closed, passionate and hard and soft and chaste, silent and fraught with moans, light pecks and long sessions of making out. With each kiss he imagined the pain eased, but as soon as the kiss ended, it was back worse than before. He gripped the sheets to keep from crying out, wishing—craving—for Scott's kiss to quiet him.

"Oh no. Oh, that's not good."

Jimmy flinched away when something terrible and sharp and slicing touched his forehead, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw. With great effort, he forced his eyes open, squinting at the figure above him.

It was Joel, haggard and worried, an aura of gold haloing his head. "Lizzie! Come quick!" he hollered, eyes never leaving Jimmy. "How long have you been ill?" he asked, quieter.

Jimmy couldn't answer. He knew if he opened his mouth, he would begin to weep uncontrollably, the burning of his eyes and lump in his throat testament enough to that.

"Oh, gosh. I don't know anything about fish! Is this gillyflu? In that case, maybe Lizzie should stay outside. Lizzie, wait—!"

"What is it—oh, Jimmy!"

"No—I think it's gillyflu—you can't catch it—"

It was too late; Jimmy was crying. He tried valiantly to hold back what he could, but before long his shivering wrenched his jaw open and he let out a loud, hoarse sob.

In mere moments, Lizzie's face was floating above him, wrought with concern. “Jimmy, can you hear me?” she asked, voice too loud, drilling into his pounding head. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t make his teeth stop chattering and throat stop seizing with tears. Another terrible thing touched his forehead and he cried out, pulling away.

“He’s burning up. Is he—?” Someone grabbed his shirt and dragged it up and he stilled, sniffling and trembling. He knew not to move.

“His stomach looks normal, so it’s not dropsy . . . not tumors. . . .”

His shirt was dropped and with it came unbearable warmth, curing the chill on his skin and burning him all the same. Something brushed against his fins on his legs and neck and again he pulled away, wishing they would just stop touching him.

“Not cotton wool, not finrot—and not gillyflu, unless it’s in the early stages. See, his gills would be all crusty if he had gillyflu. He might just have a bad normal flu, or—or something else. Maybe an infection?”

“I cleaned all of his scratches yesterday—unless he deliberately rubbed dirt in them, he should be fine!”

“Jimmy?”

Jimmy’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head, but now that Lizzie spoke to him, he let them land on her, her form sharper than reality should be. He longed to shield his eyes, but his arms ached too badly to lift to his face.

“Where does it hurt? What happened?”

Jimmy couldn’t answer—it hurt everywhere, couldn’t she see? His whole body was on fire, but not the right kind—he longed for the sweet, forgetting fire of Scott’s lips. This fire seared his bones and scales and skin, freezing hot and painfully licking up and down his body.

“Jimmy, nod if you can hear me.”

Jimmy took in a shuddering breath, then forced his head up and down, gagging as bile rose in his throat at the action. He had to make it clear that he was still here, knew that they were talking about him, even if he wasn’t sure why.

“Okay, that’s good,” said Lizzie. There was a cloth in her hand somehow, and she gently pressed it to Jimmy’s forehead and face. It was cold, too cold, abrasive on his skin—the coolness of it felt good after a moment, though, and he thought maybe he could bear the pain of it for the relief. He stilled as much as he could, letting his eyes fall closed.

Lizzie pulled the cloth away and he whined, tilting his chin up in a silent plea for more. Yes, it hurt, but it also felt so good. He hadn’t meant for her to stop, he wanted more, he wanted the distraction from the all-consuming pain of no Scott.

She acquiesced, patting him once again with the terrible cool cloth, and he leaned into it, gasping when she pressed a little too hard. This was good. This was mind-occupying. This made the clawing in his skull ease a bit.

“I’m so sorry. Oh, Jimmy. I’m sorry you’re so ill, we’re here.”

Them being here wasn’t what he wanted! It wasn’t what would help, wasn’t what would make him better. He needed Scott’s kiss to survive, he knew it—

“Sc-Scott,” he choked out, and he watched as Lizzie’s face fell. She pulled the cloth from his head, and for a frantic moment, he thought it was punishment, punishment for asking for what he couldn’t have—then her hand was back with a fresh cloth, this one dripping with cooler water.

“Sh, shh,” she murmured, but Jimmy couldn’t.

“Scott,” he sobbed, turning this way and that as his body allowed. His stomach sloshed dangerously. “Scott, p-plea-se, Scott—” he abruptly cut off as he gagged, lurched, then vomited over the side of the bed.

“Oh—gross—Jimmy, I promise we’re trying to help—Joel, could you—?”

“Yeah, yeah of course—”

“Jimmy, please—what can we do?”

Everything hurt so bad, why did everything hurt? He just wanted Scott to kiss him, either taste his kiss or die, he wanted to die, he wanted the world to go black and the pain to stop. . . .

In a last desperate act, Jimmy reached out to that part in the back of his mind that Aeor spoke to him from, dark and secluded. Please, he begged, help me, don’t let me hurt, stop the hurting, take it away, please. . . .

There was no response. That corner of his mind was cold, empty.

He was alone. Gods, he was alone! Aeor had forsaken him, Scott had abandoned him, left him to this world-ending pain! He was going to die, die alone, and he wanted it, he just wanted to die!

“Jimmy, Jimmy, sh, it’s okay, don’t—don’t say that. . . .”

He pulled out of the blackness of the back of his mind, back into the eye-watering conscious world.

“I wanna die, please, I-I-I—it hurts, please—pl—please, l-let me die. . . .”

“No no no, no, Jimmy you can’t, I—”

“I don’t know the proper dosage, he’s half-ancient-fish-thing!”

“He’s in pain, Joel, just give him some!”

“I can’t, it might make him worse—”

“Pl-please, please, die, I-I wanna die, h-hurts so—so—so much, hurts. . . .”

“Jimmy—please—you’ll be okay! Please, just hold on—Jimmy, no—”

The last thing Jimmy thought about before everything went blessedly black (but not quite painless) was Scott’s kiss.

Jimmy was rarely unconscious.

It was times like this, when he was, that Lizzie took a moment to breathe, sliding down to the floor, face in her hands. He was ill, dreadfully so, and neither she nor Joel knew what with. The fever and chills were constant, but his fins weren’t red or flaking. Everything they could convince him to eat came right back up, but his stomach wasn’t distended in any way. There were no discolored patches or film on his body, no clouded eyes, no sores, no difficulty breathing. When he could move his arms (he complained in whimpers of the heaviness of his limbs), his hands went up to clutch at his head or tear at his skin. He’d peeled an entire scale off from under his neck before they’d noticed at one point, after which his hands had to be confined to mittens.

She hated to look at him. His face was grey, eyes bloodshot, nose running. In just the three days that he’d been ill, he’d noticeably lost weight, cheeks sallow and sticky with tears.

He was going to die, just as he’d begged for three days.

She couldn’t bear to let him.

Lizzie flicked away a tear and made to stand, then didn’t. She sat there, against the wall, arms around her legs. Joel was out, away at the Overgrown and the Undergrowth, asking of both rulers herbs to treat fevers. That was the only thing they could think to treat—they’d already given him what they could for nausea, and while it seemed to help to some extent, it never lasted long enough for anything in his system to be digested.

Even his sleep was troubled. Jimmy tossed and turned, kicking his blankets off, then shivered until someone pulled them back over him. He mumbled words neither of them could understand, but were clearly distressing, so much so that he often woke himself up.

She wouldn’t usually be worried. Jimmy had gotten sick before, had actually been prone to it for as long as she could remember (and she even had vague images of him being ill before they ventured onto land, though those were hard to recall). She was used to him showing up to alliance meetings sniffling, or hearing his cough echo through the water. He wasn’t usually in such bad pain that he wanted to—to die, though.

Neither she nor Joel had gotten sick, despite spending all of their time caring for Jimmy. This wasn't a normal illness. This was something sinister. She'd suspected the clearly magical locket at first, but removing it had done nothing but heighten his distress. She hadn't given it back at first, of course—Jimmy's body temperature was so high that it had turned the locket into a burning chunk of metal. Something so utterly warm that also pulsed like a beating heart? It couldn't be good. But he had been so much worse in his waking moments without it that she’d reluctantly returned it to its place around this throat.

Jimmy whimpered in his sleep, and her head shot up. His forehead was wrinkled, eyes scrunched, mouth twisted. His gills flapped open, then closed after a few seconds. She watched him carefully. If his gills opened again, she would have to wake him up, as reluctant as she was to do so. She didn't want him to suffocate.

He'd only been asleep for—what, thirty minutes? Maybe forty? That wasn't enough. He needed sleep to heal.

Sleep was apparently not meant to be, for just a moment later, Jimmy's eyes blinked open. After a few moments of shaky breaths and pained noises, his gaze shifted to her, watery and red.

"Lizzie," he croaked, lip quivering. Lizzie was immediately on her feet, coming to his side. She dipped a waiting cloth in a bowl of cool water, ready to dab at his forehead if he asked.

"I'm here, Jimmy. I'm here," she murmured, wringing out the cloth.

"Lizzie," Jimmy repeated. A tear slipped from the corner of his eye, slowly traveling down his temple. "It—it hurts."

"I know, sh, I know—"

"Ev'rything hurts," he said pitifully. His gloved hands clenched and unclenched. "And—and—" he blinked a few times, another tear escaping. Lizzie stayed silent as he searched for the words, holding the cloth ready.

"He—he loves me," Jimmy whispered. Lizzie nearly sighed. Jimmy was at his most delirious when he woke up talking about Scott. "He loves me . . . but—he hurt me." In a sudden movement, Jimmy's hands shot up, gripping her arm. "Lizzie, Lizzie," he implored tearfully, pulling her closer. "Why? Why did he hu-hurt me?"

Lizzie's heart broke. Oh, Jimmy. I'm so sorry. His hold was so weak. She placed her hand over his, then pulled back when he flinched. “I’m sorry. I’m trying, bud, but—”

“I don’t feel good,” Jimmy said tremulously, then dry heaved. Lizzie hopped away as Jimmy continued to gag, but nothing came up. His stomach was completely empty.

Lizzie held a glass of water close to his mouth, but he flailed out and knocked it from her hand. Water spilled all down her front and the bed; she placed the glass down, turned back to Jimmy, who was still hacking and gasping—

There was something dark on his lips.

Lizzie couldn’t help it—she panicked. It was blood, Jimmy was dying, he was bleeding internally and he was dying, this couldn’t be happening—

She had her communicator out in two seconds, sending a quick ‘SOS’ to Joel. She didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know what to do—

Jimmy stopped coughing, went limp entirely. Lizzie grabbed his pale wrist, feeling for a pulse—there. It was there. He was still alive.

The blood strung down his chin, some splattered on his chest and cheeks, clinging to his lips in black globs.

Black?

This wasn’t like normal blood. Jimmy didn’t bleed black; they knew that well enough from how often they’d had to bandage the gouges on his arms and legs. In fact, it didn’t quite look like blood at all. It looked like . . . well, mucus. But black.

Whatever it was, it likely wasn’t a good idea to leave it all over him. Lizzie grabbed the cloth that she had prepared and used it instead to clean him up, wiping it from around his mouth. The gunk came off in clumps and strings, sticking to the cloth in a way blood definitely would not. Could this be just really dark mucus?

On impulse, she brought it close to her face and sniffed. It smelled very strongly—smoke and heavy perfume and ink all at once. She coughed, snorted as her nostrils burned—her eyes began to stream a bit just from the potency of the stuff.

Why was whatever this toxic substance was inside Jimmy’s body?

Struck by a sudden disgust, Lizzie threw the cloth into a nearby bin with such force that it rocked the bin, almost tipping it over. Jimmy was dying, and it could be that stuff’s fault! That substance, that horrid-smelling gunk, had to have been hurting him.

Jimmy was still unconscious, eyelids fluttering as he breathed. Somehow, he seemed calmer—or maybe, weaker. He wasn’t shaking, or making any noise, just twitching occasionally. His face was lax, blank, chilling to look at. She had never seen a living person look more dead.

Just in case, Lizzie checked his pulse again. Still there, just as weak as it had been. A lump formed in her throat. He was alive—but for how much longer?

There was no denying that this was her fault. She let the wedding go ahead, let Smajor separate them, sat back and watched as red flags paraded by. Now Jimmy was lying before her, traumatized and abused and brainwashed and deathly ill, and where she had done nothing before, she now had no choice. There was nothing that she could think to do, not when Jimmy burned with a fever that couldn’t be touched, vomited any food or water that entered his body, shook with chills that couldn’t be abated, cried for his husband with every breath.

Lizzie let herself sob, terrible, animalistic gasps ripping from her throat, guilt washing over her again and again, stronger each time. She had killed Jimmy, her own brother, whom she was sworn to protect. She had abandoned him, had let Smajor lead him like a lamb to the slaughter, had watched her innocent brother be taken in by evils and magic and had done nothing. Lies of omission were lies nonetheless, and inaction was still an action that she chose. She’d killed him! Oh sea gods, she’d killed Jimmy!

“No, no, no—” someone pushed her aside (albeit gently) and took Jimmy’s wrist, feeling frantically for a pulse. After several moments, Joel visibly relaxed, dropping the arm and turning to Lizzie. “I thought he’d died! What happened?”

Lizzie sniffled, rubbed furiously at her eyes. She had to compose herself. Jimmy wasn’t dead yet. At least they could make him comfortable before the inevitable. She couldn’t speak, though, and before she found the strength to power through, Jimmy started coughing again.

It was worse than before, if possible. His gills flapped wildly as he choked and hacked, searching for alternative oxygen that wasn’t there. His body jerked and seized with each dreadful gasp, and Lizzie couldn’t do anything but watch, just like before, just like all the times before—

Joel whipped around to the bedside table, grabbing both the glass of water and the bin beside the table, then placed the bin down closer to the bed as he tipped the thrashing Jimmy onto his side. There he held him, head over the bin, water at the ready. A couple of moments more and strings of black flew from his mouth, landing in the bin.

Joel actually shouted in disgust, but kept his hold on Jimmy, even as a glob landed on his forearm. Soon after, Jimmy’s coughs slowed, enough that Joel was able to tip some water down his throat without running the risk of him choking on it. Once again his gills fluttered open, but it was only a second until they sealed again, allowing Jimmy to drink the water properly.

As soon as Joel pulled the water away, Jimmy was coughing again, horrible wet sounds, sending specks of black flying from his mouth. This coughing fit was much shorter than the last one, though, and within seconds he slumped against Joel, breathing raspy and haggard.

“That,” Joel said after a moment of silence, “was the most disgusting thing that I have ever seen. And I’ve been watching a fish vomit for three days straight.”

Lizzie allowed herself one more sob. She had to pull it together, help Joel take care of Jimmy. His condition was her fault. He was her responsibility.

“Is this what the SOS was about?” asked Joel, and she nodded, stepping forward to help roll Jimmy onto his back.

“I—I don’t know what it is,” she said wetly, running an arm under her nose. “One minute he was awake, and talking to me, and the next he was—” she gestured helplessly.

"Right. Well, can you hand me a rag? Whatever this sh—stuff is got on my arm and it's starting to burn."

That wasn't good. She grabbed one, dipping it in the bowl of water. Wiping off the gunk on Joel's arm left a red mark on his arm—he gently touched it and hissed.

"That—that stuff was inside Jimmy?" Lizzie said, less of a question and more of a statement of astonishment. Joel nodded anyhow, his lip curled in disdain. His face straightened as he suddenly dropped the bin and dashed out of the room.

"Jo—Joel!"

She didn't chase after him; Jimmy chose that moment to mumble something unintelligible. His eyelids twitched, eyes below them flicking rapidly.

She took his mittened hand in hers, rubbing his knuckles in a way she hoped was comforting.

She just had to remind herself that he was still alive. He was alive, and they were going to help him.

Joel strode back into the room, something small in hand. He twirled it around—a toothbrush.

"I figured he's got to have some stuck in his teeth or something, so. . . ." he explained. Lizzie stepped back, but didn't release Jimmy's hand while Joel propped his mouth open and set at cleaning his teeth.

The brush was black when he pulled it out of Jimmy's mouth. Joel gagged, then swished it around in the bowl of water until the black stuff came off. Then he stuck it right back in Jimmy's mouth with a flash of the pink handle.

"Is—is that my toothbrush?" asked Lizzie incredulously.

"Lizzie, I'm a little busy right now," Joel said loudly. Jimmy shifted, his hand lightly squeezing Lizzie's.

"I think that's all of it," Joel said after a minute, peering this way and that in Jimmy's mouth. Again he swirled the toothbrush around in the water, morbid fascination glinting in his eyes as black strings detached from the bristles.

He straightened, turned to Lizzie. He looked about as bad as she felt.

"How long do you suppose he'll keep the water down?" he asked, words weighted with exhaustion. Lizzie shrugged. Probably less than an hour, knowing Jimmy.

Joel wiped his hands off on the same rag he'd cleaned his arm with, then tossed it into the garbage bin. "Made it to Katherine's, she's got nothing. She said she might be able to grow something if we give her a couple of years, but that’s not going to be helpful right now, is it?”

Lizzie’s brain was too fried to think that far ahead. What mattered was they had nothing, no medicine or herb of any sort to help Jimmy specifically. They could only hope that his fever broke, that his stomach stopped rebelling. There was little they could do now.

Jimmy came to with an awful taste in his mouth. For a moment he wondered why—but seconds later, he recalled that he’d been vomiting for—for a while. He smacked his lips. Gross. And dry. His whole body was uncomfortably dry, actually, dry and aching and peeling. He shifted a little and felt his skin scrape against itself. He needed water. He really needed water.

He glanced around, a hand shading his eyes as they throbbed. There was a glass half-full on a table beside him. It would have to do.

Shaking hands grabbed it. He brought it to his lips, drank a small sip, then spilled the rest down his face. He gasped as it washed down his neck and soaked his shirt, but despite the chill it suddenly brought him, he looked around for more. For the first time, he took in the room.

It was the guest room in Lizzie’s palace. He’d been staying here for a few days now, hadn’t he? The bookshelf was empty, as was most of the room—he seemed to remember it being well-decorated. Right? His head hurt.

There was one chair in the room, and in that chair was Joel, snoring lightly, chin on his chest. His hair was greasy, tangled, hanging into his face; his clothes were rumpled and stained.

Jimmy swallowed. His mouth still tasted gross. He wanted to tear his skin off his body. Was there a pool of water nearby? He couldn’t remember. There tended to be openings into the ocean in every hallway; some halls were even filled with water so that fish and fish-adjacents could swim freely through the palace. Equal access and all that—for the same reasons, the Cod Empire had been focusing on linking up the underwater segments of the kingdom as of late.

He needed water, though. That half-full glass wasn’t enough to rehydrate his entire body.

Jimmy swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. That was—oh. His head was light, spinning, pounding. More reason to get water. Water. He needed water.

Jimmy braced himself, curling his toes, swinging his legs. It wasn’t too far to go. He could make it out into the hall, and from there to a pool or a door into the ocean. He stood—

He had the brief sensation that his legs were jelly before they collapsed under him. Jimmy breathed, trying not to shake so hard. The water he’d just drunk was threatening to come back up. He hadn’t felt this bad since—

His first thought was gillyflu, six or seven years ago. Unbidden, though, came images of snow and Scott and his entire body stinging. Hypothermia.

“Jimmy, oh my gosh—are you okay?”

Jimmy raised his head. Joel was kneeling before him, eyes frantic. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” Joel said, panicked. “I’m meant to be watching you—we’ve got to get you back in bed, how are you feeling, can you understand me?”

That was a lot of questions that Jimmy didn’t quite know how to answer. He vaguely nodded his head, grimacing when it made him more nauseous. He needed water, but Joel was grabbing his arm and bringing him to his feet. His feet slid from under him, and without even breaking his rhythm, Joel swept his legs up into his arms and lifted him into bed.

Jimmy swallowed, his throat tearing itself apart. He pointed to the glass with a trembling hand—mittens? Why on earth was he wearing mittens?—, hoping that Joel would understand. Luckily, Joel did, and he apologized again, grabbing the glass and dashing out of the room.

Jimmy looked up to the ceiling, trying to blink away the memories of hypothermia and frostbite. They weren’t entirely clear, but what he could remember clearly was how it felt—the way his bones itched and burned with cold, the way his scales were stuck ruffled the wrong way, the way his blood felt like slush in his veins, too thick for his heart to pump well. He’d been certain he was going to die.

“Here’s water,” Joel said, suddenly by his side. “Do you think you can keep it down? You’ve sort of been throwing up a lot.”

Jimmy said nothing, just reached for the water. Joel didn’t give it to him: probably for the best, seeing as his arms felt more rubbery than eels. The man brought the glass to his lips, and Jimmy opened up and drank greedily. He wanted nothing more on earth than some water, than all the water, than to go swimming in all the world’s water and drink as much of it as he liked.

Joel pulled it away and Jimmy whined, reaching back out for the water. It wasn’t even all the way gone, wasn’t even halfway gone, and he was taking it away! “Jimmy, no, you’re—you’re going to be sick, you can’t drink too much at once.”

Stupid Joel. He was wrong, anyways. One could never have too much water. Still, Joel shook his head and placed the glass on the bedside table. Jimmy eyed it, ready to reach out, but he was taken aback by Joel pressing a hand to his forehead.

Joel’s face, concerned and exhausted, collapsed into relief. “Okay, okay, okay,” he laughed, ruffling Jimmy’s hair. Jimmy pulled away, his headache spiking. “Your fever’s going down. That’s—that’s incredible, Jimmy. What on earth, Jim, you made it. You’re making it.”

While Joel was laughing to himself, Jimmy reached out for the water. He took it with both hands, brought it to his mouth—

“No—Jimmy, I said no—”

—And dumped it over his head.

Joel froze, mouth hanging open. Jimmy shivered, the cool water running down his neck and into his hair, more than before and cooler than before. He wriggled a bit, trying to soak up the water that had spilled onto the bed. He was in heaven, his crackly skin becoming less crackly by the second.

“I—I don’t know what I expected,” said Joel, dumbfounded. “You’re a fish. Of course you need water. Do—do you need more?”

Jimmy nodded, dropping the glass onto his chest and reaching out with grabby mitten hands. Joel laughed again, then bent over and reappeared with a pitcher full of beautiful, cool water.

“Do you want me to hand it to you, or pour it over you?”

Jimmy reached out, then reconsidered. He felt so weak. He needed the water so badly, all over him. He was so dehydrated that he wasn’t even sticky from how much he’d been sweating, just the driest he’d ever been and almost peeling.

“Pour,” he croaked. Joel nodded, tipping the pitcher onto his stomach and legs and arms. Jimmy’s breath seized as his clothes and skin and scaly patches absorbed it all, bringing an almost incomprehensible relief to him. Joel poured the last little bit on his face and Jimmy sighed, basking in the feeling of so much good water. This was wonderful. This was all he ever wanted. Joel was a much better caretaker than Scott.

Where had that thought come from?

It was true, though. Whenever Jimmy was hurt, or sick, or when he had frostbite. . . .

“What did he think was gonna happen?” Jimmy muttered to himself, his voice cracking. Joel tilted his head.

“What’s that? Who?”

Jimmy shifted, groaned as his head swam. “When—when I got . . . frostbite,” he rasped. “I—I’m not an elf, surely . . . he ought to have thought . . . about making me stay out. For so long.”

“Oh dear,” Joel said. He looked uncomfortable. “Are you talking about Smajor? He made you stay outside for so long you got frostbite?”

“It . . . ‘mergency,” Jimmy shrugged. He wasn’t sure how much he believed that, though. Plenty of times in the past, Scott had flown him home before heading out to address whatever problem had just arisen. Why couldn’t he have done the same then?

He didn’t even remember what it was that had required such immediate attention. Why had his life and safety been moved to the backburner? He was Scott’s husband.

There had been many, many times when what Scott wanted had been more important than Jimmy’s health. The evidence of that lay scarred all over his body. Maybe he was in the wrong. Maybe he had failed Scott for not being able to stand it.

“’m not weak,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if he believed it.

“I’ll go get Lizzie, yeah?” Joel suggested. Jimmy shrugged again. He was tired—really, really tired. If he just closed his eyes, he was certain he’d be asleep in a matter of moments.

“Tired,” he managed, voice almost inaudible. Joel nodded, understanding in his eyes.

“Sleep, then. We don’t want you to overexert yourself. How about some food next time you wake up, huh? And I’ll tell Lizzie you’re doing a bit better, then everyone’ll be happy. Because I am. Happy,” Joel added unnecessarily. “I’m very happy that you’re alive, Jimmy.”

“And I,” a voice in the back of Jimmy’s head rumbled. Aeor. Jimmy was too tired to deal with this.

His eyes flickered shut, and he was gone to the world.

#empires smp #esmp #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #empires fanfic #abusive scott #dwsb #mas writes #we're over halfway through this fic #jimmy's so done with aeor at this point #sorry bro ur gonna have to deal with him for a while longer #do u guys wanna see scott next chapter??#maybe we should see scott next chapter >:)#i am cleaning my side of the room SO GOOD RN #i really want to start on the next trust part tho #so i'm leaving off here #lmk what you think #love you guys

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the-resurrection-3d · 5 years

Text

So anyway I edited my fic masterlist to procrastinate. This is only the Eddsworld portion, divided up by ship. The very end has my multi-ship collections, so if you want ficlets of X ship, check those. Includes nsfw links. I’ll keep this post updated!

Gen

melty future - it’s hard out here for a lost time traveler and a bunch of mutant freaks | rated T | 1.5k | Tags - 3-sentence fic collection, found family

tasteless - tom takes a demon to Denny’s | rated T | 2.3k | tags - fantasy / CB AU, underage drinking, brief eye horror, arson

thank god I’m pretty (in bits and pieces) - when Matt is fourteen, his aunt tells him the world is going to end. | “finished”, 6k | Tags - misgendering, gender fantasy AU, minor character death

we buffer, we suffer - edd and Tord try and write a reader-insert fanfic about their favorite OC, Clownius Thundercock | rated M | 1.2k | tags - cock slapping, tentacles, rescue, breast fucking, bukkake, characters writing fanfiction

sunshine sparkle - matt wonders what it would be like, living someplace other than a gremlins’ den | rated T | .6k | tags - background polyworld, matt gets irl cyberbullied

went for the kiss and got the bite - tord and Matt spend the last hours of Christmas together, and maybe set a guy on fire in the process. | rated T | 1.2k | tags - implied drug use, zombie AU

TomTord

bezoar -“Fine, whatever, but if he pukes on me I’m putting all your heads on pikes.” Instead of his giant robot, Tord gets the flu, and Tom tries to get even | rated T | 1.2k | Tags - sick fic, canon divergent, post The End, vomiting | FFN mirror | Wattpad mirror

Dumb / I stole my dad’s fic and made it tomtord because I like giving him a stroke - fuck you, dad you suck | rated M | .3k

Only God Forgives - what a lovely, useful idiot | rated E | 1.2k | Tags – A/B/O, Cervix Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

orange | rated M | .5k | tags – gentle sex, fluff, cockwarming

EddTord

and everything you say gives me a real bad feeling – five times Edd lost Tord and the one time he found him again. (tonight, I am pleased to announce a comedy in six parts) | wip, 7.5k | Tags – canon divergence, high school AU, zombeh AU, creatures and monsters AU, green leader AU, post-canon, alternate timelines, pining, one-sided relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending | FFN mirror

crush - “i’m gonna get Matt to burn that,” Edd says...Tord runs his fingers gently over Garfield’s face, the white thought bubble asking, Why me?, before he simply says, “You wouldn’t. You think my pain is too funny.” | rated E | 1.7k | tags - omegaverse, cannibalism, vaginal sex, weird biology, metafic, mild gore

peter pan syndrome- edd asks, what do you want to be when you grow up? it sounds better than so where the fuck have you been? and I dreamt an even uglier version of you made me eat lead. | rated T | 1.3k | tags - minimalism, drugs mention, sexual humor, morning after, reminiscing | FFN mirror, Wattpad mirror

nobody - he didn’t buy that old cloning machine for nothing | rated E | 1.5k | tags - exhibitionism, referenced TomMatt, oral sex, fingering, over-stimulation

show me your blood - "see, we have all worked very hard to put value down on paper, and I am not going to dishonor our efforts by never stealing from another man.I said yes to the world and I have never been told no since.” | rated T | 7.3k | tags - established relationship, time travel, green leader au, hurt no comfort

The Pinnacle of Romance – “I just wanted to have a romantic evening” | rated M | Tags – gun kink/play, power play, roughhousing, reunions, porn with feelings | FFN mirror

werewolf heart - this is the part Green Leader finds easy | rated G | .6k | tags - implied brainwashing, noncon kissing

MattTord

interlude to a guiltless exile - matt looks into those haunting eyes – silver pools without white, only large cuts of black. Shark’s eyes. Looking for too long makes Matt feel like when he’s dreaming and the tide’s pulling the earth out from under his feet. “How long can you survive out of water?” | rated T | 1.5k | tags - mermaid AU, fluff and hurt/comfort

TomMatt

mortals sipping nectar at five cents a glass - tom needs help relaxing, and Matt is happy to indulge him... | rated M | 1.1k | tags - experimental style, implied alcoholism, massages, fluff, angst with a happy ending, non-graphic smut, background polyworld | Wattpad mirror

EddTomTord

survivors - “the premise is that this doctor gets stranded on an island and eventually has to start cutting off his own legs and stuff for food” | rated T | .5k | Tags – sexual humor, zombeh AU, references to drugs, references to cannibalism, pov second person

EddMattTomTord

always said I'd be famous (guess that I lied) - sssh, it's okay baby, he soothes, petting Tom's hair; I have a dick big enough for all of us. Matt snorts, hides his grin behind his hand. Tord inspects his nails. Before Tom can chip in (holding onto him tight enough so he can't move his arm back for a good gut punch), Edd snaps at Matt, Just read the damn story. | rated T | 1.1k | tags - pillow and blanket forts, reading aloud, mild sexual content, fluff without plot

birthday cake - "you ungrateful —" Matt goes in for the side of Edd's stomach, the kill zone. "It's my birthday and I'm not only giving you head but a piece of modern. art.—" a few quick cuts of his hand to frame his face "—to commemorate the occasion." | rated M | .9k | tags - oral sex, foursome - m/m/m/m, shyness, hand jobs

[insert neutral milk hotel quote] - matt gets fucked ; a direct sequel to ‘stupid fucking bullshit’ | rated E | 2.8k | tags - gangbang, oral sex, metafiction, monster tom, bottom matt, dirty talk, subdrop, over-stimulation, trans male character

Paultryck

but I am home - maybe in this story the wolf doesn’t have to die | rated M | wip, 2k | Tags - subdrop, aftercare, nightmares, hurt/comfort, implied pet play, self harm mention, rape mention, red riding hood AU, bookstore AU

damnatio memoriae - shakespeare was wrong; most of us are not players. | rated T | 1.2k | tags - one-sided attraction, army life, public execution, first person pov

daze - "and then they fucked." - William Shakespeare | rated E | .3k | tags - vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, porn without plot, triple drabble

our love gorges - while Red Leader and his unlucky human friend negotiate over dinner, Paul and Patryck are left to their own devices | Paultryck, background PaulTordtryck | finished, 10.4k | Tags – fantasy AU, bdsm, scratching, comfort sex, dom/sub, aftercare, mild blood, burnplay, blow jobs, outdoor sex, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal thoughts, body horror, control issues, praise kink, consensual but not safe or sane, dead dove: do not eat

soft boy hours - let’s be young for a while | rated M | 1.6k | Tags - massage, frottage, fluff and smut, foreplay, post-canon | FFN mirror

PaulTord

the ren and stimpy show - on today’s episode: Tord has very strange fantasies | rated T | 1k | Tags - domestic fluff, post-canon, sexual humor, minimalism | FFN mirror

lain with holy wars - do you want kids? | rated T | .6k | tags - post-canon, implied child abuse / domestic violence, fluff, light angst

Paul/Everyone

some fuckin stupid bullshit just read the tags and get off my balls - I reach into hat labeled “story ideas.” It says, “Everyone gangbangs Paul.” Again? Hat falls and spills. They all say, “Everyone gangbangs Paul.” | PaulEdd, Paultryck, PaulTord, TordPauPat, PaulTom, PaulMatt, MattTom | rated E | 2.5k | Tags - gangbang, ruined orgasm, anal sex, blow jobs, handjobs, creampie, bondage, dom/sub undertones

Tordtryck

A.T. Field - “show me where you wanna be touched.” It’s disgusting | Tordtryck, background Paultryck | rated E | 1.3k | Tags - vaginal fingering, angst, implied character death, implied traitor AU, unhealthy relationships, consensual but not safe or sane

TordPauPat

a real crowd pleaser - there are a lot of advantages to fucking your boss. | rated E | 1.3k | Tags - threesome- M/M/M, blow jobs, dom/sub, bondage, orgasm denial

presented without context - who’s going to tell their fuckbuddy they probably caused their parents’ divorce as they’re getting blown? Never mind, Tord would. | rated E | 1.5k | Tags - threesome, praise kink, spitroasting, dom/sub

violence – you’ve made this place unbecoming. Do I have to stay? | rated G | .6k | Tags – sharing a bed, cuddling and snuggling, hurt/comfort, minimalism fluff | FFN mirror

Multi-Ship

clowns, all of you clowns - You fall asleep with his arm clutched to your chest. Various eddsworld ficlets/scraps from the last year | EddTord, TomTord, EddTom, Paultryck, TordPaultryck, Tordtryck | wip, 9.3k | Tags - high school AU, zombies AU, fantasy AU, hurt/comfort, humor, fluff. First chapter is the table of contents. | FFN mirror for chapter 18 [TomTord], FFN mirror for chapter 24 [EddTord], FFN mirror of chapter 20 [Gen, Rejects]

warped tour - dreamwidth doesn’t have any Eddsworld presence so I’ve declared the 3-Sentence Fic-A-Thon free real estate. First prompt: Tordtryck, there was a hidden message in their miserable Christmas presents | Tordtryck, MattTom, Edd & Matt & Tom & Tord, Tomatoredd & Scribble Tom | finished, 1k | Tags - 3 Sentence Fiction, college AU, bookstore AU, sexual humor, angst and humor, post-apocalypse, zombies | FFN mirror of Rejects parts

#eddsworld #tomtord #eddtord #paultryck #polyworld #and a host of others #long post #fanfic #eddsweenie

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