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mediumgayitalian · 1 month

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“Did you wash your face?”

“Yes.”

“Brush your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“Brush your hair?”

“…Yes.”

As soon as he says it, he coughs. A freckled hand moves to itch at his throat, rub at slowly puffing eyes.

“You, William Andrew,” Lee says, grinning, “are a liar.”

Will scowls. “Am not!”

The effect of his glare is significantly undermined by the redness of his eyes and the cough that interrupts him mid-sentence. Shaking his head, Lee leans into his bunk and scoops his brother up, heading to the Big House. He slides his hand in tangled, curly hair as Will rests his head on his shoulder, still breathing heavily.

“I can feel the knots in your hair, doofus.”

Will curls up tighter in his hold, muffling another cough in his elbow. “Nuh-uh.” He sniffles. “Hey, Lee, am I dying?”

Lee snorts. “No, you’re not dying.” He ducks into the back entrance of the infirmary, flicking on the lights and setting Will on the counter of the nurse’s station.

Will’s brow furrows. “Then what?”

With his swollen tongue, it sounds more like ‘den wah’. Lee picks up the pace — he’s pretty sure, based on what he knows, that the reaction will go away on its own, but a little Benadryl can’t hurt.

“You’re having an allergic reaction.”

He finally finds the stash of Benadryl — who sorted the mortal meds cupboard by colour again — and grabs one of the little measuring cups. Will sees the medicine and immediately starts whining, trying to climb off the counter.

After a minute of wrangling, he manages to keep Will put with one leg over both of his, chin hooked around his shoulder to hinder any escape attempts so he can pour the medicine with both hands. (He pours one teaspoon, even though Will is eight and should be having two. He’s too small for two. It worries him, a little bit — but there is nothing in his vitals to indicate anything’s wrong, so he must just be a late bloomer. Or maybe he and Michael are just destined to remain under five feet for eternity.)

“I’m not drinking it I’m not drinking it I’m not drinking it ew ew ew ew ew —”

“Yes you are —”

“No! Gross! It’s disgusting!”

“You’ve never even had it before!”

Will looks at the tiny little cup like there are worms writhing in it. (He would probably be more willing to eat it if it was worms. Last summer he ate an ant before Lee could stop him. No one told him demigod life would involve wrangling dangerously impulsive children, and he would like a refund, please, thanks.) “I can tell.” He clamps his mouth shut, turning away. “I am not drinking it.”

“It will help you,” Lee says exasperatedly. Was he this difficult as a child? He needs to call his mother. “I can literally see you scratching your throat, you little snot.”

He shoves his hands under his thighs. “No.”

“…It’s bubblegum flavoured.”

Will turns slowly to look at him, evaluating the little cup with suspicion.

“Bubblegum?”

Lee shakes it enticingly. “Bubblegum.”

After a long, tense moment, Will nods once.

“Fine.” He accepts the little cup, bringing it up close to his face to inspect with one squinting eye. “But if it’s disgusting I’m spitting it out.”

He brings the little cup to his lips for the most delicate, most minuscule of sips, more of a dip of the tongue than anything. Lee rolls his eyes. A second later, a pleased look slots on his face, and he downs the rest of the medicine in one large gulp.

Immediately, some of the swelling reduces, and he stops breathing so laboriously.

“There you go,” Lee murmurs, smoothing back his hair. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Gods, you’re stubborn.”

He’s smiling as he says it, leaning down to press a kiss to Will’s freckled forehead. He slumps into it, sighing, arms winding their way around Lee’s neck almost shyly. Understanding the gesture for the plea that it is, Lee scoops him up again, wincing as he elbows his ribs in an effort to get comfortable, and starts putting the medicine away one-handed (by alphabet, the correct way to sort.)

“You sleepy?” he asks softly, feeling Will grow heavier against him. He crosses his fingers — Apollo kids don’t often suffer side effects of medication, but he’s hoping the drowsiness’ll kick in. It’ll be nice if Will actually, like, sleeps through the night. For once.

“Mhm.”

Smiling wider, he flicks off the lights and steps out into the late evening. Cicada song swells in the mid-spring mugginess, owls hooting somewhere in the darkness. The curfew harpies’ chittering grows nearer and nearer. Lee waves to some of his friends as he sees them puttering outside their cabins, running through the last of their nightly routines, and finally ducks into Cabin Seven.

“He out?” Diana asks, hushed, setting aside her guitar to walk over.

Lee hums. “Almost. Had to give him some Benadryl, so he’s sleepy.” His smile turns sly. “He lied to me about brushing his hair and broke out in hives.”

“Of course he’s allergic.” She leans forward, shaking her head, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. He doesn’t stir. “Goodnight, sweetpea.”

The rest of his siblings call out their own soft goodnights as Lee walks over to Will’s bunk, covered in stickers and bracketed by Michael and Leanna, and sets him on the mattress. It takes him several minutes to pry himself out of his grip.

“Love you,” he whispers. He brushes his knuckle across his cheek. “Night, kiddo.”

———

The next morning, Will sleeps in for hours. The rest of them rise as usual with the sun, but he’s snoring, drooling onto his Star Wars pillowcase. The cabin is filled with muffled snickers and snapping cameras.

“I am going to have so much ammo on him by the time he’s thirteen and embarrassed by everything,” Michael says gleefully. “So, so much ammo.”

Lee grins at him. “Make sure I get a copy.”

The walk to breakfast is almost strange — the twelve of them again, no baby brother. Melody, complaining about the Hermes girl who is not picking up on any of her hints, pauses mid-sentence to ask if she can swear. Cass laughs out loud and allows it. Quickly, breakfast becomes a competition of who can swear the most or the most colourfully, free now that there are no little ears (as if Michael hasn’t supplied Will with a vast vocabulary already).

By the time Will stumbles into the pavilion, rubbing sleepy eyes, breakfast is almost over.

“Well, hello, lazy bones,” Lee teases, getting up to grab him a plate. Will trails slightly behind him, fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt.

“‘M not lazy,” he grouches, accepting the heaping plate Lee hands to him, “you drugged me.”

They walk to the brazier near the Apollo table, taking in the sweet smell as Will scrapes off a hefty chunk of olive bread. Lee waits for him to close his eyes and finish mouthing a quick prayer before guiding him, still sleepy, to the bench.

“I didn’t drug you. You took the medicine yourself.”

“Um, no way! Unless a patient is educated about the risks, benefits, and alternatives about a treatment, they do not have informed consent.” He nods resolutely, evidently proud of himself for remembering the spiel. “Ergo, you drugged me.”

Lee has the sudden, overwhelming urge to burst into tears. Will is — he’s just so bright, and so little. Eight years old and chattering off about informed consent, intently watching Michael in the infirmary, taking notes in his little blue notebook and wrapping bandages on burns with his tongue poking out between lost teeth. When Lee was eight years old, he was chasing his friends around at recess, chattering to anyone who would listen about Pokémon.

He had felt it, when the glowing gold lyre appeared above Will’s head: this child will do great things. They’d all felt it. Cass had gone stiff, eyes flashing green and face creasing in horror, before remembering herself and the big blue eyes watching her, scared, and plastering a smile on her face. ‘Great things’ is never a good thing for a demigod to do. A demigod destined for great things is a demigod doomed.

With every straining molecule, he wants to turn to the heavens and scream, no! You will not have him! You will not use him! He is not yours to toy with, to use until you’re bored! I will not allow it! By my dying breath I will not allow it!

Instead, he swallows around the lump in his throat and says, “What kind of dork says the word ‘ergo’,” and laughs when Will sticks out his tongue. He reminds his baby brother to chew with his mouth closed and keep his elbows off the table, lest his mama kick his ass, and forces himself to focus on the way he leans into Lee’s side as he eats; to memorize the wideness of his unburdened smile.

———

“I’m allergic to lying?!”

“Seems like it,” Lee confirms, closing one eye to line up a shot. He breathes in, holds, then exhales, letting the arrow loose. It hits the bullseye, but not quite as centred as he’d like it to be. Shoot. He sets down his bow, and Will runs off, scooping up the volley and running back with them.

(Gods, Lee loves having a little brother.)

“That’s not a real allergy,” he huffs, placing an arrow in Lee’s waiting hand. “The ten most common allergy types are foods, animals, pollen, mold, dust mites, medications, latex, insect stings, cockroaches, and perfumes or household chemicals. Other allergens are rare but not impossible, but all are a result of physical stimuli. An allergy to a concept or person is a figure of speech.”

Lee squints at him. “Do you know what ‘stimuli’ means?”

“No.”

“It means a thing that evokes a specific reaction. Where’d you read that?”

“‘The Flu, The Plague, and the Common Cold — How We Are Shaped By Reacting’ by Phyllis Ledger.”

“Huh.”

He lines up another arrow — closer to the centre, this time. Good enough.

They don’t learn a lot about paediatric care at camp, or really anything outside of first aid and emergency services, but he’s pretty sure that normal eight-year-olds don’t read and memorize medical textbooks in their spare time. Is he supposed to nurture that? He has no idea how to nurture that.

It’s kinda funny, though. Cute.

“How can I be allergic to lying if that’s impossible?”

“Is sewing a severed arm back on a person using magical nectar and singing songs possible?”

Will pauses, considering. “Okay. I guess so.” He waits, letting Lee focus to make another shot. “I still think it’s stupid. Are you allergic to lying?”

“Nope.”

“Is Cass?”

“Negative.”

“Michael?”

Lee scoffs. “If Michael was allergic to lying, he would be dead.”

“Is anyone else allergic to lying?”

“Nope.” This time, the arrow lands in the dead centre — finally. “Just you, kiddo.”

He’s heard, of course, of children of Apollo afflicted with such an inconvenience before. Their dad is the god of truth, after all. It’s bound to happen.

Will frowns. “What are the parameters?”

Lee glances curiously at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what is lying? Am I allergic to lying, or not telling the truth? They’re different, you know.” He fidgets with the last arrow of the volley, picking at the tail. “Am I gonna get hives if I say something that’s not true, even if I think it’s true? What if I say something that’s a lie but everyone believes it’s true, like when people believed smoking was good for you?” He gasps, looking at Lee with wide, worried eyes. “Oh my gods, am I allowed to be sarcastic?”

Lee tries his very best to hold back his laughter. He is obviously unsuccessful, because Will scowls, shoving him as hard as he can and throwing off his last shot.

“It’s not funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Lee snickers, jogging down the range to gather his arrows. He slides them into the quiver, tossing it and his bow onto the equipment deck. “You’re very adorable when you’re mad. You get all —” he pokes Will’s dimpled cheeks, grinning when it makes him smile — “pouty and red. Like Tinkerbell.”

“You’re mean. You’re a horrible mean big brother and I want Beckendorf to adopt me instead.”

“I’ll let him know,” Lee says drily. “C’mon, kid. There’re cabin inspections tonight; I know you got Lego everywhere. Time to clean up. I swear, if we get Castor again I’m gonna —”

“Oh, I didn’t see you guys! I hope I’m not interrupting your practice.”

Lee stumbles. “— lose it.” He trails off weakly “Hey, Carter.”

The son of Athena smiles widely, dark eyes twinkling. His front tooth is just slightly crooked, and Lee finds himself staring at it.

“Hi, Lee.”

Lee wonders, briefly, if he has suddenly developed tachycardia. It certainly feels like it. He remembers something Will had rattled off during lunch yesterday — hummingbirds don’t actually hum, they just beat their wings thousands of times per minute, often in sync with their heart. Lee feels a strange kinship with the little birds right about now.

Will clears his throat loudly.

Carter startles. “Oh! Oh, hi, Will, I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Will squints suspiciously. “Uh-huh.”

“I was just hoping to use the archery range, if you’re done with it.” He tucks a lock behind his ear. “Or, um. We can share, if you want.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” Lee rushes to assure, “I actually just finished, so I’m all — it! It’s all yours!” He clears his throat, sure his face is flaming. “Uh, take it away! Shoot straight!”

Mortified, he clamps his hands on Will’s shoulders and practically shoves him forward, rushing away as fast as is socially acceptable.

“Okay,” Carter calls out behind him, audibly confused. “See you around, Lee.”

Lee makes some sort of horrible, crackling chucking sound. “Right-o!”

Just bury him. Really.

“Smooth,” Will mutters, the second they’re out of earshot. Then he pauses, delighted. “Hey! I can still be sarcastic!”

Lee flicks him on the forehead, scowling. “Shut up.”

———

“— it just seems so vague, right? I mean, say I look at the sky and say, the sky is green. That’s obviously not true. But what if I think it’s true? Or what if I think blue is green, and green is blue? Am I being truthful? Is truth defined by my belief, or by whoever I’m speaking to? Or some arbitrary, so-called objective standard? And what if —”

“Will,” Lee begs, hands pressed to his rapidly-pulsating temples, “for the love of Zeus, please settle down.”

“I can’t,” he says dramatically. He gets another couple jumps on his (FRESHLY MADE) bed before Lee gets fed up an wallops him with a pillow, sending him tumbling with a shriek. “Child abuse! I’m telling Chiron!” He makes a pleased noise. “Hey, I can still exaggerate! I wonder if acting is considered lying —”

“I am going to lose my mind.”

“— and what about, like, withholding the truth? Like, for example, if you asked me, hey, Will, did I make a big embarrassing fool out of myself in front of Carter this morning, and I do not say yeah, totally, I was embarrassed for you —”

“That’s it.”

Lee pounces on him, murderous, digging his fingers into his brother’s sides as he shrieks with laughter, pinning down his arms so he can’t writhe away.

“Mercy! Mercy! I’m sorry, I’m —”

“You’re literally lying right now!” Lee says in disbelief. “I can see your eyes reddening!”

Luckily, the reaction isn’t so severe this time. Maybe it’s a smaller lie, leaning more into teasing than anything, or maybe even the universe can’t be so cruel when faced with Will’s giggles. Either way, Lee tickles him until he’s begging for mercy for real, gasping as he darts away.

“You’re such a brat,” Lee says fondly, catching his breath.

Will sticks out his tongue. “Nuh uh.”

“Get over here, doofus. It’s nine o’clock. You were supposed to be in bed a half-hour ago, I’ll tell you a story.”

Predictably, that gets him quiet, clambering over the mussed sheets and shoving himself into Lee’s side, leg sprawled over his knees and chin digging into his chest. Big blue eyes turn to him with attention, wider than the sea and skies, sparkling, clear with open trust. The lump surfaces in Lee’s throat again, and he brings his hands up to smooth down Will’s hair, distracting himself by untangling the many knots.

“One day,” he begins, voice a little wobbly, “there was a boy.”

“In a galaxy far far away?”

“No. Shut up.”

Will pouts. Lee kisses him on the forehead.

“There was a regular boy on regular Earth. And he was small and clumsy, because his brain was too big for his body and threw him off balance.”

“That’s called a Chiari malformation.”

“William Andrew.”

“Sorry.”

“Gods. Anyways. The boy.” He clears his throat. “The boy was the most curious boy to ever exist. He would observe things, with his big eyes, for hours, trying to figure out how everything in the whole world worked. He’d memorized how every creature in the pond worked together when he was four years old. By the time he was five he could speak frog, and dance with the fireflies.”

Will giggles. “A boy can’t speak frog, that’s ridiculous. Can the frog speak back?”

“Shhh. Listening ears. One day, when the boy was eight, he got very bored by his house, even with the pretty pond. The frogs were too busy to play with him and the fireflies had flown off to work, so he decided to go on an adventure.”

“A quest?”

“Yes, exactly. A quest for knowledge. He decided he would learn every piece of information possible so that one day he could bring it back to his village and share it with everybody. Do you know what happened?”

“What?”

“He was successful. He spent many years travelling and observing and running from monsters to get all the information he could. And when he came back to the village, the people saw that he was kind and intelligent but very naive, so they sucked out all the knowledge from his head to use for themselves and he died. The end.”

“What? No!” Will pushes himself upright, unfortunately putting his entire weight on Lee’s spleen, jaw dropped in outrage. “That’s a horrible story! You can’t end the story like that!”

“My story,” Lee wheezes. “I can end it however I want.”

“Tell it better!”

“Fine, fine. Get off my organs.”

When Will is settled again, curled in the crook of Lee’s arm and glaring at him suspiciously, Lee continues.

“The villagers didn’t kill the boy. You’re right. But they weren’t very careful with them, either. The boy wanted very much to help, so much that it was sometimes all he could think about. And the villagers didn’t mean to, but they treated the boy like he was a knowledge machine — taking and taking and taking, forgetting to give back, to check on him. One day, the boy was so drained of knowledge that he collapsed.”

“Of stress-induced exhaustion?” Will asks softly. His eyes, finally, have begun to droop.

Lee smiles. “Something like that.”

“Then what happened?”

“The villagers panicked, because the boy wasn’t awake to tell them how to fix him. They didn’t know what to do. Some of them, even, didn’t know why he collapsed at all, they thought he might be cursed and didn’t like him anymore.”

“But he wasn’t cursed, he was sick!”

“That’s right. He was sick, because he didn’t stop to take care of himself. He let people take too much without making sure he had enough to stay whole.”

For a long time, long enough that Lee thinks he’s asleep, Will doesn’t say anything. And then he says, in a very small voice, “Does the boy still die?”

“No,” Lee whispers, tightening his hold. “His big brother comes back from a long trip and heals him. And then he yells are the villagers for making him sick, and makes them promise to be more careful. The end. For real this time.”

“I like the second story better,” Will says. “It’s good that he had his big brother there.”

“Always.” Lee swallows, shifting once Will’s eyes flutter shut, sliding him under the covers. “Always, kiddo.”

#thinking about what could have been and sobbing on my hands and knees on the ground #something something the children of prophecy know which of them is going to live something something #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #will solace #will solace angst #lee fletcher #will solace & lee fletcher #i don’t know how else to tag this but like. pain #my writing #fic #longpost #baby will #baby will solace #kid will solace #smart will solace

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voxmortuus · 10 months

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Yooo! Lol I’m here to make a small request maybe just to see how you think Hannibal would handle a situation lol like literally just a Drabble would be fine 🫶🏼

Alright, what would he say if his S/O (male pref) asked him “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Bonus points if his S/O asks stupid questions like this all the time so he’s used to it, LMAO poor Hannibal

►PAIRING: Hannibal X Male!Reader ►UNIVERSE: Hannibal ►WORDS: 1.6k ►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above. ►TRIGGER WARNINGS: No warnings | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list. ►NOTE: Hannibal and Hannibal Character requests are closed. All other requests are open. Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision. ►DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa

"No. I gotta know! If I was a worm, would you still love me?" you ask.

Shaking his head with a chuckle he thinks a moment. "But what if I was a bird, I'd eat the worm."

"That's not the question nor a valid answer."

"Oh but it is, what if I was the bird that ate the worm."

"You're no fun." you pout a moment.

He chuckles and he watches you a moment. Putting some thought into it he tilts his head. "Well I'd make sure you'd have a nice little compost pile... only the best foods."

"That's better. So, how do you think you'd handle me if I was a puddle of putty?" you ask.

He tilts his head and shakes it again with a slight chuckle. "Where are these questions coming from?" he asked you.

With a rather proud smile. "They came from my brain place. Now. Back to the putty question."

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baldurs-gape · 2 months

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Worry Worms

A little shared fact about the party was that the worms were in communication with each other. Even with the Emperor's protection, the group were bound in a way, their worms connected to each other. Sometimes it was awkward, other times funny and sometimes frustrating. Yet the worst were the moments where flashes of the past and the pain it held flashed through the group.

The first signs of a shared existence were the pang of hunger. It wasn't obvious to start with, everyone migrated to the supply packs for snacks and ate with more gusto. Yet the hunger was left unsated. Bickering turned to annoyed disagreements and huffy sulks. Lae'zel refused to even look at Shadowheart over the simple fact that the berries they'd had stashed away were now mixed with nuts.

"Perhaps we ought to ask Astarion to feed?" Wyll muttered to Karlach quietly. "It's driving me insane."

"Urgh, yes. I can't eat another mouthful but I'm still starving. Is this what being a vampire is like?"

"Like what?" Astarion sauntered up to them, thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth as though wiping away the last dribbles of blood after feeding.

An awkward silence held them all in suspense until Wyll cleared his throat. "This hunger. Is this your day to day experience?"

Of all the thing they expected, an honest laugh was not on the list. Astarion wasn't even mocking them, he was genuinely tickled by the question.

"Darling, this hunger isn't mine. It has been dogging me as much as you by the sounds of it."

Which just left one real suspect. The one who had been most graceful at handling the sudden affliction. That evening Gale sheepishly admitted to his affliction. Once he'd consumed a locket, the hunger faded from all their minds.

If only things could be as simple. For a while it seemed like it was. The weather was gorgeous, sun bright and hot. It burned fiercely as they wandered along their path. Armour was slowly stripped, so were clothes where possible. Any stream they crossed, most of them dipped into it with sighs of relief.

"It's hot as the hells themselves." Wyll was neck deep in a clear pool, eyes closed and head tipped back.

Looking around at the various states of undress and sweatiness, Karlach gnawed at her bottom lip.

"Literally. The old engine's been getting a bit too much. My bad."

"This is your doing?" Astarion whirled to look at her. "I haven't felt like this in two hundred years!" Despite not sweating like the others, his hair looked a little lacklustre and flat compared to its usual near-perfection.

"As I said-"

"Don't. I've missed this. Don't change."

Karlach's mouth snapped shut as she nodded and made a mental note to maybe linger closer to Astarion on nights where he looked more cold and alone.

Their adventures carried on. They bore the shared echoes of neck pain and head aches as Wyll got used to his new horns. Gale's mage hand was perfect to for those who preferred not to be touched and Karlach was more than happy to put her rather warm hands to good use too. Given her own horn, she was all too familiar with what muscles could cramp and hurt. Wyll was especially grateful for such knowledge.

Along the way they collected Halsin who was more than happy to tag along on the quest. Nobody was tactless enough to mention how he and Astarion gravitated towards each other, circling in tighter and tigther circles. They all pretended to believe Halsin's reasons were purely altruistic and maybe with a small amount of desire to learn. Nor did anyone mention that Astarion's tent had a tendency to be set up and then abandoned as he spent nights in Halsin's. It was a small comfort and they all knew they needed as much of that as they could get.

Nights tended to be rather monotonous. Once dinner had been eaten, they all drifted off to their respective tents for rest. Sleep came easy enough, so did the nightmares. Flashes of pain and terror. Revulsion and depseration. Hopelessness that hollowed out everything which was only filled by fear tamped rage. Lae'zel was the first to wake, cursing Shar and all she made her followers endure. Determined to wake Shadowheart, she left her tent. Only, Shadowheart was already by the dwindling fire, haggard and scratching at her back.

"Is this not the doing of your goddess?"

"She's much more thorough in taking the memories." The disdain in Shadowheart's voice was a blanket to hide her own discomfort. While awake, the flashes from the worm were no less distressing but the light of the fire helped a little.

"So who-"

Gale stumbled out of his tent and retched as a particularly sordid kind of pain echoed through them all. They all shivered in unison at it.

"We need to wake him." Even as he spoke, the worm allowed more memories to play out in their minds. "He wouldn't want us to know this."

"I don't want to know this," Karlach's voice joined. Next to her, Wyll looked harrowed.

As one they traipsed to the edge of camp where Halsin's tent had been set up. He was dozing, curled around Astarion with a smile on his lips.

"Hush, he's finally trancing." Warm pride made Halsin's words drip with affection. "Said he'd not done it since before being turned."

"With good reason. Wake him up." Wyll winced as new pains from relieved memories curled through him.

Resisting, Halsin watched the group and pulled Astarion into a protective embrace. The broke 'please' from Gale was what did it in the end.

It didn't take much more than a gentle brush of lips to his forehead and Astarion blinked awake. His worm silenced but not before a flash of panic could be felt by all as he stared up at the gathered group.

"I know I'm in high demand, but could we keep it to one or two at a time so I can make sure you all have a good time?"

If only it had been a joke. Before it would have been taken as one. Now though, the truth of his fawning in face of fear was all too easy to see.

"We just-" Gale seemed at a loss for words.

"They wanted to wish you a good night," Halsin helped out, even though he still wasn't quite sure what was going on. "And to make sure you're okay."

Tight blankness smoothed out Astarion's expression. He knew the others saw the memories his trance he brought to life. "Was I-" breaking off, he steeled himself, "Did I make noise to wake you all?"

"You were very peaceful, little heart." Halsin smiled at him and tucked him back against his chest. "Rest some more. I'm sure the rest of this conversation can wait until the morning."

Dismissed, the others filed out of the tent. They didn't sleep easy, kept up by the nightmare fuel of what they'd seen. At least Astarion didn't trance again so no more memories bled through into their shared connection. Come morning, nobody said anything. But if they were a little more gentle with Astarion after that, that was their own business and nobody else's.

#halstarion #astarion/halsin #astarion x halsin #astarion #bg3 astarion #halsin #bg3 halsin #gale dekarios #wyll ravengard #karlach #shadowheart #baldur's gate 3 #bg3

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nanaminsmoon · 9 months

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𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝.

A/N: i started this last night because i was listening to this song before i went to sleep:))

mdni. nsfw.

cw; oral (fem receiving), just cute domestic vibes.

wc: 1306

on those days where you need peace of mind, best believe ony will help you get it. you'd shuffle around first thing in the morning, to find your bed empty. but before you can call for your boyfriend, your weary body would fall back into deep slumber. the next time you woke up, it'd be to your boyfriend beside you. black durag tied around his head as he sat leaning against the headboard, fingers mindlessly scrolled through his phone. he'd notice your waking form, and his soft hand would stroke your cheek.

“you awake?”, he would ask you softly, and you'd respond with a sleepy hum.

as soon as you got up to go brush your teeth, he'd open the curtains and windows and light some incense in your room—cleansing out all the negative energy. when you came out of the bathroom, you'd see him making the bed and your favourite tea sat on the nightstand.

“where would i be without you, baby?”, you would pout, a hand to your chest as you walked over to your man to give him a kiss. you'd almost forget all your worries when your hands brushed against his toned abdomen. almost. but once everything flooded back, a wince would selfishly contort your features, and you'd pull back from him. ony would understand that it isn't him, he could see it in your face. and he had heard it fall from your lips last night when you cried to him about it. tears slipping onto his bare chest as you told him everything that was on your mind. last night, he had held you and whispered words of comfort onto your soft brown skin.

and now, he was washing your hair and massaging your scalp as ‘piece of mind’ by lauryn hill played in the background. a hand at the top of your forehead to ensure the shampoo didn’t get in your eyes. his trimmed fingertips moving in gentle circles all over your scalp as he hummed to the music playing. you wouldn’t have to move a muscle because, once he was done, he’d get a towel and wrap it around your head. then he’d carry you, bridal style, around the bathroom. you’d act as his arms, reaching for all your products, brushes, and combs. your final destination would be the living room.

“you're good, baby, i got you”, he spoke above you, as you sat in between his legs—cushion underneath you, as you watched whatever show you had picked to put on the tv. there’d be times where he'd randomly tell you to face up, then he'd place an amorous kiss atop your forehead.

he'd apply all your oils and leave in conditioners and even put your hair in twists for you. even putting on your pink bonnet for you once he was done. and his services were always delivered with a kiss on your lips. but this one was longer; not an ounce of lust was present, he just wanted to love on you. ony cared about you more than he did himself. whenever you had bad days, he just did what you needed of him. he didn't rush you—as much as he hated seeing you unlike your usual, smiley, self. no longer asking him dumb questions like ‘would you love me if i was a worm?’ or ‘who you saving first if we're drowning, me or connie?’ (you are the answer every single time). he missed your laugh, and the way you'd roll your eyes at him slapping your ass, even though you loved it. he even missed the way you’d ask to slap his ‘as payback’. but he couldn't rush you. he let you sit in whatever you were feeling and was the steady hand you reached for on your way up.

you'd soon find out that he had disappeared this morning to make you your favourite breakfast, and you ate it fighting back tears. an outpour caused by an overload of emotions from both the situation you were facing, and the love ony was feeding you. literally.

“you can let it all out, ma”, you were sat on the sofa, and he pulled the tray of food onto the coffee table, before pulling you onto his lap. your head tucked into the crook of his neck.

“holding it isn't gonna help you. let it all go, i'm here, you'll be okay.”, and that was all you needed for the flood gates to be knocked down and for you to just bawl onto his bare chest. again.

ony would comfort you, and put you back in bed when the emotions hurled you into another deep slumber. when you woke up, he'd be showered and changed into a white tank top and grey shorts, his signature gold chains around his neck. he hadn't noticed you walking into the kitchen, too busy making your lunch. until he felt arms wrap around his torso.

“why you got a shirt on?”, you'd pout, your words muffled as your cheeks pressed against his back.

“’d it make you feel better if i took it off?”, he chuckled, and you nodded furiously. so he did. he moved your arms, reached behind him, and pulled it over his head. placing it on the kitchen island once it was off. his torso wouldn't be bare for long before you covered it in shimmery, glossed kisses.

he would notice how you're looking at him during lunch, but he'd pay it no mind. he didn't like having sex when you weren't feeling like yourself—it didn't feel right. but when you would beg him that way you always did, affirming it would lift your mood, he would carry you to your shared bedroom. you would be lightly placed on the bed before your panties were slid off, and his hands were wrapped around your thighs, his tongue slowly travelling between your folds. your wetness would gloss his lower face, and the soft incantations you let out would bring a smile to his face. although he needed you more then anything, for now, he would just have to stick to rubbing himself through his shorts.

that man would draw three orgasms from you using only his mouth and fingers. then, as he gave you your post-nut cuddles, an alarm would ring in his head. telling him that he had yet to make you dinner. you’d suggest ordering some food, but he’d decline. on days like these, he wanted to make you something himself. he wanted to feed you something infused with his love for you. something homemade he knew was good for you, not something he said would make you feel ��sluggish’. you’d accompany him in the kitchen and, at first, he’d refuse your offers to help.

”this is for you, baby. all you should have to do is eat”, he’d tell you, pressing another kiss to your temple. but you’d press on, saying that it made you feel useful. so he’d accept; it’s your day, whatever you want, you’ll get. just like any other day.

food made, and eaten, the rest of the evening would consist of ony doing whatever it takes for you to feel better. movies, long conversations, music, dancing to slow songs in the living room with your sunset lamp creating the perfect mood lighting. if it made you smile, it made ony smile too. his friends would call him extra, but he just loves you. and knowing you feel extra loved when you're at your lowest gives him some peace of mind.

#nanaminsmooninc #Spotify #ony x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon x black reader #aot onyankopon #aot x black y/n #aot x black reader

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mucherbuncher · 2 months

Text

Daryl x Reader

daryl x reader fic

requested by my mutual

this is my first time actually writing a one shot on tumblr and honestly i’m so exited. i’m still tryna figure out this app bc i literally downloaded it feb. 7th so plz forgive me i’m just a girl. also ignore that none of the “i”s are capitalized i really don’t care.

HOW DO YALL CHECK THAT WORD COUNT??

no warnings other than talking about eating sun disgusting ass food

if i do a part two there’ll be sm!t 🫣

I drew into the dirt absentmindedly with my fingers, bored out of my goddamn mind while Daryl cooks a snake over the fire. I didn’t look at it, because as queasy as i already was from hunger i wasn’t gonna make it worse. I had already eaten a few worms yesterday, something i’d never thought i would’ve done. To be honest, it was Daryl’s idea.

I had been doing everything to stay by his side after the prison fell, including silently obeying him and following him around like a lost puppy. I probably could survive on my own, but having someone by my side made it way easier. I got lucky being stuck with him, at least in the survival sense. Emotionally, or even socially, he was on airplane mode. He barely spoke, barely even looked at me. I didn’t mind it so much for a day or two, but it’s about to be day four. I couldn’t take it anymore.

He used his dirty knife to cut the snake in half, then peeled the skin off. It sorta reminded me of those giant gummy worms that you could get at a candy store, except pink and charred with visible bones.

“Here.” He reached across the small fire to hand me it. I looked up in disgust, hesitantly reaching out to eat the… thing.

It was chewy, like a well done steak. It didn’t taste like that though. It tasted pretty earthy, almost like a bug or something. The closest thing i can compare it too was grasshopper flavored fish. Wow, so appetizing.

I ate my entire half, and ripping off a small piece of rib bone from the spine to clean my teeth. I stared into the fire, like Daryl did. I used the back of my hand to wipe my mouth, unfortunately only spreading more dirt onto my face. Daryl looked about the same.

“What are we doing?” I blurted out, my voice a little hoarse from not talking all day.

Daryl looked up from the fire, staring at me blankly. His eyes practically glowed that pretty steel blue color, and I already felt slightly unnerved from his stare.

“Are we even gonna try to look for anyone, or are we just gonna keep running everyday?” I continued on, my voice growing stronger as I felt more emotions setting in.

“No point.” He grunted after a few seconds of silence.

“But there is. We need the rest of the group, they could all be still alive, together, maybe.”

“Look around, do ya see anyone waitin for us?” He spat, his voice getting a little louder.

“Your a tracker, so track.” I hissed, my eyes narrowed as i felt more and more frustrated with this man.

“Fine. Get yer ass up.” Before I could even think or retort back, He grabbed his crossbow and started kicking dirt into our little fire.

“Daryl, it’s dark…” I muttered, suddenly feeling small at the way he’s acting so pissed.

“This whatchu want, right?” He grabs my arm and yanks me upwards, and I stumble a little before tearing my arm back.

“Stop. Stop it right now.” I stare into his eyes, clenching my jaw a little in anger.

He starts pacing, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He’s trying to hide his face from me.

“There ain’t no point… what if- what if they’re all gone? I can’t… i won’t…” He wipes his eyes with the back of his arm, and i realize, he’s fucking crying. I can handle children crying, even other girls. But when a grown man cries… it makes me want to start sobbing.

My heart sinks and i feel an awful twinge in my stomach. I shouldn’t have pushed him. Fuck me…

“Hey…” My mouth has gone dry, i’m not totally sure what to do here. With the fire gone, and only the moonlight to allow me to see his face, im struggling.

“S’ not… I don’t know what to do.” He chokes a little, and that was my final straw. I pull him in towards me, grabbing his huge tan arms gently. I take the back of his head and put it against my neck, rubbing his back gently. His hands fall limply at his sides as he gives up.

“S’ gonna be alright. We can start lookin tomorrow, alright? You’ve got me. I’m here.” I speak softly and slowly as i reassure him. I’m hoping i’m saying all the right things. He wraps his arms around my waist tightly, restricting my breathing a little.

I hold him there for a long time, rubbing his back slowly as he silent cries into my shoulder. It felt right, comforting him. I was good at it. He needed this badly, and i hoped my optimism would rub off on him.

I pull his head off my shoulder, cupping his face in my hands. They look tiny here, holding him like this. I wipe some of the tears off his pretty face with my thumbs. His eyes bore into the ground, not meeting mine. I knew he felt embarrassed, but it was just the two of us. I wasn’t going to tell a single soul, nobody could make me spill his secrets even through torture.

I brush away some of his greasy brown hair, kissing his forehead gently. His eyes snapped up to meet mine. Shit… was that too much? I force myself to keep a calm expression, gazing at his puffy red eyes.

“M’ gonna start the fire again, okay?” I say gently. He nods, taking a step back and sitting down on the ground.

I fumble the lighter a little in my hands as i grab the kindling, and a small flame peeks through. i slowly start adding more fuel, until a steady flame is going. I scoot back to sit next to Daryl again, gently guiding his body down until his head is resting on my lap.

“C’mere.”

His huge body weighs down on my thigh, but I honestly didn’t care at all. I brushed my fingers through his messy hair, careful to not tug on any knots as i did so. He looked sorta beautiful like this.

Wait what the fuck. My mind started racing. This man was easily forty years old, covered in dirt and sweat and walker blood. Id known him and treated him like a friend for nearly two years now, but now… I treated him as if he was glass. He probably felt like it, broken after standing strong against all the hardship he’s faced his whole life. I knew bits and pieces, how he depended on Merle since he couldn’t rely on his shitty dad. His mom has been gone since he was a child.

I needed to be here for him. He’s become my protector, but I, a young woman, cared for him in a way i hadn’t for anyone else in a long time.

His chest rose and fell peacefully, and I knew he was starting to fall asleep. There wasn’t much to protect us from the elements other than a small wool blanket we’d been sharing for the past few days. I grabbed my bag, and carefully moved his head off my thighs to rest on the bag instead. I stepped around his body and curled up against his chest, making myself little spoon. I grabbed his crossbow, curling that close to my body just in case. I felt his arm swing around me, pulling me just a bit closer than i already was.

“Ya okay here?” He asked, speaking softly into my ear.

“Mhm.” His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine. I closed my eyes, smiling just a little. What a funny man.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #daryl x female reader #daryl dixion x reader

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lunchboxpoems · 1 year

Text

you up?

you think food would taste different

if you ate it underwater? how long you

think magic hour lasts for on neptune?

what do you think cellulite would look

like on fish? can you believe olives are

a fruit? you ever notice that OM is, okay,

yes, the sound of the universe, but also

the sound literally every little kid makes

when speaking into a fan?

you up? you ever think about how

english maybe isn’t our first language?

the way I’m sitting right now is my

first language. the way I bring my

hand to your jawline is my first language. the

way I become movement inside

your hands is my first language.

you up? did your mom ever make you

talk to shit? my mom imbued life into

every corner and crumb of my small

world, and now as an adult woman

my heart breaks every time I find

an empty snail shell, or for the worms

on rainy mornings who aren’t going

to have enough time to make it to

the other side of the driveway.

you up? you ever feel like when you

fall in love it’s just this feeling of

having known someone before,

but also of wanting to find out

how much time you can kill

counting the pockets and handles

you can make together with your

bodies? there’s the age-old that goes

love is forgetting about death but

when I’m with you I also

forget about the internet.

you up? how do you arrange your

apps, by the way? what’s your

favorite shade of blue? sometimes

when men talk about themselves I

like to imagine I’m transcribing their

monologues in my head and I like

to picture how many page breaks

I have to make. I file them into a mental

folder called brief interviews with hideous

men. but with you I would take the things

you say and I would stick them inside a

leaf book. did I ever tell you about the time

a dude asked me to be his scribe for him?

you up? why are people who love

each other still sending each other

heart emojis when there’s the shooting

star emoji? the sunset on the horizon emoji?

I want to trace an excel sheet over your

body and share it with you on google

drive. I want to do with you what

night does to the smell of the

ground by morning.

RACHELLE TOARMINO

#rachelle toarmino #poem #poetry #you up?

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sapphixxx · 2 months

Text

Signalis, Authority, and History

There's a level of nuance to how Signalis presents the violence of the authority of the nation that doesn't call attention to itself but which I really appreciate. Which is basically just, all the officers and cops and spies who make life hell for people like the Gestalt mine workers, Ariane, and the Itou family--we get little glimpses into who they are in Adler and Kolibri's diaries and despite the propaganda and the authoritative tone they take in official communications, for the most part they don't seem to actually be particularly invested in the hard line of national ideology. They uphold it though, viciously, both because things were worse under imperial rule (we don't get hard details on what it was like but it's mentioned in passing enough that I believe it) and because they're scared that if they don't they will be decommissioned and easily replaced. They are literally stamped out of a production line after all. There's a subtext of well, if I don't do it my replacement will anyway and I'm not trying to die so what's the point of rocking the boat?

I think Kolibri stands out to me most clearly on this because in communications from the block warden regarding Ariane there is emphasis put on how it is unacceptable and suspicious that she should be so interested and invested in art and literature that does not serve the purpose of furthering the goals of the nation. But we know that Kolibris themselves are bookworms, Adlers are fiends for stimulating experiences, and both get miserable FAST when deprived of art and puzzles and entertainment and hobbies. Y'know, just like anyone. Far be it from being a paragon of The Nation only interested in productive labor, we are reminded that the block warden, too, hates this shitty town and wants to transfer but is denied. They're hypocrites, but not monsters, nor brainwashed puppets of the state.

The monstrousness at play is not contained within any particular subset of evil individuals, or even an inherent universal force of evil contained in the broad notion of The Nation. There is no cosmic evil force that makes them all do these things to each other. The monstrousness is within the social systems, the mechanisms of how authority perpetuates on a structural procedural level, held in place by fear and tangible threats of violence, each link in the chain restraining the next through those threats out of fear that if they don't, then they'll be next. Regardless how many, if any, of those people in this chain are true dogmatic hardliners, they must act as such because failing to do so opens them up to danger.

Here then I think of the quote that is so prominent, "Great holes secretly are digged where earth’s pores ought to suffice, and things have learnt to walk that ought to crawl", from Lovecraft's The Festival. This is not just a chilling abstract visual that conveniently evokes a mineshaft-- in Lovecraft's story, this line refers to worms which ate the decomposing bodies of wizards whose wretched souls had remained after death, complete with the terrible powers they gained through contracts with demons. Those worms inherited both their power, and also the evil. The Nation, despite having overthrown the Empire, is built on imperial technology, in particular Replikas and bioresonance. So too, then, we can imply that The Nation inherited with those things some of the monstrousness of The Empire as well. There is no end of history, nor clean break with the past, no matter how violently it may seem to be rejected. That which remains from the past--and something inevitably always does--creates the present.

This is a game that is not shy about evoking East Germany. And I think all of this provides a sophisticated picture of repressive authority that we rarely see in fiction of the English speaking world, especially in games. The year the S23 incident takes place is notably 84, but, frankly, I find this to be more compelling and illustrative than 1984 (and I'm a librarian and have taught English classes so I get to say that). Orwell, let's be honest, presents a fairly one dimensional picture of authority, where people seize power and wield it against others out of seeming mustache twirling evil or malice.

Here though we get a more humanistic view. Authority did not come from nowhere and is not wielded arbitrarily out of gleeful cruelty or mindless brainwashed allegiance. People aren't "just following orders". Individuals have rich inner lives. They make decisions, and those decisions are based in the context they're in. Even the decision to carry repressive tools of the past into the present is a decision that was made strategically with the big picture in mind. Nobody woke up and decided to be evil that day. Everyone operates on self interest, and, we must assume, an earnest desire for things to get better. Even the [spoiler] program which served as an inspirational demonstration of The Nation's power, you can imagine the chain of officers and bureaucrats who genuinely wanted the people of the nation to believe in the future, to confidently trust that everyone was working together towards something great and beautiful. And, through a long chain of those people who couldn't say "No" without being decommissioned, we ended up with something unbelievably cruel.

We get to know Adler and Kolibri and the other officers not to say well they're human too, maybe it wasn't so bad that they condemned all those people to agonizing suffering, but to remember that if we keep looking for true monsters we will not find them. There are no monsters and there are no demons. There are only people making decisions. A better world is possible. A better world, where Adler is just a paper pusher who does puzzles after work instead of signing papers to authorize torture, where Kolibris are librarians instead of spies and cops, where EULEs can gossip and play piano and ARARs can do maintenance on facilities that don't contain torture rooms, is one that would not have led to the Ariane and Elster's tragic cycle and ultimate end.

Authority and its attendant cruelty is not contained, radiating forth from The Great Revolutionary and Her Daughter, it is within the social systems of control. When those two women die, that cruelty will continue so long as those social systems continue. Like Lovecraft's worms, no matter how long dead the evil of the past is, so long as it continues to be fed upon, that evil will not only remain, but evolve into something new in the present. A better world can't be achieved through the death of the old world alone, even if violent overthrow is warranted. There is no end of history. There is no clean break from the past.

"Men make their own history, but they do not make it as they please; they do not make it under self-selected circumstances, but under circumstances existing already, given and transmitted from the past. The tradition of all dead generations weighs like a nightmare on the brains of the living."

Karl Marx, The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte

#Signalis #Didn't include everything because this is already very long #But there's a lot to add to this kind of reading from other former Eastern Bloc states that go beyond a kind of braindead #Simplistic Authoritarianism bad communism bad freedom good type of view common in the English speaking world #That go more into well what is authority and how does it work and how has it remained durable and violent before during and after the cold #The Romanian movie Bad Luck Banging is very good for this in expressing how things have been more similar than different #Under monarchy fascism communism and liberal democracy over the last 150 years there #replika joker voice maybe the real monster is SOCIETY #op #quality content

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autisticshadowthehedgehog · 10 months

Text

sconc middle names but me and cori are stupidt

last night me and cori got slap-happy and made a list of characters’ middle names so happy birthday sonic enjoy. tw catholicism jokes bc when we get slap happy we end up on that train

Sonic: His middle name is actually not Maurice. He won’t tell anyone what it is but it isn’t Maurice. Not in the “noooo it’s totally not ;)” way he legit doesnt know where anyone got that misconception from

Metal Sonic: His middle name IS Maurice. That’s where people got that misconception from

Tails: When he and sonic were filling out paperwork to make sure he legally existed Tails realized he didn’t know his middle name and could reasonably put “Tails.” Instead he put “Terminator”

rouge, losing it: oh my god are you serious tails: i was like five and thought it was cool sonic: you were right

Knuckles: He literally doesn’t care so once again when filling out paperwork he’s like.

knuckles: so i guess my last name would be my tribe shadow: the knuckles tribe? knuckles: yeah shadow: so you’re putting down knuckles knuckles knuckles: yeah probably shadow: so what’s your middle name? knuckles: well take a fucking guess buddy

Amy: Also picked her own name. Debated between “Amy” and “Rosy” for a while before sticking with “Amy Rose”– rose for the pretty flower she loves and its symbolism, “Amy” because it means “much loved” and she’s desperate for affection. and then she well. picked a middle name that sounded cool

shadow: oh my god tell me your middle name isn’t “terminator” too amy: oh my gosh no amy: amy: it’s velociraptor shadow: oh my god amy: JURASSIC PARK JUST CAME OUT I WAS HYPED

Shadow: We had two (2) options: #1.) It’s something extremely Catholic like Clementinus. It doesn’t fit his brand so he just doesn’t tell anyone. also he can’t pronounce it. #2.) It’s like a deep, guttural screech/roar. Everyone assumes it was Black Doom’s name for him but no that was Gerald’s idea actually

Rouge: Francisca. Shadow was like “oh something really catholic as well” “actually my family were very much not catholic that’s just a funny coincidence.”

Omega: Terminator. Stole the idea from Tails

Cream:

Blaze: She has like 48 middle names cause she’s royalty and they’re like that

Silver: “In the future we don’t have middle names. We ate them for sustenance.”

Vector: ALSO something extremely Catholic like Benedict or someshit

Espio: “A ninja’s secret name is to stay absolutely secret. It is the key to their identity. Their soul. None shall know of it.” He picked his own middle name and it was SasuNaru and he’s embarrassed about it.

Charmy: Vector named him so it is also EXTREMELY Catholic. Charmy cannot remember it. “It’s VALENTINE, Charmy!! It’s literally one of the easiest Saints to remember!! Saint VALENTINE!!” “look i made a necklace out of gummy worms :D”

Mighty: it’s something like super normal like Evan or Thomas

Ray: Sunshine :D

Fang: It’s actually Nack. whudda think

Bean: And similar to Fang, it’s ACTUALLY “Dynamite.” Did he name himself? You’ll never know.

Bark: Something super Russian like Vladimir

Big: Big has no middle name he has no last name he is too powerful for all of us

Tikal:

Tikal: yeah we didn’t have middle or surnames in my time. Closest was just “oh that’s Pachacamac’s kid.” Tails: Okay but you need a middle name for paperwork so pick something Tikal: Termi-- Knuckles: No. Tikal: Okay. Lesbian

Jet: Tony. you know why

Marine: It’s just literally “Australian”

Sticks: “Classified.” Everyone is like “oh geez Sticks ok” and don’t realize her middle name is literally Classified

Surge: When she got to pick hers she picked Azula for obvious reasons

Kit: He picked “Surge.”

Belle: Periwinkle

Sage: Ann Ima. believe it or not, that is also. Catholic™

Tekno: Terminator

#sth #sonic squad #mine

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sleepyiswhumping · 7 days

Text

(from da server :D)

"whump from the PoV of a literal worm whumpee"

(someone else) "I want a sequel to worm whumpee. Maybe there’s a spell to change him back, maybe caretaker puts him inside a little glass terrarium with soft soil, fresh moss, and an endless supply of leaves. I need a sequel to this crack fiction that nobody takes seriously 🥺"

"of course whumpee gets better! whormpee is still inside this fish that ate them after whumper used them as bait. caretaker gets the fish as a gift, and while cleaning it they find this still alive, suspicious acting worm. instead of freaking out or just lying there limp, whormpee actively nuzzles up to caretaker. caretaker finds this odd but cute and puts them in a terrarium. as they observe whormpee they notice they act way different from other worms, and their suspicions grow. they know whumper’s a dabbler in dark magic, so they take whormpee to another sorcerer to see if their suspicions are true. they are. caretaker then has to embark on a quest to retrieve the necessary material components for the spell that will revert whormpee back into whumpee. whormpee is living their best life in this terrarium, the dirt is clean and moist, keeping them healthy, the moss and mini plants grow beautifully, and whormpee munches on the bacteria in the dirt. when caretaker returns, whormpee is wriggling ecstatically, happy they’re back. they go to this sorcerer and perform the spell, and whormpee, who was resting in caretaker’s hand, is transformed back to their original self, whumpee, who is now being held, embarrassingly naked, in caretaker’s arms. sorcerer, being a nice person gives them spare clothes and whumpee and caretaker go home and, for the first time ever, they drop onto the couch in unison, caretaker leaning on whumpee. caretaker’s exhausted from their travels and whumpee’s exhausted from the transformation. they fall asleep lying against each other."

#whump #whump scenario #whump writing #whumpblr #whump community #whump prompt #whumpee #emotional whump #whump tropes #crack whump #whumpee x caretaker #(?)

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definitelynotshouting · 4 months

Note

i literally can't stop rotating hunger au worldbuilding and lore in my head. forgive me if you've ever touched on this in an ask before, but... re: the existential horror of being a parasite that has the sense of self of the host it ate. if one of grian's friends ever did get taken and used as a watcher larva host. how do you think he would feel about the watcher that came out the other side? would he want to see them as still the same person as his friend, or...?

Ive been staring at this ask since i got it with like. I need you to picture the most comically heartbroken expression right now okay. like this is me reading that and thinking about it in great and terrible detail:

Gods he would be devastated if this ever happened. He knows what thats like. He knows just how much it hurts-- and that its not a hurt that can be quantified, because its just that intense, that scalding, that encompassing of an experience to go through. I think, genuinely, Grian would be so utterly horrified and grief-stricken for whichever friend went through the Watcherification process that it would trump every other potential feeling on the list

But i think, ultimately, he would still view them as his friend, and treat them in the same way. There's a little bit of hypocrisy in Grian's character that i enjoy engaging with while writing him, and a good part of that in hunger au is centered around how he's firmly designated himself as the monster, and everybody else is the victim, and theres no room for nuance because he sucks and theyre the only people who are valid. When in reality, yes he hurt them, yes he did terrible and invasive things, but he did them out of pure survival rather than maliciousness, and that does make a subtle difference. And... hes not the only one who has fucked up, either!! The entire point of hunger au is how everyone has fumbled the bag in various ways and now they're all trying to clean it up together. Its just, yknow, Grian is so wrapped up in his own pain that he cant see those grey areas yet

And the thing is, if one of his friends got Watchered™, so to speak, and was standing in front of him, i think he would treat them with SO much compassion. Theyve been through possibly the worst thing anyone can experience and come out the other side-- at his core, Grian is i think a character who wants to do good, and do good by other people, and in this hypothetical that would translate into a lot of kindness he doesnt usually afford for himself. Honestly i think he'd spend the time trying to show them the ropes, get them set up in a better position than he found himself in, and provide his own fumbling emotional support as best he could, just out of sheer solidarity. Like, he gets it. He's been there. He may as well help out.

And i think he wouldnt even realize how hypocritical he's being until someone else pointed it out to him, about how he treats this friend with so much care but is simultaneously cruel to himself. I dont think he'd know how to handle that-- he's sort of dug himself a rut in the road with the way he thinks about and treats himself, and the cognitive dissonance would be really uncomfortable for him. Ultimately a good thing!!! Growth is often very uncomfortable. But imo Grian has a tendency to run from things like feelings of discomfort, so i think it'd take him a while to reconcile his previous ways of thinking with whats being presented in front of him essentially in the form of a mirror.

So uh. tl;dr: he'd be a little hypocrite about it and would feel a lot more compassionately inclined towards the friend than he does himself, and would try to help them out as best he could. Thank you for the incredible question that has given me the opportunity to rotate this worm at even higher speeds than usual inside my brainpan DKNFEKNDSKDJKDKD

#shouting speaks #asks #hunger au #compliments #theres also like. the factor that a lot of grian's self-hate stems from the games #he was always a bit unstable about his self-perception after he became a Watcher #but he wasnt as actively loathing himself until after the life games started #like he took GREAT pains to ''eat ethically'' and try to manufactor joy more than fear #which is why he starved. its harder to wrangle those emotions out of people than it is to shove them in a box; scare them; & eat the buffet #idk i have so many feelings about him as a character. oh hunger!grian my blorbo of blorbos. we're really in it now #txt

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