#and a bit of caretaking

[sky-snz]

soup has not happened in a while because I’ve been everywhere and down the kitchen sink.

I got a very nice request for a fic which I do have a draft for but I’m nervous bc it takes place in a hospital and I’m scared the details of the setting are inaccurate. like it’s inevitable - I haven’t worked in a medical setting since high school so I’m getting most of my inspiration from tv 🥲. the point is v much snz/denial lol. so once I get over that it’ll be up soon

[coniferouspines]

Stanley Pines is dying.

A good samaritan on the street found his unconscious body and decided to call an ambulance for him. Stan doesn’t remember everything that happened. He just knows that a few days and a multitude of tests later, he was unceremoniously diagnosed with a terminal illness in a random hospital in the middle of Oklahoma. Emphasis on terminal. The doctors tell him that without treatment, he has maybe two weeks to live.

Stan can’t afford treatment, nor the hospital bill he’s sure to be slapped with from his current stay. He sneaks out during the night shift and disappears. It’s one more debt added to the list but it’s not like it’s going to matter once he’s dead anyway. He finds the last place he left his car and spends the rest of the night awake in the backseat, wondering what he should do.

In the end, the conclusion is obvious: he wants to see his family. To say his final goodbyes to them in person. However, this brings a new dilemma. Stan’s family are all in different places. His parents in New Jersey, Shermie in California, and Stanford in Oregon. Stan, currently in Oklahoma, is stuck in the middle and with a decision to make.

He can’t visit them all. As much as he’d like to, Stan has neither the money, the gas, or the time to do so. He’d probably die before he could see all of them. He only has enough energy and resources to make it to one of them; he’ll have to be content with phone calls to the others to say his goodbyes.

When the morning comes, Stan gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine of the car. He sits there for a moment, just breathing deeply. He has to pick a family member to see in person before he dies, and he doesn’t have a lot time, so he has to choose quickly.

It was never really a question.

He chooses Ford.

AKA a terminally ill Stanley makes his way up to Gravity Falls, Oregon to reunite with his brother. He wants to say his goodbyes and apologies in person before he dies. He’s not happy about dying, but he doesn’t think he has much to live for anyway, so he accepts it. He just wants to make things right between himself and Ford before it happens so he can go without regrets.

Stanford is not expecting his estranged twin to randomly show up looking like he’s literally on death’s door. Nor is he approving of Stanley’s plan to seemingly just lay down and die. Good thing Stan came to him. Now he’s given Ford a chance to do something about it.

All current research and projects get shoved aside as Ford focuses everything he has on a new, single task: take care of Stanley and save his life.

(Amazing addition by tinfoil-jones here)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[whump-side]

"I'm here, you're safe now"

[hawnks]

I'm having this thought of Yuuta simply inserting himself into your life as Your Alpha. He doesn't ask, doesn't really even imply that he wants to be your alpha, one day he's just handing you a hoodie for your nest, he's talking to your boss about you having to take time off next month, he's making decisions about where and how you're going to spend your heat. Like you belong to him.

And, god help you, you're letting him.

[bvckbiter]

listen, lukelli could be so funny. all post ttc luke wants is to finally die, so when he sees a hot man-eater (literal) making moves on him his manwhore ass is like “you know what. might as well go out with a bang.” meanwhile kelli does very much want to eat this man (after getting to know him ofc. shes not a savage, she prefers to wine and dine her food). but unfortunately hecate and the titans have given explicit orders that luke castellan be kept alive, and if their little fling helps keep his mind away from offing himself, then she better keep wining and dining him. the entire time they’re together, luke is in agony because he wants to die and kelli is in agony because she cant kill him. but consequently they’re also matching each other’s freaks and having the most irresponsible cruise fling ever. when kelli kills that random demigod in seattle, notwithstanding luke’s upset at a wasted demigod life, his depressed brain is going “THAT SHOULDVE BEEN MEEEEEE,” which then leads into a whole thing of “ofc this was all about keeping me alive for the titans” in which he finally realizes hes truly got no one on his side. and by the time botl rolls around, kelli is just bummed that she’s lost her favorite boytoy bloodbag. she cant be caught kissing the geezer lord of the titans smh

[pinipig]

a doodle from months ago

[askthecaretakers]

chris! jenny!

i gotta say, it seems like hard work, taking care of the toons. so i gotta ask, are you two the only ones that take care of the non-mains majority of the time? or are there others that help? if yall are doing it by yourselves... i wish the both of you good luck and sanity.

...and maybe a few weeks of paid time off

[💛] "Was that a good introduction?"

[💙] "Yeah that was fine."

[💚] "Wonderful Issac!"

[whump-galaxy]

Imagining a character getting like, beat up and thrown on the ground in the woods, fearfully looking up at their attackers…and then a massive werewolf steps over them, growling so low and loud that it vibrates through the whumpee’s bones….

The attackers are scared off and the werewolf turns to the whumpee.

[chaossuta]

My DoL Butler Themed Merch PO is now open! 💖

The form is finally here! ✨

For GO/Group Order manager/host you can contact me for discussion 🌸

Please read carefully and feel free to ask if you have any questions!

Other than that, go get your babies! 💖

Order here!

[serene-cinders]

Thinking about a recovering pet whumpee who reacts negatively to being submerged in water, crouched in a tub with caretaker beside them. The water isn’t three inches deep, but Whumpee perches in a way so only their tip toes are submerged, still finding the sensation of lukewarm water on bare skin so painful. Caretaker’s weathered hands dip into the water, cradling a fistful of it, lifting it and letting it carefully drip down Whumpee’s rigid back. Maybe they’re humming a relaxing tune, their other hand holding Whumpee’s. Whumpee’s eyes screw tight and they stifle their gasps of discomfort.

The caretaker runs a sponge over their shoulders, careful not to nick their neck or chin, a sheen of pale bubbles over glassy skin, so carefully, so slowly. The Whumpee still can’t bare to open their eyes, but their jaw unsets, for just a moment, as calloused palms flit over scarred skin.

[pyrepostings]

Box boy-esque universe where recruitment cares a bit about some form of consent to turn people into boxies, so when whumper wants someone who won't be tricked into it they just capture and train their whumpee themselves.

Everyone in this universe is like 'what the fuck you can't do that' and because of corporations protecting themselves and general propaganda (I'm thinking almost apple villifing right to repair type vibe) everyone sees going the homemade route to be barbaric and cruel, but WRU is ethically sourcing and handling their officially branded boxies (of course)

So homemade boxie does get a chance to be rescued and recover and see whumper behind bars, but lives in a system of people going through the exact same thing as them but they don't get justice or sympathy.

Do you think a well meaning but susceptible to propaganda caretaker would purchase an off-the-shelf boxie to help with menial tasks during whumpee's recovery?

Maybe to show that 'you're not like them, see this one likes being depersoned'. Caretaker offhand insulting pet lib activists, thinking that it's an overreaction for whumpee to get mad at them for it.

I just think the contrast and hypocrisy could be neat.

[whumppuppeteer]

Maylancholy day 22(Alt. 9): Waking up somewhere unfamiliar

Tag: @may-lancholy

This fic contains: injured whumpee,

Something was wrong, this wasn't where they were supposed to be.

They could tell before they even opened their eyes. The floor was too soft, if it was a floor at all, and nothing hurt as much as they were used to.

Whumpee warily cracked their eyes open, just barely enough to see the place through their eyelashes.

It was an apartment of some kind. It was clean enough, if a bit disorganized. The floor was clear of debris, though the coffee table was piled with papers. The rug underneath the couch they were laying on had spots where a dog had clearly bitten through.

They were laying on a couch. That was new.

A soft breeze blew from the kitchen window carrying with it the scent of honey and tea. Whumpee let their eyes open fully and sat up, dislodging a quilt from it's resting place on top of them.

-

Caretaker nearly dropped the tea as they rounded the corner. Whumpee was sitting up and staring at them with a blank expression. Caretaker struggled to find words for a moment.

"I hope rasberry hibiscus is okay, it's the only tea I had on hand at the moment."

It was all they could think to say. They couldn't bring themselves to start on the deluge of questions they had, not when Whumpee had just woken up.

Caretaker set the tea on the coffee table, though not before having to awkwardly shove some papers around with their foot. They really did need to get to organizing that stuff soon.

They let Whumpee take their tea and for a moment, the two sat in silence. Silently sipping at the fruity tea.

Questions could come later, for now? Rasberry hibiscus.

[snakebites-and-ink]

I'm struggling with work and a work injury so may I request a drabble? Whumpee gets hurt at work and Caretaker takes care of them? With lots of comfort if you're fine with that ❤️

-- @whumperofworlds

Not my strongest suit, but I gave it a try! Hopefully this is alright.

CW: Work-related injury (strained leg), worrying they're a burden

Whumpee sat on the couch feeling useless. They’d hurt their leg working, and there was a lot they couldn’t do without using it. And using it would aggravate the injury. They couldn’t even move around the house normally.

“Done! All nice and toasty,” Caretaker announced, waving around a hot pack fresh out of the microwave.

Whumpee accepted it, then sighed as the warmth from the hot pack seeped into their aching leg.

“Thanks, Caretaker. I’m sorry you have to deal with all this. I could probably manage to do more of these little things if it’s too much trouble.” Whumpee didn’t say that managing those little things with only one currently working leg would be a pain—They didn’t want Caretaker to feel obligated to tend to Whumpee’s needs if that would be a pain for them instead.

Caretaker grabbed Whumpee’s face on both sides. “Hey, you listen to me. You are not ‘too much trouble’. You’re hurt, and I wanna help you through it.”

“…Okay.”

Caretaker smiled. “Okay. Now what do you think, hot chocolate to warm up the rest of you while the hot pack warms up your leg?”

“The rest of me doesn’t need heating the same way…but you know I’ll never say no to chocolate.”

Caretaker brought them a steaming mug of the delicious drink, then settled next to them on the couch with the remote. They turned on the tv to distract Whumpee from their pains and troubles, and Caretaker insisted Whumpee get to choose what they watched.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Moonbloom

Time for Nightmare to finish up some loose ends! Don't worry :3 it is a good one in my opinion <3

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

We good? Lets go! (also be ready because it is a long one.)

*------------------*

Nightmare looks around their garden but still can't spot Killer. Maybe he went to their nest? Seems weird as Nightmare thought he would be working on the grapes at the moment.

Still. Best search there. He walks back towards the house as he weaves between the grapes and vines growing. The first layer is looking amazing and beautiful!

He gets to the set of stairs and walks back into the house. Finding Killer is easy as he is laying in their nest watching something on the TV. A fan aimed at him to help keep him cool in the summer heat.

Killer blinks and grins "OUr little nightlight!" and Nightmare gets grabbed and snuggled close. Nightmare hums happily as he leans into the snuggles for a moment.

Killer grins as he lounges "Come watch westerns with me! It iwll be fun." and he grins.

Nightmare glances at the tv for a moment, it shows a cowboy on the back of a horse with the show having this yellowish colour over it. Nightmare hums "later?"

Killer grins "Sure. What do you want to do now?"

Nightmare rubs his hands before muttering "can... can you do soemthing for me?"

Killer nods "sure! what is it?"

Nightmare smiles as he leans against Killer before he asks his request. It had been on his mind for a while now and with him fixing Dani and Ellie's tree farm... He thinks this may actually work.

--------

Grillby cleans the bar and sighs. Another long night after an even longer day.

His club is profitable and it keeps others safe but he does not enjoy owning it. Grillby had always wanted to own his own business but not like this.

Sadly this is where their fate had let them.

He finishes with the bar and goes about checking the seating area and dancing area. Finding some very dubious stains. A deeper sigh but he gets to work.

He tries not to let his mind wander as he works. It is better to focus or the ever present heat that is now just a part of life.

He finally finishes up his normal round as he leaves his building. His flame flickering a bit brighter at the sight of Sans.

Sans notices him and grins "Sup Grills!"

Grillby is very lucky that even after everything and how everyone spoke about hi that Sans still speaks to him. He knows this.

They walk together as the move to waterfall. Sans takes out the umbrella and hands it to him wordlessly. Grillby takes it and the two continue walking "Thank you again for coming with me."

Sans grins at him "Hey no worries. I always love hanging out with you~" and he gives a wink and sweet smile.

It is ruined by someone whistling loudly "Hey Sans! Down to fuck later? I can show you a real boner!!" loud laughter after.

Sans just shoots them a look and glances up and down before smiling a bit sharper but still oh so sweet "Hon I don't think you have the stamina to keep it up or do anything near pleasing~ Maybe best practise a few rounds first." and the walk pass them.

No real conversation after that as the peaceful mood had been ruined.

Grillby misses Sans. Sans used to go to his club and dance there. Spend time there. It had been something Grillby honestly enjoyed. The heat that went through him felt more real when it was focused and about Sans. It had been honest as Grillby had always felt that way.

Sans had throw his whole mindset into dancing and other work at his club when the experiment failed. Sans sadly took the burn of most of that failure even if there had been more scientists at work on an artificial heat to help their reproduction.

Sadly Sans had been the best known among everyone and so ended up being the black sheep of it all.

Grillby had just been happy to have Sans near even when everything changed drastically... Eventually his inaction got to much and Sans left after one too many comments.

Girllby still misses him daily.

Maybe another reason why he had tried so hard to do right for that tiny child. A tiny skeleton looking so young. Grillby tried to not let it interfer but it had been so hard. He had just wanted to do right and something for once.

He still wonders how that tiny child is doing. He hadn't told another soul. Too afraid what some heat affected monsters would do.

"Grillby? Is something wrong?"

Grillby looks back at Sans and sees those pink eye lights watch him. Grillby always gets lost in that face and those eyes.

Grillby had come close to confessing what happened that night to Sans. So close. but he is afraid that Sans will just be disappointed in him. For not getting the child to a safe location. to hide it from him for so long. Grillby thinks this underground will actually be hell if Sans stopped talking to him.

A loud whistle and Grillby and Sans both look over annoyed. Only for Sans to freeze and Grillby can only assume it is shock. BEfore that is another skeleton. yet they are dressed strange.

Well strange for them.

They are in constant heat after all. Meaning everyone feels hot and too hot all the time. Everyone loves wearing and showing off their bodies. It is why Grillby is wearing his minimal outfit. It is why Sans is wearing the shortest shorts possible and that little top as he keeps his coat low and barely on.

This skeleton? Is wearing shorts but they cover his legs until his knees. he is wearing sneakers to finish that side up. Upwards? A black turtle neck, a sweater version at that.

Another very strange thing about them? The black tar like tears streaming down their cheeks. The completely empty sockets. and well, the out and proud soul is a very bold choice. Even for the monsters who like to attract all the attention. They are grinning widely at them.

Grillby blinks but suddenly feels Sans grab his hand and pull him back. Sans has yet to look away from the other skeleton but... but that look? That... that is fear... What? Who?

Grillby frowns "Sans?"

Sans shoots him an anxious look before glancing around at all the water. he pushes the umbrella fully in his arms "You need to go grillby." their is desperation in his voice.

Grillby does not feel the need to go. in matter of fact. if this person freaks Sans out of all mosnters? That means this person is dangerous and Grillby is not leaving his friend alone. He instead looks at the other skeleton.

Who is just... standing there? Grinning widely as they.... swing? They lean back and forth as they swing their arms slightly to keep the motion going. moving their weight from the toes of their feet to the very back. completely relaxed.

Sans glares at him and hisses "I am serious. Go."

Grillby just looks at the other and shakes his head "no."

Sans opens his mouth to speak again but the other speaks up "You two love birds done? Like. I can wait but i kinda got places to be and stuff." they grin as they lean on their fist. Almost like a thinking position but instead of the fist under the chin they lean against it with their cheek.

Sans glares "Why are you here?"

Grillby frowns at his friend "Sans who is this?"

Sans glances at him unsure before glaring back at the other.

This seems to have been a sign the other was waiting for as they just, bounce and skip over. The thrust out their hand "The name is Killer!"

Grillby stands frozen. Because he feels it. What the other sends out. This... this monster...

Grillby can't help it and sends a check.

The information just makes it worse.

This monster has a lot of LOVE.

Killer pouts "Tough crowd." he pulls his arm back and crosses his arms.

Sans glares at him and hisses "You are not allowed to be here. Leave."

Grillby has no doubt that Sans knows just how dangerous Killer is, Sans seems to actually know this guy but... but how?

Killer snorts and waves Sans off "Oh calm down I am not even causing trouble. Anyway. I kinda am here for a thing so cool your jets."

Sans just crosses his arms "I will ends a message to the Stars. I got an emergency vial and I will break it."

Killer raises a brow and smirks sharper "Then I won't be able to complete my job here Lavender..." then he leans closer "Or should I say... Ace?" and he winks "Must suck to have such conflicting needs."

Grillby doesn't think as he pulls Sans behind him. That... that is a very private secret. A soft admission that Sans once entrusted to Grillby. Why Sans hates this heat so much. How he doesn't even desire sex or want it. Yet this heat makes him need and crave it. It messes with his mind.

Grillby glares at Killer and Killer grins as he shrugs "eh. Not my fault he can't take what he dishes out." he grins wider "You know! Becuase he fucks people even when he doesn't desire people- wow!" Killer dodges the fireball Grillby shot at him.

Killer looks at where Grillby's magic attack his the ground "Man! Is it good I picked this spot to search you out! Could have been a hazard if a fire spread in an underground." he looks over "Anyway. I came with a message."

Grillby is about to say he doesn't care when Killer speaks the next sentence.

"From your little friend in the alleyway."

Grillby freezes again. Sans asks him what the other meant but Grillby can't. He can't believe it.

Killer nods with an understanding look "Ah yes. What do you mean? How could that be? In that case. Just so you know. While he liked the pulled beef a lot his favourite of the selection was the pork." and he grins.

The food. He had given the other food. And aparently the little one actually ate it all. his arm slowly falls to his side.

Killer grins and nods "I know right? anyway. I am here because of that." and he shrugs.

Sans frowns "What have you guys been doing here?!"

Killer sighs "calm down lavender. This doesn't actually concern you you know? You are just part of this conversation because you were near him at the time." and he shrugs.

Sans frowns and looks to the side for a moment "I... heard some stuff... from Dream-"

Killer pulls out a knife and aims it at Sans. Sans freezes and Killer grins. Girllby frowns but then sees the drop of blood on the knife edge and the very small cut on Sans's cheek.

Killer grins sharply "None of that now Lavender. I am here with a small mission. No need to include either the gang or the stars. This is a matter of repaying something owned. Calm now? Eithr you stay quiet or... well." he grins sharper "You want to test out how quickly a reset happens to fix a... missing link?"

Sans freezes as he shoots Grillby a nervous glance. Grillby is just very confused. what are these two talking about "Sans?" or Lavender? Why does Killer keep calling Sans that?

Killer stares for a while longer and Sans evneutally sighs and nods. Going silent but not leaving his side.

Killer hums and smiles brightly again. the threatening and freezing air around them disappears "That is what i thought!" is this what LOVE does to a monster? Grillby knew it was dangerous but this is on another level.

Killer sighs "Anyway. your alleyway friend wanted to thank you for your assistance. Which is why I am here. To repay that favour."

Grillby can't keep it in anymore "is he safe? Is he with his family again?" he remembers the poor child saying his mother was gone "With his dad? other parent?"

This is when Sans stares at him in shock and mutters a "what?"

Grillby looks anxiously at Killer but Killer just raises s brow and makes the 'go ahead' motion.

Grillby thinks it over before finally saying it "A long while ago. More than a year..." almost a year and a half honestly "I... i had a very curious visitor. a tiny monster dressed in a large hoody. but... it turned out to be a child... a skeleton one."

Sans gasps and thinks for a moment before shooting Killer a look of disbelieve.

Killer just grins and makes the 'zip it' motion.

Sans shallows "you mean those rumours..."

Killer glares as he crosses his arms "people need to learn to keep their large mouths shut." he turns back to Grillby himself "As to answer your question. he is fine. he is back at home with his parents. perfectly safe and healthy."

Grillby feels a deep relieve and lets out a sigh "Thank you... I ahd been worried... I assume you... you got him home?"

Killer blinks at him before shrugging as he stuffs his hands into his pockets "euh. pretty much."

Grillby can't help but smile. Maybe... maybe this monster isn't that bad? he cared enough to bring a child home to his family. he cared enough to help get the child a message back to Grillby. That must mean something. Sans must have made the same conclusion as he grins and crosses his arms. "Didn't realise that you guys now did babysitting."

Killer shoots him a glare "Don't test your luck Lavender." he sighs louder "anyway! Can we now finally get to the point i have been trying to get to?! The present?" and he waits.

Grillby and Sans share a look and both nod.

Killer huffs "finally! Anyway!" he messes with his pocked and out comes a full flower. it is a very pale purple with four petals. the petals are kinda cresent shaped and point upwards. It is small but nice enough.

Killer nods and marches over "Okay. here you go. Yes you can safely touch it as long as you don't want to burn it." Girllby carefully takes the flower over. That is when it hits him. the flower is the same colour as the small child's eyes had been.

Sans looks at it curiously and tilts his skull "that is... new?"

Killer waves it off "Yeah he is sitll workshopping the name. anyway. hold i got a list for this shit." he makes a victorious noise as he pulls out a piece of paper and reads "okay. okay... lets see. growing and spreading. As long as there is room and the flower is unbothered it will grow copies of itself. so it doens't need water."

Killer snorts as he looks up "Goot news you don't need to handle water for this flower. but yeah just kinda. I dunno. find a spot no one visits and plant sit if you want a shit load of them.but if you don't care about spreading it a lot lot you can just kinda put it in a pot or something."

Grillby looks down at the small flower and smiles. He is so thankful for this wonderful gift. a reminder that he at least managed to help one person.

Killer keeps looking at his little list "okay! So. One petal a person is enough but takes a few days to take effect. For instant but temporary effects just make tea."

Sans blinks "what is the effect?"

Killer opens his mouth. frowns and closes it. looks abck at his list. then shrugs at them "I was not told. I knew we were forgetting something. but. euh." he shrugs again "can you blame him? He is six."

Sans makes a small noice as he looks excited as he glances at Grillby "You saw a six year old babybones?"

Grillby nods and Sans sighs wishfully "I am so jealous. so so jealous."

Killer grins and shrugs "bet. anyway. lets see. oh the last point. The flowers will regrow the petals but can't grow more flowers if they are healing. so if you want a lot of petals you will need to grow flowers first." he grins at them "and that is it. with that done. bye!" he waves nad turns around. He walks back into the shadows and Girllby is left with a small flower in his hands. so fragile and small but beautiful.

Sans looks at him curiously "Want to get a nice large pot and plant the little plant? get more started?"

Grillby nods and they go in a slightly different direction. They get the right supplies and quickly go back to Grillby's house.

Grillby watches as Sans plants the flower for him. Grillby still worried his flames may harm to tiny plant. He just didn't wish to risk it. it takes very little time and they sit on the couch together for a moment.

Grillby can't sotp it anymore "Who even was that?"

Sans frowns as he srhugs "jsut... someone i know...."

Grillby frowns more as he feels that Sans isn't telling him what is wrong "Why did he keep calling you Lavender?" that is a new name. Sans has been called lust by others before, partly as insult because snas play in making the ever present heat. but also as comment on his looks and how desired he was.

Sans shrugs and mutters "I dunno... prefered that over the alternative..."

Grillby frowns "Sans... what..." he deosn't even know what he wants to ask.

Sans just shakes his skull "it... it doesnt matter at the moment... I am sorry you got so close to being hurt..." he rubs his arm and looks away with guilt.

Grillby hums "not your fault." and lets it go for now. his sight finds the flower. curiousity gets the best of him "Want to test those petals with me?"

Sans laughs before glancing at the flower "sure... petal or tea?"

Grillby hums and stares at the flower. feeling a bit reckless "lets just do a whole petal. That way it is done and no need to question it anymore."

Sans looks thoughtful before nodding. Sans pulls off two petals with care before handing one of grillby.

Grillby feels the petal. it is soft and seems fragile but it doesn't even seem to notice his flames. Sans grins and winks at him before both of them just eat the petal.

It tastes strange... slightly of grapes of all flavours. Grillby doesn't taste any of the drugs he is familiar with and he made sure to test those when he was safe. Just to make srue which flavours to not include in food and drinks. make sure nothing can get masked by his things.

They sit together but nothing happens.

Sans hums "the note of the kid did mention that it would take a while. Talking about that." he turns to him adn smiles "kid?"

Grillby chuckles but happily, and finally, shares the story of that day. How sweet the young child had looked but how afraid he had been.

It is nice.

-------

Grillby wakes up the same as always. he makes breakfast as he always does. But then he realises it. what he feels.

or better said. what he doesn't feel.

Grillby is in such shock that he actually drops the plate he had been holding.

It is gone.

the heat within his soul.

It is gone.

He doesn't think as he rushes out of his house. He throws open the door and gets hit by the cold of the air.

It is cold!

Also it is VERY cold!

He grabs his jacket before rushing to Sans's house. He gets there and knocks on the door. loudly.

a grumble and a disgruntled Papyrus opens the door. Papyrus shoots him a look. tired and slightly knowing "Sans is asleep after working last night." he gives him a pointed look.

Grillby still isn't sure how Papyrus figured out about Grillby's interest, but it may have to do something with Grillby always giving Sans the center stage and best hours and let sans keep most of the tips he earned. Now that Grillby thinks about it he was rather obvious.

Grillby shakes his head "It is nothing like that. I need to talk to him. I know it is very early and i apologise."

Papyrus looks annoyed but lets him in wiht a loud sigh. Papyrus orders him to wait there for a moment before moving upstairs to Sans's room.

Grillby waits as he tries to ignore the very pointed decoration. his soul still blissfully cool towards it all. even if he can smell the familiar scent of Sans's perfume.

It doens't take long for Papyrus and Sans to walk downstairs. Sans looks adorable disheveled as he joins him on the couch. Sans is still so pretty even without all the make up and short cut clothes.

Ppayrus sends Grillby another look before loudly proclaiming that he will be making breakfast.

Sans shoots him a tired look "Not that i don't enjoy visits... but we don't really have the same working hours anymore Grills."

Grillby shakes his head and tries to focus on the now "Sans. please. focus and tlel me I am not the only one here."

Sans frowns at him as he tilts his skull.

Grillby keeps staring at him "Notice anything gone? something... burning that is no longer burning?"

Sans stares at him before snorting "Is this the set up for a pun? I mean i love a good pun but you didn't need to wake me up-" he stops mid sentence. sockets wide as one hand slowly raises up to touch his sternum "it is gone."

They share a look and Sans rushes to his room "Give me a moment to get dressed!"

Grillby nods before quickly shouting after him "Make sure to grab a jacket!"

Papyrus shoots them a weird look from his kitchen and Grillby has no way to explain it just quite yet.

Sans rushes back downstairs, with a jacket on thank everything. They quickly say goodbye to Papyrus and rush out together. They run back to Grillby's house as Sans speaks "The flower?"

Grillby answers immediantly "I think it had to be! That is the only thing different about us compared to everyone."

They get back and find the garden pot they had planted the flower in four days ago. It took almost two days for the flower to recover fully from the picked petals but over the next two days the one flower had grown into four.

Sans stares at him in shcok "this... this can fix everything..."

Grillby nods before frowning at his tiny pot "We can maybe plant three of these four somewhere else. with more room to really let them spread. I can keep the last one safe just in case."

Sans nods as he takes out the garden tools he had left here last time and gets to work "great idea. I remember a cavern in the forest which no one really visits. we can plant them there and let them spread in peace."

Grillby nods as he watches Sans work. this could fix everything.

----

Killer strokes the small skull leaning against his sternum as he watches tv. the western is nearing its conclusion as the hero talks about needing to go as the open fields call to him. the main lady is heartbroken and begs him to stay. usual stuff.

Killer looks at Nightmare "What was the flower anyway?"

Nightmare yawns and shoots him a look "should fix the issue there." and he snuggles close.

Killer grins and holds the baby close. euh. whatever. Not his problem. his problem is just making sure the baby is happy and content.

*-----------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Remember how Nightmare is now the god of restoration? You can push that concept VERY far :3

If Fate finds out Nightmare is messing with universes and stuff like this she/he/they will be pissed.

Anyway!!

Baby repayed his debt!

[peachy-panic]

Febuwhump Day 7: Alternate Timeline

When I saw today's @febuwhump prompt was AU, I said SIGN ME UP.

Have some alternate universe Jaime & Sebastian, in which they are closer in age and this night in college goes a lot differently.

HEAVY TW for alcohol abuse, emetophobia, past noncon, implied attempted noncon, implied drugging

Jaime is too tired to be at this party. 

Derek, who convinced him to come party with the team in the first place, disappeared upstairs with the goalie from the women’s team twenty minutes ago, leaving Jaime sullen, sober, and alone in the crowd. The adrenaline from tonight’s win against USC has long burned out of his system, and they have practice early tomorrow morning. He doesn’t want to be here, with all these drunk strangers knocking into him as they dance. He wants the comfort of his dorm bed, a tall glass of water, and an audiobook in his headphones, lulling him to sleep.

Fuck Derek and his apparent new girlfriend. Jaime is going home. 

He doesn’t bother trying to find any of their teammates to say goodbye, and he doesn’t text Derek that he’s leaving. He can text Jaime, if he even cares to. 

Some part of him knows he’s being a little selfish, a little reckless. A little jealous. He’s too tired to investigate those feelings too closely. 

The back door is through the kitchen. Jaime elbows his way through the crowd until the exit is in sight. But something else catches his eye before he can bolt.

Someone is at least halfway passed out at the kitchen bar, a shock of red hair spilling out over the marble. His head is lolled onto his arm, his eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He’s not quite unconscious, Jaime sees as he slips into the room. He still has enough dexterity left to keep himself atop the barstool, even if the position is precarious at best—one foot propped on the wooden rung of the chair, the other extended out to the floor to keep him balanced. 

The man is alone in the kitchen, with the exception of one other person. A face Jaime knows well. 

Matthew is on the soccer team with him, but Jaime has made every effort to avoid him all year. He never told anyone about the incident in the locker room during the first month of practices, but the memory glows red in his memory like a warning sign as he watches Matthew slide his arm around the half-unconscious stranger’s waist and coax him to standing. 

The man is tall, maybe even a little taller than Matthew, though it’s hard to tell with the way his body slumps as he’s guided toward the back door. Jaime doesn’t recognize him, but he recognizes that this isn’t right, and he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t intervene. 

“Hey.” Jaime’s voice comes out firmer than he expected. 

Matthew stops in his tracks, head whipping back to him. His eyes narrow, and Jaime wonders if he realizes it’s the first time they’ve spoken off the field since the night he cornered Jaime and put his hands where they didn’t belong.

“Quinn,” he says pleasantly. “Not like you to show up to one of these things. Did Derek drag you out?”

Jaime ignores him, nodding toward the man who is struggling to stay upright at Matthew’s side. “Who’s your friend?”

Matthew’s jaw twitches like he can read the accusation in Jaime’s eyes. Good. “I’m helping him back to his dorm.”

That doesn’t answer the question, asshole. “You know him?”

“Do you?” Matthew’s eyes narrow again, annoyed this time. 

Jaime takes a calculated risk. “Yeah,” he lies. “He’s here with me.”

This quiets him for long enough to make Jaime think he’s won, but then Matthew’s mouth curls into a sneer. “You must be pretty shitty company if your date is leaving with another guy.”

The “date” in question is starting to slip, his knees buckling, and Matthew has to adjust his grip to keep him upright.

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Jaime snaps. Anger simmers beneath his skin, fists curling at his sides. This interaction with Matthew has given new life to the rage Jaime has spent two months pushing down, ignoring, talking himself out of. 

Matthew’s eyes scrape up and down his body, either in a lewd attempt at intimidation or possibly sizing up what kind of physical challenge Jaime poses. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes him laugh, a curt, dismissive sound.

“Stay in your lane, Freshman.”

Then he makes another move for the back door, his victim in tow. 

Jaime is moving before he has to think about it. He pushes past him, shouldering in as a barrier between Matthew and the door. “Let go of him,” he says.

Matthew’s amusement gives way to a flicker of anger now. “It doesn’t look like he’s putting up much of a fight.”

“He’s barely fucking alive.” Jaime nearly shouts it, but the music keeps his voice from bleeding into the crowd. It is enough, however, to rouse the intoxicated stranger. 

“Who’re y… ‘m not…” is all he gets out, broken and slurred alongside a quick flutter of green eyes, before his head lolls back against Matthew.

Jaime feels sick watching Matthew’s hands on him. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and trying to take the man’s weight, forcefully if necessary, away from him.

Matthew resists. Of course he does. Fingers dig into the man’s side hard enough to look painful, and it makes Jaime falter his grip. But before he can attempt anything else, the jostle of movement stirs the stranger again, but this time it isn’t words coming out of his mouth. The man’s body crumples entirely, dragging down Matthew’s side as he falls to his knees and retches on the kitchen floor. 

The sound coming out of him is one of pure misery, one that drowns out the sound of Matthew’s groan of disgust. Matthew steps back—though not in time to save his shoes—and shakes off the man’s weight from his leg like he’s a stray animal. Jaime manages to crouch in time to catch the stranger’s shoulders before he can fall into his own vomit. He steadies him through the worst of the sickness, knelt awkwardly on one knee at his side. By the time it’s over, he looks up to find the kitchen empty. Matthew left.

There’s another flare of rage, but the moment is quickly stolen by the sound of crying. He looks down, alarmed to see tears tracking down the man’s face. His green eyes look so sad and maybe a little afraid as he gazes up at Jaime, body swaying. 

“I think I threw up,” he says quietly. 

Jaime nods, ignoring the rather damning pile of evidence in front of them. “I think you might be onto something,” he agrees. “Maybe we should go outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?”

He doesn’t get a response. The man is already starting to fade from awareness again. 

“Shit,” Jaime mutters. He doesn’t waste precious seconds of the man’s partial mobility, hooking his grip underneath his arms to hoist him to his feet. “Come on,” he whispers, trying to sound gentle and encouraging as he kicks open the back door, narrowly stepping around the vomit on the floor. “Just a few more steps.”

The cold, November air is a sigh of relief against his skin. He manages to keep his new friend on his feet long enough to reach the porch steps, where he sits him down long enough to retrieve his phone from his pocket. A rideshare back to campus will cost him the whole of his fun money for the week, but he can’t imagine a world in which he leaves this stranger to fend for himself tonight. 

He opens the app and hovers uncertainly over the search bar.  “Can you tell me where you live?” he asks softly, crouching down next to the man, who barely lifts his head from the railing. 

“At the college,” he slurs, pointing vaguely to their left, in the opposite direction of the university. “It’s over there.”

“Right,” Jaime says. “Okay. Do you have an ID?”

“Mhm.” The affirmative answer is not accompanied by any attempt to retrieve his wallet.

“Can I see it for a second?”

The man manages to get as far as pulling his wallet halfway out of his pocket before his limbs go limp, his head tilting back against the railing. “I don’... feel good. ’m sorry.”

Jaime hates how sad he sounds. “It’s okay,” he promises. “I’m just going to grab your wallet out of here, okay?” 

There’s no answer, not that he’s expecting one, so he pulls the wallet the rest of the way out of his pocket, careful not to touch him without his permission. When he flips it open to the ID card, he’s greeted by the photo of a man who is barely recognizable as the person next to him. His smile is self conscious but handsome, his eyes wide and bright. Sebastian Tate, the name says. 

Jaime knows it was a bit of a gamble, that most college kids keep their parents’ address on their license until they move off campus, but he recognizes the address on Sebastian’s ID as one the dorms. One small bit of luck.

He enters the address on his phone, wincing at the price tag before he accepts the ride. 

When he looks over to let Sebastian know that a car is on its way, he sees tears on his face once again. 

“We’re gonna get you home,” Jaime promises. 

****

Sebastian is mostly deadweight by the time Jaime gets him into his bed. 

The other half of the dorm room is sparsely decorated, with a bed that looks mostly untouched. Jaime wonders if Sebastian has one of those roommate situations where they only really see each other on moving day. It’s a positive in the sense that Jaime isn’t barging in uninvited on a stranger tonight, but it does leave Jaime with a bit of a dilemma. He can’t imagine leaving this person alone tonight. 

Jaime helps himself to a cup on the sink in the corner of their room—it looks mostly clean, he thinks—and fills it with water from the tap. 

“Hey,” he says, giving Sebastian’s shoulder a gentle shake. He stirs blinking up at him, and Jaime holds the cup for him to see. “You should try to drink something.”

A groan of displeasure rumbles deep in his chest. “Tired,” Sebastian argues. 

“I know. But you really should try to drink some water before you fall asleep.”

Sebastian peels his eyes open again. Jaime wonders if throwing up back at the house was the best thing he could have done for himself. His gaze is starting to look a little less glassy. Maybe he had gotten some of the alcohol—and whatever else he might have ingested, a dark voice whispers in the back of his mind—out of his system before it could really take root. 

“It’s okay,” Sebastian tells him.  “I’m a doctor.”

Jaime furrows his brow. “I don’t think that’s true.”

But Sebastian nods sagely. “I will be,” he says.

“Oh.” Jaime blinks. “Are you pre-med?” A nod. “Well, then you should know all about the detriments of dehydration and alcohol poisoning, Dr. Tate.”

His head lifts from the mattress at the name—not without what appears to be great effort. He blinks a few times and squints up at Jaime like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.” He sounds so awed, Jaime can’t help but laugh. 

“That’s probably because you’re not a doctor yet,” he says. “Sit up, please?”

It takes a little bit of support on his end, but he finally gets Sebastian to an upright position and helps him steady the cup as he brings it to his mouth. Jaime takes his time, waiting patiently until he’s downed the whole glass in tiny sips. 

“Good job,” he says. “I’ll get you more to keep by your bed. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As he gets up to refill the glass, he hears shuffling on the bed behind him. Sebastian is already laying down again when he turns back to him, but this time his eyes stay open, tracking Jaime across the room.

“I don’t know who you are,” Sebastian observes aloud. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Jaime says. “I’m just helping you get home.” 

With a completely straight face, Sebastian looks at him and says, “You’re like an angel.” Then, blinking slowly, “You’re so pretty.”

“Oh my god,” Jaime bubbles out a startled giggle. “That’s… I—Um, thank you.” He feels his own cheeks redden. “That’s nice. I think you’re very drunk.”

As if Jaime’s words serve as a reminder, Sebastian’s face falls again, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t feel good.”

Jaime’s face falls, too. The tear tracks are still visible on Sebastian’s face from earlier, a tangible reminder of the darkness shrouding these circumstances. 

“I know,” Jaime says. 

“Are you angry?” Sebastian asks, eyes still pinched. 

“Not at you,” Jaime assures him. 

“Okay.” Sebastian swallows, then moves his mouth like he’s trying to find his tongue. When he does, he asks, “Are you going to leave me here alone?”

Jaime stiffens. “Do you want me to?”

He is pretty sure the movement of Sebastian’s head against the pillow is supposed to be a no. 

“If you want me to stay with you tonight, I will,” Jaime says. It’s not like he’s in any hurry to watch Derek stumble into his dorm at four in the morning, with or without his one-night-stand. 

“There,” Sebastian slurs, slipping closer to sleep by the second. He raises a finger to point vaguely in the direction of his roommate’s side of the room. “That thing. Folds into a bed. Comfy.”

Jaime turns and spots the foam chair in the corner. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

He kicks off his shoes, pulls a spare throw-blanket from the foot of Sebastian’s bed, and unfolds the chair into a thin mattress on the floor. When the lights are off, he feels his own exhaustion crashing over him. He stares up at this stranger’s dorm ceiling and lets himself drift closer to the darkness that pulls at him from behind closed eyelids. 

Before he can slip away, a tentative voice rouses him back to the surface. 

“What’s your name?” Sebastian asks into the darkness between them. 

“Jaime,” he answers. 

“Jaime?”

“Yeah.”

“Jaime, I feel very sad, I think.”

Jaime swallows, wishing he was better at offering comfort to someone who so obviously needs it. “Yeah. I know,” he says instead. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, though.”

“You promise?” Sebastian asks.

But that’s not a promise he can keep. Jaime doesn’t know anything about this man, other than that he had come close to something very bad happening tonight. Tomorrow, likely, he will be sick and shaken, probably regretful, probably confused. But there was one sure truth Jaime could offer this stranger for now. 

“Go to sleep, Sebastian,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

*AGAIN THIS IS FULLY AU, BUT I'LL TAG YALL JUST IN CASE YOU WANNA READ*

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline 

@anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm  @thebirdsofgay  @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  @cyborg0109  @whumplr-reader  @pinkraindropsfell  @whatwhumpcomments 

@honeycollectswhump @pirefyrelight @handsinmotion  @alexmundaythrufriday @scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 @b0rgid@whumps-and-bumps @bilightningwhumper @technicallydeliciousdeer

@taterswhump @shit-people-probably-didnt-say @roblingoblin285 @hellodecisionparalysis @shinmich

@anonfromcanada @morning-star-whump