#my brain h u r t s

[books-and-dragons]

I'm so sorry, I'm kinda drunk and dropping another idea, do with it whatever ye will.

Yknow how in the beginning of the game, Sojiro tells Ren he won't take care of him when he gets sick?

Consider: he's not used to city germs/being that closely shoved against other people on the train. He DOES start to get sick around Kamoshida's Palace, powers through it, and then is SUPER sick just after it's over.

He plans on sucking it up and hiding it, but Futaba hears his hacking coughs over her bug even when he's upstairs, followed by wheezing, maybe even a little weeping. He's constantly in and out of the bathroom, and he's starting to run out of tissues.

Futaba nervously texts Sojiro that the kid they took in sounds awful. Sojiro is gruff at first and says he's not a baby, he can take care of himself. She responds by sending him the audio and suddenly Dad Instincts kick in

y/n

obviously it's a YES, our brainrots continue because early-game ren and sojiro dynamics break my heart every time how dare you get me so invested in this idea, this post got too long so it's going under a read more

listen listen look i love sojiro and the coffee family okay, but early-game?? sojiro could catch these hands

ren has already been though so much by the time he arrives in tokyo, to then be put into a dusty old attic like a spare part would absolutely fit in with ren's own perception of himself at that stage. it would be almost too easy for him to put his own health on the backburner kinda like he's already used to it

very used to not taking up space, 'not being a bother', and then sojiro really reinforces this message when ren first gets to leblanc- so when ren inevitably gets ill a month into his probation, it's already doomed for maladaption

tokyo would be such a breeding ground for sickness compared to the countryside, and ren just doesn't have the consitution to deal with it. the dusty attic and poor eating habits don't help matters, and then we have the stress of kamoshida and the metaverse?? ren is not having a Good Time™

at first it's something he thinks he can shrug off, and is adamant that ignoring it is the way to go. a cold, it's nothing, he can handle this alone, no need to bother anyone else with it.

inevitably, he gets worse, because that's what happens when you don't rest and let yourself recover. a tickly cough becomes a tightness in his chest, mild congestion shifts into an attack on his senses and blurriness- but maybe that's the dizziness. he's not really sleeping, either.

it's something that's becoming increasingly difficult to brush off and hide, he even relented to finally getting some medicine (nothing as strong as he needs by this point, that would eat too much into his limited funds, but some painkillers to take the edge off). once or twice he's tempted to stay off school, at morgana's insistence, or a too close call where he definitely blacked out for a minute, but then sojiro's voice will ring in his head 'i won't be the one looking after you if you get sick', 'your parents got rid of you for being a pain in the ass', and all his worst insecurities come rushing back and he's resolved to deal with it on his own

meanwhile, futaba's been making use of her hidden audio bugs- normally they're a comfort for her in the daytime, but since the new kid- ren- has been staying at the cafe (part-timer her ass, how gullible does sojiro think she is?!), she's been listening more frequently. when ren gets sick, she figures it out quickly.

time goes on, he's not getting better- he's actually getting worse- and futaba starts to wonder if she's the only one who knows

(there's something in his sharp contrasts- the quiet kid who shuffles through the cafe and takes sojiro's scolding, to the coughing kid who cries into the silence of night when he thinks there's nobody there to see it- that stabs through her numbness. it feels like a companion to her own ghost)

one night she swears the kid gets up to be sick, and there's hardly any sound heard from the attic all night. if nobody's gonna help ren, then she will (futaba used to like helping, once upon a time).

she texts sojiro the next day, when ren doesn't say anything again, and goes off to school with what she bets is a fake assurance on his face

and you're so right, sojiro dismisses her concern really easily, claims the kid can 'take care of himself' and he won't 'baby' the part-timer. insists ren needs to learn some disipline, then maybe he'll stay out of trouble

frustration wells in futaba- if she was less fixated on what was going on with ren, she'd register it's one of the first changes of mood she's had for months- and she responds with nothing but an audio clip, an attached explanation that this is just from the past few days- it's been going on for weeks, then she waits, and hears the distant sound of her compilation through one of the bugs, a hitched breath from sojiro, curse words under his breath-

for all his earlier postulating about not helping ren if he gets sick, sojiro is immeditely struck with a pang of concern- it sounded bad, and if futaba's words were anything to go by, this had been going on for a while. the kid's at school now (at school, being as ill as that and he was still going to class-), so sojiro will talk to him when he gets back. there's a chance he goes a bit too over the top, between the variation of medicines he purchases, supplies he grabbed from home- if you accused him for over-compensating after maybe being too harsh on the kid in the beginning, you'd be right

and you just know ren would be so resistent at first to help, or even just the offer of staying off school. in his sickness-induced fugue, ren's filter-less in rattling off how he can't stay off, what will the students and teachers think, and he has work that afternoon, and a test soon, and he doesn't want to get in the way-

sojiro's heart just shatters

this kid, whose been silently carring the weight of the world and has apparently been falling to pieces for weeks now and sojiro didn't even notice?

(a part of it reminds him too much of the other kid he's got at home, the countless ways he's already failed futaba, and now ren too? he feels useless)

sojiro focuses on what he can do, and that's making the kid rest. work will understand, school can wait, ren isn't an inconvenience, he guides the kid to bed, calls takemi immediately (who rushes over, despite the fact she's technically closed at this hour, and refuses to take any payment),

even still, there's this stilted awkwardness between them when the quiet pushes on too long- they hardly know each other, afterall. sojiro is still figuring out the 'caring for kids' thing, and ren isn't familiar with any kind of parental affection, so some of sojiro's care veers a bit too close to clinical or mechanic, and ren still struggles to communicate what kind of help he needs, but it's enough for now.

for now, sojiro is there. he's trying, and at least ren's getting some colour back on his skin. for now, ren's willing to take a few days off and have some medicine, but he's over-apologetic and definitely tries to make up for his sickness once he's healed. it's gonna take them both a while yet, but luckily there's always their guardian hacker, ready and able to call them out when needed (and maybe some day she'll be able to keep an eye on ren and sojiro in person)

[razzle-zazzle]

Brothers

9650 Words; Between AU, pre-canon

TW for death

AO3 ver

Gristle Junior was seven months and eleven days old on the day of his first Trollstice.

Or rather, he was seven months and eleven days old on what would have been his first Trollstice, were it not for the lack of trolls. And the day had started so well, too, anticipation electric in his veins as he bounced around his father’s room. He had been so ready to taste true happiness!

But the Trolls were gone, fleeing underground despite the best efforts of Chef’s underlings. Not a single Troll had been recovered, Gristle had been told, and from what little he had been able to see of the commotion—from the swinging shovels and pickaxes he had glimpsed in the plaza as he was being shuffled away from the action—supported that notion. Surely, if Trolls were being found, then surely there would be much less frustration.

But the day passed without a single Troll eaten. Gristle’s father, for who he had been named, had taken him aside to calmly explain that with no Trolls, Gristle would never be happy. Not ever. Nothing else could possibly work.

To a Bergen less than a year old, such words were absolute. And why should Gristle doubt his father? The King had lived for decades, an extent of time which felt like an eternity to Gristle Junior. Surely, if there was anyone who could know everything, it would be the King.

Gristle was seven months and eleven days old on the last chance he would ever have to know true happiness. The date clung to his mind, the damnation of eternal misery heavy in his chest. To a Bergen so young and inexperienced with the world, there could be nothing worse.

Chef was disgraced. Not a single Troll recovered, in all of that mess? Her exile was quick and loud—Gristle watched from the castle door with his father as Chef was bodily thrown through the gates, shouting curses he strained to hear. With a sigh, Gristle moved to turn away from the door, prepared to ready himself for bed.

“Your Majesty!” Two Bergens hailed down his father, bowing the moment the King’s eyes were on them. “We found…” The Bergen on the left had his hands cupped together oddly, perfectly concealing whatever would be inside. With a nudge from his partner, he bowed again, holding out whatever it was to the King. “We found this at the tree’s edge.”

Gristle Junior turned back towards the door, pressing against his father’s legs to peer at what was so urgent it couldn’t wait for daylight. The air was thick with anticipation as the Bergen’s fingers slowly parted, revealing what was delicately clasped in his hands.

It was a Troll.

Gristle’s eyes widened. His father inhaled sharply, peering down at the tiny shape curled in the palm.

The Troll stared up at them with wide eyes, curled in on itself and shaking. It was so small. How did creatures that small even exist?

The King hummed, leaning in further. Gristle Junior was quick to imitate, peering at the tiny Troll even more intently. This brought to light a detail that had been previously overlooked—a detail that seven month and eleven day old Gristle had no filter against pointing out.

“It’s gray.” Gristle said, peering down at the thing. Tiny, too. Could something so little really bring him happiness? “Is it sick?” He poked at the Troll, and it flinched back with a hiss, tail clutched in its paws.

“Inedible.” Gristle Senior growled out. He turned bared teeth to the pair before them. “Your effort is appreciated.” He said, “But there’s no use for a Troll that’s gone bad.” The King sighed, moving to reenter the castle. “Do as you wish with it.” He dismissed. “My son and I…”

Gristle Junior reached for the Troll. “It’s so small.” He whispered, staring down at it. Small and gray and baring blunted teeth in an approximation of a snarl… He looked up at the pair, eyes wide. “Can I have it?”

The Bergen holding the Troll hesitated, before tilting his hands towards Gristle. The Troll squeaked as Gristle scooped it up, voice tiny. Gristle squealed, clutching the Troll and running back inside, the rest of the world forgotten.

The Troll turned bewildered eyes up to Gristle. It trembled, shouting as Gristle turned a corner, but Gristle paid no heed to anything but the sheer novelty of his idea. His very own Troll! There was hardly much of a plan in the toddler’s head, but a simple idea was all Gristle really needed at his age.

Gristle bounced into his bedroom, Troll in hand. He moved to set the Troll down on the desk—

“Son!” Gristle Senior’s voice was seldom so loud—but when it was, it commanded attention from everyone in the area. And indeed, Gristle Junior turned his attention to his father, the Troll still squirming in his hand. “What are you doing?” Gristle had never heard his father at such a loss.

“Keeping it.” Gristle Junior said.

Gristle Senior walked across the room and peered down at the Troll on the desk, trapped between Gristle Junior’s hands. “A pet is a lot of responsibility, son.” He pointed out.

“You say the same about being Prince.” Gristle Junior responded.

Gristle Senior jolted slightly, taken aback. “That… is true.” He conceded. “But it’s a Troll.” He poked the Troll in question, sending it stumbling backwards onto the ground. “It will just get eaten.”

“But you said gray Trolls are inebidable!” Gristle Junior lifted the Troll—his Troll, up with cradled hands, pressing it against his chest. “That they’ve got no use, which means that eating them can’t do anything!”

“Inedible.” Gristle Senior corrected gently. He lowered down, to be closer to his son’s eye level. “Son, be realistic. The kingdom just lost all of its Trolls. Trollstice has been a tradition for more than a century. The shock of no more Trollstices will make the people desperate.”

The Troll stared up from Gristle Junior’s hands with wide eyes. Tiny claws too small to do any damage dug into Gristle Junior’s hand.

Gristle Junior huffed. “But they gotta listen to you, Daddy. You’re the King.” The people had listened when the King declared Chef exiled; Gristle had witnessed just that less than an hour ago. “If you say that my Troll is inedidible then nobody will eat it!”

The King sighed, tired and heavy. “You’ll need something to keep it in.” He advised. As his son cheered, he turned to the door, and made his way across the room. Once Gristle Senior reached the doorframe, he turned back to his son one more time.

“If I wake up tomorrow and find that thing is running around the castle, I will feed it to Barnabus.” He threatened. His face immediately lightened, and he left the room with a single, cheery, “Goodnight, son!”

Gristle Junior nodded at the closed door with the utmost seriousness. He turned back to his Troll, who he set on the desk gently. “Hear that?” He asked. “You stay in here, or else.” With that, Gristle propped his face up in his hands, leaning forwards. “My name’s Gristle. Yours?”

The Troll crossed tiny Troll arms and glared up at him. “I’m not telling.” It said, in a voice that reminded Gristle of the mice Barnabus ate.

“Then I’ll just give you one!” Gristle chirped. “How about… Trolly!”

“No.”

Gristle frowned. “You’re getting a name, no matter what.” He huffed, poking his Troll in the side. The Troll stumbled a bit, but remained standing. “You’re so grumpy.” Gristle noticed. “Just like… a Bergen…” He trailed off, something approaching realization creeping up his throat.

The Troll snarled. “Not a Bergen!” It insisted, tail smacking the desk.

Gristle stared. “You…” His eyes lit up. “You and I are gonna be best friends.” Gristle decided, poking his Troll again.

The Troll’s response was simple. Gristle yelped, yanking his hand back. The Troll fell over, rubbing at its mouth with tiny paws, and Gristle stared at the tiny teeth marks on his finger.

The Troll glared mutinously, as if daring Gristle to come within biting range again.

Gristle nodded. “Yep! Best friends!”

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was nine months and two days old when he learned the Troll’s name. He had been poring through a pet care magazine, oo-ing and ah-ing over the different kinds of pets that Bergens kept. From alligator-dogs like Barnabus to even frog-crows!

He had hit the section for small pets, though none of the kinds commonly kept by Bergens were as small as a Troll. He looked over at the custom cage his father had had commissioned for his Troll, from the pod taken from the abandoned Troll Tree to the sandy substrate in the basin. As usual, his Troll was down on the substrate, pressed into the corner while it worked its way through safflower seeds.

“Look!” Gristle held the magazine right up against the cage bars, pointing at the circled bird perch. “How does a swing sound? I bet you’d have a lot of fun with it, Trolly.” He didn’t expect a response—the Troll rarely ever spoke back, content with glaring and darting away when Gristle reached into the cage.

Which meant it surprised him all the more when the tiny creature spoke. “Branch.”

Gristle opened his mouth to continue speaking—stopped. “What?”

“Branch.” The Troll repeated. “My name is Branch.” Its eyes were locked resolutely on the sandy substrate, shoulders hunched and tail thwap-thwap-thwapping against the corner.

Gristle gasped. “Oh!” He’d never thought—he—Branch—

“That’s a weird name.” Gristle finally decided, leaning in. “Are all Trolls named like that?” He couldn’t quite read well enough to digest all the books he’d found about Trolls (or that had Trolls on the covers), so his only real source of information was what former Troll-handlers Chad and Todd (or was it Todd and Chad?) could tell him, when he saw them. Which wasn’t often.

Branch gave Gristle a deer in headlights look, a helpless sort of “how-would-I-know” conveyed through body language alone. Paws clenched and unclenched against the seed held between them.

Gristle shrugged, and went back to the magazine. “So,” He said, “You never said if you wanted a swing.”

“Don’t bother.” Branch huffed. “I won’t use it.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was five years old when his father led him into his study for the first time. The younger marveled at the book-filled shelves and neatly organized desk, at the candle holders set into the wall and the banners hanging down—this room was his future.

“My son,” Gristle Senior began. “What you will be starting today is a time-honored tradition of Bergen Royalty.” His voice had a practiced lilt, a deep timbre made of years of self-assurance. “For no Monarch rules Bergentown alone—it is the duty of Princes and Princesses to run the kingdom in concert with the reigning monarch.”

“Whoaaa…” Gristle Junior hopped up and down to see atop the desk. “I’m a Prince!” He realized, whirling around to face his father. “So I have to help you run!”

Gristle Senior chuffed. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice. “And that is exactly what you will start learning today.” He lifted his son with one arm, sitting down behind the desk and settling Gristle Junior in his lap. “Now,” He pushed a stack of books from the edge of the desk to the center. “Here are the best volumes to start with…”

The lesson continued on throughout the rest of the morning. After lunch with his father, Gristle Junior returned to his room with the stack of books he had been given, ready and willing to learn. He pushed open the door, and made his way over to the desk right next to his bed.

“There’s so many books I need to read!” Gristle lamented. “How am I ever going to learn it all?” He’d have to, though, to be a proper Prince of Bergentown. And he would! Bergens were tough, and royal Bergens were said to be the toughest of all! So Gristle would be the best Prince! No book could defeat someone as tough as him!

He was starting with history. But there was so much! He held out the book to Branch’s cage, showing off just how thick it was—and it was all pre-Trollstice, too!

Branch squinted at the tome, then returned to his digging. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. Which was weird, because Trolls were supposed to live in trees—every book Gristle had read on them said so. But the pod in Branch’s cage—taken directly from the Troll Tree, no less—remained just as empty as it always had. There was even dust building up along the top!

“I mean, how in the world am I ever going to remember all this?” Gristle slammed the book down on his desk, prying it open. He was glad for Branch—the Troll was a good listener, in the five year old’s eyes.

The Troll in question poked his head back up, ears twitching. “Are you going to read it, or are you just gonna complain?” He asked, before going back to the hole.

“Right.” Gristle turned his attention back to the book. Slowly, he began, sounding out the words as best he could.

“The first re-cor-did history of Bergenkind dates back to… three… fow-sand years ago.” He began. “When Fow-ler the First wrote the… the first ever Law.” He continued reading, stumbling over words while Branch continued digging. Gristle let the history wash over him, entranced in the task set before him. Hours passed, and Gristle found himself being called down to dinner before he even registered that so much time had passed.

Three days later, Gristle found himself staring at a worksheet in frustration. He was supposed to fill it out without looking at his books, and he was struggling.

“UGH!” Gristle threw his head back, clutching at his hair as he seethed. “How can I remember the name of the first Bergen to write a law but not when?!” He smacked his head against the desk, groaning in frustration. The urge to go to his shelf and pull out the relevant book itched down his spine—but he had to hold strong! A good Prince knew how to look things up, but a great Prince could recall whatever detail was needed when it was needed.

Oh, how was Gristle ever supposed to be a great Prince?

“The first recorded history of Bergenkind dates back to three thousand years ago.” Branch said, casually breaking the frustrated silence. “That’s what your book said.”

Gristle looked at Branch’s cage, where the Troll was busy jotting stuff down on a scrap of paper. Gristle then looked over to the book on his shelf. Slowly, he pushed out his chair and went over to the shelf, opening the book to the first page.

“That’s…” He turned back to Branch. “You’ve got a good memory.” He said, returning the book to the shelf.

Branch muttered something that Gristle didn’t quite catch. Gristle shrugged, and went back to his worksheet. He’d have to read aloud to Branch more often, if Branch could remember stuff so well.

With a hum, Gristle continued on with the worksheet. It probably wasn’t in the spirit of the challenge to have a friend who could remember a lot of words, but Gristle wasn’t concerned at all with that notion.

He continued to talk to Branch as he worked, something light in his chest with the knowledge that Branch really was listening.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was six years old, and he and Branch were having a real good row. The kind of row that, had they been proper siblings, would have only been able to be settled by some proper Bergen roughhousing, with weapons and property destruction. A real riot-causing dispute.

It was hardly their first disagreement—Gristle had the faint bite scars all over his fingers to prove it. But it was certainly frustrating, born from weeks of buildup over a simple fact.

“It’s not healthy! Trolls are supposed to sing!” Gristle gestured to the book in his hand, which was way more useful than all the cookbooks he’d found. It actually went a bit into Troll health and growth, detailing all the ways and times that Trolls could become inedible. As Branch was, and had always been gray—or at least, as long as Gristle had known him—the book in question proved very useful.

“Well I don’t!” And that was the crux of the situation, the simple fact from which all of this had spawned. “And I never will!” Branch’s stand was resolute, unshakeable, even in the face of all of Gristle’s Princely Rage.

“But you have to!” Gristle insisted, gesturing again to the page he had the book opened to. “Trolls that don’t sing—this book isn’t very nice about them!” He was fumbling, he knew, but he didn’t know how else to say it. The book said that gray Trolls were to be removed from the Troll Tree and disposed of immediately. It didn’t say why, and Gristle was still a child—he didn’t question the words presented as fact. As far as he could tell, a Troll that had gone gray was just… it wasn’t right!

“You’re supposed to be happy.” Gristle pushed. “You’re supposed to sing, like a regular Troll.”

“Never gonna happen.” Branch insisted. “I’ll stay unhappy, just you watch!” He crossed his arms with a huff, tail twitching angrily.

“That’s not good!” Gristle responded. “You have to get your color back eventually!” The book said nothing about whether Trolls could regain their color after losing it. But it wasn’t right, for a creature so intertwined with music to never make a single note. And if the book said to get rid of gray Trolls…

Gristle cared about Branch, more than he could feasibly admit. The castle staff were fine, and his father was his father, but Branch—Branch was a friend. Someone Gristle could talk to who would actually listen, no matter what it was.

The book said it wasn’t healthy for a Troll to go gray. Gristle was going to be King someday, in the far distant future, and he’d be responsible for all of Bergentown. Even sooner, he would be a fully fledged Prince, responsible for helping his father with Bergentown. If Gristle couldn’t even take care of one tiny troll, then what were his chances of ever being good at what he was literally meant to do?

“And then what?” Branch gripped the bars of his cage, rage in every inch of his body. “You’ll eat me?”

“Of course not!” Gristle could never! Branch was… Branch was his friend! Inedible by Royal Decree! Gristle would sooner eat Barnabus!

“You’re lying!” Branch yelled back. “The moment I become edible you or some other Bergen will be serving me up on a silver platter!” His tail lashed about wildly, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. “Because that’s all Trolls are to you!”

Gristle flinched back. He… he refused to admit it, but Branch had a point. Trolls were the only way that Bergens could ever be happy, and they had spent generations with a holiday dedicated to that very thing. But…

“You’re different.” Gristle insisted. Branch was his friend. “You’re not… you never sing and you’re always unhappy.” He huffed. “It’s like you’re barely a Troll at all!”

This time it was Branch’s turn to flinch, tail falling flat against the ground. “Maybe you’re right.” He said quietly, turning away from the bars.

“Branch, I—” Gristle reached out, only for his hand to fall back down when Branch glared at him.

“Fine, then.” Gristle grumbled. “We’ll just be unhappy together.” Between the two of them, Branch was the only one who had even a chance to ever be happy—Gristle would never get to eat a Troll with all of them gone, but Branch… Branch was a Troll. If anyone would ever get to be happy, it would be the creature who was quite literally made of the stuff.

“Fine!” Branch sat down hard on the substrate, arms crossed and turned away from Gristle. “Unhappy together!”

It felt like a promise, like a finality.

It felt like Gristle was failing hard at this whole “taking care of others” thing.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was seven years old with a form in his hand. He stood before Branch’s cage, expanded over the years to include deeper substrate and a small climbing tree. The… well, it felt weird to call him a Troll, when he was nothing like Gristle’s books, but what else could he be called?

A Bergen. At least, that was what he’d be if Gristle’s idea went through.

“I’ve been learning about law.” Gristle began, with no real preamble. Branch looked up from his orange slice, ears twitching, but made no comment. “And I found out something interesting.” He took a deep breath, and glanced at the memo in his hand. “Adoption Laws, Section Two. In the case of a non-Bergen being adopted by a Bergen or other being of Bergen citizenry…” Gristle hurriedly looked at the memo again, “They are considered, in all aspects of the law, a Bergen, with all of the rights and restrictions that such a designation entails.” He let the memo flutter down to the floor and looked down at Branch, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.

Branch clenched and unclenched his paws against the half-eaten orange slice in his lap, tail flicking behind him. “...what.”

“Listen.” Gristle leaned in close, holding up the form in his other hand. “If I adopt you, then you wouldn’t be in any more danger of being eaten!”

Branch squinted. “Aren’t you a little young to be a parent?” He asked, orange slice seemingly forgotten in his lap. “And I’m older than you.” He pointed out, somewhat bitterly.

“Ew! No! Not as a son!” Gristle waved his arms wildly, then pressed the form against the bars again. “As a brother.” He clarified. “Because… you’re more of a friend than a pet,” Gristle explained, “And it’s not fair to keep treating you like one. A pet.” He carefully gaged Branch’s expressions, watching as his face flickered through a series of emotions. “All you’d need to do is sign on this line…”

“It can’t be that easy.” Branch groused, tail flicking faster. “Bergens don’t do ‘easy’.”

“Well,” Gristle rubbed at the back of his neck, “We would have to get approval from Dad for it to go through.” He rallied, clenching his free hand in a fist. “But that’s easy! I mean, he let me keep you!”

“As a pet.” Branch stressed. He set the orange slice aside, brushing off his paws as he stood. “That’s totally different.”

“And that’s why I want to do this!” Gristle unlatched the cage door, not bothering to reach in—he had long since learned that Branch hated being picked up unexpectedly. Better to let Branch come out of the cage on his own terms. “Because what kind of Prince treats his friend like a pet?”

Branch’s expression fell, his shoulders hunching. His paws clenched and unclenched in the rhythmic way they often did, his tail flicking. Carefully, slowly, Branch clambered out of the cage, climbing down the flipped out door to settle on the smooth wood of the shelf. Gristle held out his hand, palm up, and Branch hopped onto it, letting himself be lifted over to the desk.

Gristle laid out the form. He’d double-checked every word to make sure it was exactly what he needed, and all that was left was to sign it and have it approved. Gristle had already signed it, his name penned in only slightly messy ink. Penmanship win!

Branch pulled a tiny quill from his hair, hopping up to gently dab it in the inkwell on the desk. As Gristle watched, Branch kneeled down in front of his line, and carefully signed his name.

“Think that’ll be enough?” Gristle asked.

Branch hummed. “Maybe…” He tucked the quill away and went back to the inkwell, hopping up and leaning so far in that for a moment Gristle feared he’d fall in. Branch kicked the side and lifted himself back and out, clambering over to the form and slapping right next to his name with his paws.

Two inky paw prints, right next to his name. “That should do it.” Branch decided, satisfied.

Gristle nodded, offering his hand again. As Branch hopped onto his palm and clambered up Gristle’s arm to his shoulder, Gristle grabbed the form carefully, blowing a bit to make the ink dry faster.

“Let’s get this done!” Gristle declared, running off to go find his father. It wasn’t the first time Branch had left Gristle’s room, nor the first time that Branch had ridden on Gristle’s shoulder. But it was the first time since the belled harness had been made that Branch had left the room without the jingle of bells signaling his every movement. Gristle realized it was weird, actually, to feel the weight on his shoulder and not hear the sound of bells he’d come to associate with that weight. But the harness was from when Branch was still a pet in everyone’s eyes—it wouldn’t do to make Branch wear it now.

And really, Branch was like a Bergen, in a lot of ways. He never sang or danced, he was disagreeable—even the gray of his short fur was similar to the average Bergen’s dull tones. Whenever he had something to work on, be it the den he’d dug or even old worksheets Gristle tried to downsize for him, he took to working on it just like a Bergen: with a grumble and the focused spirit that allowed Bergens to create sturdy walls and buildings. And he had interesting insights, too—Bergens disliked great heights, so even the castle couldn’t get very tall, but it was Branch who gave Gristle the idea to suggest subterranean expansion when the King presented the age-old issue of expansion logistics. Which was just funny, because Trolls lived in trees—yet Branch never once touched the dusty pod hanging in his cage.

Branch settled down on Gristle Junior’s shoulder, tucked just below Gristle’s ear. Gristle found a sudden bounce in his step, a mix of anticipation and excitement in his veins. Yeah, this whole adoption thing was a great idea! Maybe even the best Gristle had ever had!

Finding the King was easy—it was just before lunch, so King Gristle Senior would be just finishing up with the final petitioners in the biweekly levee. Normally, Gristle Junior would be sitting in his own princely throne beside his father, to listen and watch and get a general idea of how a levee worked—but he had… kinda skipped it, what with how eager he was to try out the adoption idea. Not that that was a major issue—Gristle Junior wasn’t meant to fully step into his duties as Prince until he was ten.

Still…

“Ah, there you are.” King Gristle Senior groused, shifting slightly in his throne. “Care to explain why you missed today’s levee?”

Gristle Junior stopped short, nodding his head in a bow. “My apologies, Father.” He kept his tone careful, regal, like he’d been taught. “I found something that needed attending to.” He explained, head still down.

Gristle Senior snorted. “Well, out with it, then.” He waved his hand encouragingly as his son looked up. “What grand idea did you come up with this time?”

Gristle Junior’s mouth pulled back in an odd way, and he fought the strange expression off of his face. With a simple flourish, he drew out the form, holding it out towards his father. “This.”

Gristle Senior took the form, glancing it over. His expression remained neutr—his eyes widened, as the contents of the form properly registered. The King’s expression scrunched, turning thunderous, before going down to mere annoyance. He turned that annoyance upon his son, and all but sputtered out, “What in the name of Berg is the meaning of this?!”

“It’s an adoption form.” Gristle Junior explained, pressing his hands together. He felt Branch shift slightly on his shoulder, and he held out a palm. Branch took the offer, sliding down Gristle’s arm to stand upon his hand, small and gray and steady.

“I can… see that.” Gristle Senior hissed through ground teeth. “But…” His expression became just as lost as the night that Gristle Junior had first met Branch. With a deep sigh, Gristle Senior looked down at his son and the Troll.

“Letting you keep a Troll as a pet is one thing,” The King began, “But adoption? Of a Troll? Are you insane?”

Gristle Junior felt oddly gobsmacked. “It makes sense.” He tried, unable to keep childish uncertainty from his voice. “Branch is the most unTroll Troll ever, he’s just like a Bergen and I think it’d be best if he was called as such, because then nobody would even think to eat him!”

Gristle Senior sighed, heavy and tired. “That’s not a good enough reason.” He started. “Son, do you have any idea what would happen if that… thing were to become your brother?”

“It’d be a serious crime to eat him.” Gristle Junior responded easily.

Gristle Senior brought up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, grumbling too low for Gristle Junior to make out the words. “...of all the—” With a rumbling groan, Gristle Senior regarded his son with a firm—but not wholly uncaring—expression. “You’re a Prince, my son. You can’t just go adopting every creature you see fit.”

“It’s just Branch.” Gristle Junior pushed back, “He’s already close enough to a Bergen, what’s adding the legal distinction going to do?” He shook his head. “This will all work out, Dad, I know it. I just need you to trust me.”

“Son, be realistic.” The King groused. “If that thing becomes your brother, then that makes it a Prince. There’s no way a Troll could be a Bergen Prince! Trolls are all about loud parties and sugar and silly games—they’re simply unsuited to laws and regulations and the hard work required to run a kingdom!”

Gristle Junior’s mouth opened—to say what, he wasn’t sure, but air was being forced up from his lungs and defiance was roaring in his heart, ready to burst out what would surely be a useful and clever retort—

“I can do it.”

As one, Gristle Junior and Senior turned to look at Branch. Branch took the combined attention with hunched shoulders, his tail clasped in his paws. “You want me to learn how to help run a kingdom? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll learn.” He dropped his tail and crossed his arms, expression firm.

“I don’t want you doing anything of the sort.” Gristle Senior growled, but Gristle Junior was already rallying.

“He can! Branch is smart, Dad, he’s where I got the idea for underground expansions from! He remembers all the stuff I read, and he listens, and he’d make a good Prince!” All of his reasons were true and proven—which meant a lot, for seven year old Gristle Junior.

“Preposterous!” Gristle Senior began—

“If you think it’s so preposterous,” Branch’s voice cut through the room like alligator-dog teeth through mice. “Then why not bet on it?”

Those three words echoed in the sudden silence of the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and tangling up in the eaves. If there was one thing Gristle Junior knew his father could not resist, it was a wager.

Indeed, Gristle Senior’s face had turned contemplative, his hands steepled before him. “A bet, you say?” Something like satisfaction slithered its way onto his face. “Hmm, I think I see what you mean. A trial period, of sorts, is that it? To find out if you could even come close to being a Prince?”

Branch nodded.

“Yeah!” Gristle Junior agreed. “If Branch can prove himself then you have to let the adoption go through!”

Gristle Senior snorted. “Sure, fine.” He waved his hand dismissively, before turning his attention to Branch. “But when that little creature fails to keep up the pace, I’m burning that form and you’re going to put any wild ideas of adopting Trolls out of your head for good.” He glared down at the pair, lips curled in a derisive snarl.

“You have three weeks.” Gristle Senior declared. “Better get started.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was seven years old when he became a brother.

The wager had been… not as hard as Gristle expected. Branch had thrown himself into the challenge with a fervor that was only seen with master artisans undergoing hefty commissions. It had taken a lot of work, in those three weeks, but at the end of it all—

The cage had to be redone, renovated into a proper bedroom. The castle staff found itself expanded by two—Bernice and Groth, who had been hired to aid in the fiddly and sometimes frustrating art of turning tiny, Troll-sized writings into something that could be read by the average Bergen. Branch needed new clothes, and a proper bed, and a shelf for all of the Troll-sized copies he’d made and was making of the various books on Law and history and regulations, and had to attend meals and levees and lessons with Gristle, and—

It was so much. Gristle had known, when he had drafted that first attempt at an adoption form in the castle library, that things would change—but he had never quite imagined the sheer scope of it all. Suddenly, his brother was accompanying him everywhere, riding on Gristle’s shoulder or flinging himself through the halls with his hair. Gristle had heard some of the staff discussing pathways for Branch, where he’d be safe from being stepped on—

There was so much.

But…

Gristle had never had a brother. He had had a friend, in Branch, but it had taken so long for them to really get there. And now, despite how it had felt like the world was ending on that fateful failed Trollstice, all those years ago—

Gristle couldn’t imagine that day going any other way. He didn’t want to imagine a world in which he never met Branch, who was surely a Bergen in Troll skin. Branch was his friend—no, his brother.

“Hey, Branch?” Gristle rolled over and looked at the shelf that Branch’s things currently resided on, at the cage hurriedly covered with a sheet in an approximation of a proper room with real privacy. Late at night, in his unlit room, it barely looked like a cage at all. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

Branch’s voice filtered down from the shelf. “Not really.” He admitted. “Why should I?” There was something oddly bitter in his voice. “It’s the day I was left behind. Again.”

Gristle Junior wasn’t sure how to unpack that. Or if he ever should. “I won’t leave you behind.” He promised, “‘Cause brothers stick together.” It felt like such a simple truth, to the seven year old Bergen.

There was silence from the shelf. It stretched on, almost uncomfortably so, feeding into the static of the darkness filling the room.

Gristle huffed. “You really are just like a Bergen.” He commented, “Always miserable.” He chuffed, something light in his chest that he didn’t fully register. “And that’s why you know we’ll always stick together.” He said, staring up at the darkness clinging to the ceiling.

“Unhappy together, then.” There was something soft in Branch’s voice—he must have been tired after such a long day.

Gristle sighed. Unhappy together. It sounded like a promise, like a finality.

It sounded like he was finally getting the hang of this whole “taking care of people” thing.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was ten years old when he was properly crowned Prince.

The day had been rife with tradition, from a breakfast banquet stocked with imported delicacies to the event itself out in the plaza. The old Troll Tree, withered from its abandonment, stood tall in the center of the space, dominating the whole scene no matter how Gristle Junior tried to look at it.

He fiddled with the clasp on his cape—his Princely cape, paired with his new crown to signify the change in status. The festivities weren’t exactly celebratory—the whole ceremony amounted to more of a town meeting, but with the best catering the royal kitchens could provide. Bergens of all kinds wandered about the plaza, taking advantage of the free food while Gristle Junior—Prince Gristle Junior watched on from his father’s side.

Branch—no, it was Prince Branch, now—stood to Gristle’s side, on a small platform made entirely for the occasion. His own blue cape and silver crown had to be custom-made, instead of passed down, but neither of the brothers were bothered by that fact.

“I still don’t understand how Glixry managed such tiny details.” Gristle commented, focusing in on the silver metal of Branch’s crown. “It even has tiny metal leaves!”

Branch reached up, touching the edges delicately. “It feels so weird.” He decided. “But… not bad.”

“Of course not! You’re a Prince now!” Gristle assured him. “Stand tall and proud, like a proper Bergen.” Gristle commanded, repeating the words he had heard so many times.

“Yeah…” Branch let his paws fall back to his sides, almost hidden under the edges of his cape—but Gristle didn’t miss the way they clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

Branch was older than Gristle, true. But the fact remained that he had started learning later, so it had been decided to crown them both when Gristle came of age, and not a moment sooner. So here they were, brothers crowned together, all of Bergentown around them.

There would be so many more responsibilities, now—Princes helped the reigning monarch run the kingdom, after all. They’d still have to learn as they went, but—

Gristle breathed in deeply. The Bergens—his people—they were all miserable. But they were hardworking and honest, and Gristle would do his best to be the Prince they deserved.

Gristle turned to look back at his brother, who was fiddling with his own cape clasp. Glixry had repurposed one of the bells from Branch’s old harness for the clasp, and even now it still faintly rung as Branch slowly paced around his little platform.

There was an odd expression on Branch’s face, satisfaction and an oddly melancholy contemplation firming his brow. Gristle huffed, snapping his little-big brother from whatever thoughts he was lost in. Gristle offered his hand, and Branch rolled his eyes before hopping onto Gristle’s palm.

As Gristle lifted his brother high above his head, something proud surged in his chest, light and electric in his veins. His face twitched in that odd way it sometimes did, but Gristle ignored the feeling in favor of looking out over his people once more.

He was going to be the best Prince Bergentown had ever seen! He and his brother both!

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was eleven years old when Branch finally pupated.

His book on Troll growth said that Trolls pupated when they were twelve or thirteen. It also went on about how Trolls were utterly inedible in this state, wrapped in their cocoons as their bodies changed and matured.

That Branch’s pupation had come late according to the books was worrying. That it had come at all was a stark reminder of the fact that, for all of his Bergen-like traits, Branch was in some small way still a Troll.

Gristle peered at the dark gray hair cocoon for the umpteenth time. None of his books said anything about whether Trolls could still hear in there, or even what really happened to them outside of “maturation”—all the book really cared to go over was how to identify a pupation cocoon, and that they couldn’t be eaten.

“Even if you can’t hear me,” Gristle began, settling back down with an interesting book he’d found—some kind of romance novel where none of the characters actually got together in the end. He’d heard the librarian going on about how it was a contemplative piece about the nature of connections, so he’d picked it up to go through. “But if you can’t then I’ll just read this book to you all over again when you’re out.”

The cocoon gave no discernible response. Gristle decided that that was fine, and began to read. He made it through a chapter and a half before being summoned for dinner with his father, and he gave the cocoon one final glance as he left the room.

“I see your… brother isn’t joining us again tonight.” Gristle Senior commented, as the first course was brought out.

“I told you, Dad, he’s pupating.” Gristle Junior huffed, licking sticky roe off of his fingers.

“Yes,” Gristle Senior nodded. “Trolls do do that, I’ve heard.” He went silent as the second course arrived, digging in with royal fervor. A few moments later, and he spoke again. “Hopefully this whole thing doesn’t set him too far back.” He commented airily, dabbing at his face with a napkin.

Gristle Junior scowled over his plate as a servant exchanged it for the bowl of soup acting as the third course. “Branch always keeps up.” He asserted. “And we won that bet fair and square, so you can’t go back on your end no matter what.” He sipped from his spoon with a pointedly royal slurp.

“And I have no intentions of backing out.” Gristle Senior slurped just a little harder. “I’m just curious.” And with that, the conversation was over.

Gristle stared down at his soup. Branch would keep up. He would. He always did.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle was eleven years old, and he was getting concerned.

Nineteen days. The books said that Trolls only pupated for a week, tops. But it had been nineteen days since Branch had disappeared into the spun cocoon, eyes glassy and unfocused. Nineteen days of a silent cocoon.

Gristle had long since finished that first romance novel, and the book on fence safety regulations, and was almost halfway into a book on the history of anchovy farming. And the cocoon still remained!

The worry was starting to affect his Princely duties, too. Maybe it was because he was used to working alongside Branch, and the absence was getting to him, but there was no denying it: Gristle was concerned. But what if trying to crack the cocoon open early ruined everything? What if he was supposed to crack it open, and he’d missed the deadline? What if being gray really was bad, and Branch…

Gristle didn’t want to think about it. He really, really didn’t.

The sun had long gone down when Gristle finally put his books away and retired to his bed. He glanced at the cocoon one last time before extinguishing the lights, worry like a rock in his gut.

The night passed. The sun rose again, creeping into Gristle’s bedroom through the window until it smacked against his eyes. With a groan, the eleven year old sat up, shading his eyes with a hand. He glared at the offending celestial body. “Every day.” He muttered. “Every day, you do this.” He was about to continue—

“Are you yelling at the sun again? Really?”

Gristle yelped, jolting hard enough to fall off of his bed entirely. He flailed wildly, scrambling to clamber back to his feet, frenetic energy in every inch of his suddenly-impossibly-awkward limbs.

“Branch!” Gristle leaned up against the shelf, examining the shredded remains of the cocoon through the door of his brother’s room. His little-big brother stood beside it, already having pulled on some pants. “You’re okay! You were in there for really long!”

Branch shrugged, walking over to his wardrobe. “Well, I’m here, so you can quit your whining.” There was a fondness in his voice that had Gristle rolling his eyes.

“Your tail’s still gone.” Gristle noticed. A lump settled in his gut, hard and heavy. “Branch…”

Branch turned around, twisting to look and confirm Gristle’s words. “Eh.” He shrugged, and turned his attention back to his wardrobe. “‘S not like it matters.” He decided, picking out a shirt to wear under his cape. “Bergens aren’t supposed to have tails anyway.”

Gristle winced. It was true, Bergens were tailless—but if they had tails, they certainly wouldn’t—

Gristle shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. “Sooo,” He started, as Branch was securing the belled clasp of his cape. “How do you feel?”

Branch carefully placed his crown back upon his head, then walked in a small circle. “I don’t know, stronger?” He tried, holding his paws out in front of himself and examining them. “I think my balance is better, actually.” He noted. As if to illustrate the point, he did a twirl, his cape flaring slightly with the motion. “My face feels kinda… hm.” Branch pressed at his jaw with his paws, before shrugging it off. “Whatever. Are you gonna get ready, or am I doing all your work for you today?”

“Oh!” Gristle whipped back around, running for his own wardrobe. “Right!” As he shrugged on his own cape, clicking the clasp into place, he turned back to glance at the shelf holding his brother’s room.

Gristle sighed, all of his worries abated. Why would he ever worry? His family was just fine, and would be for a long, long time.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was thirteen years old when he finally had to admit it.

He’d always hoped he’d get his father’s height, that he’d be able to stand as tall as the average Bergen in his adult years. But it had become clear that he would always be half average height, always doomed to needing steps to get onto the taller chairs.

It wasn’t the end of the world; Bergens could come in a range of shapes and sizes. That Gristle was so short wasn’t that big of an issue.

But Berg, did it feel like it! Gristle had spent his whole life looking up to his father—metaphorically and literally! And he was probably going to be stuck looking up forever!

“What are you moping about now?” And there was Gristle’s little-big brother, padding along one of the many paths set into the castle walls. The masons and carpenters had done good work with those paths—when Branch wasn’t running along them, they looked like simple wall decoration. It was real classy.

“I’m never gonna be tall.” Gristle grumbled, allowing himself a moment to lean against the wall in despair. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and hurriedly pulled away, flailing his hands as he tried to recover. “I mean—not that being short is a bad thing—”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Branch groused, holding out a paw. “Because from where I’m standing, you are not short.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.

“I am, though.” Gristle lamented. “Most Bergens are twice my size. I mean, just look at Dad!”

Branch rolled his eyes. “At least you’re not Troll-sized.” He hopped down from the path along the wall to land atop Gristle’s head, just next to the crown. “Gotta count your blessings there.”

“I dunno,” Gristle started, swiping at his brother as the tiny Bergen pattered about on his head and ruffled his hair, “Maybe being Troll-sized would be nice. I could ride Barnabus around the halls with you.” He didn’t fully mean it—being the size of a Troll in a castle made for Bergens constantly forced Branch to find workarounds to even the simplest of things. But if anyone could manage it, it’d be Branch.

And Gristle had to admit: the idea of being able to ride on an alligator-dog, even one as old as Barnabus, was really cool. But Gristle was too big for that, and too big for his old trikes—all while being too small in so many other ways. It was like he was caught between, stuck at a size that would annoy him forever.

Branch dodged away from Gristle’s hand easily, chuffing when Gristle accidentally sent his own crown flying down the hall. Gristle growled, running after it, shaking his head in an attempt to throw Branch off. But his brother held on easily, always infuriatingly good at roughhousing despite his size.

It just wasn’t fair.

But, as Gristle replaced his crown on his head, and as Branch slid down to settle on Gristle’s shoulder, Gristle brushed away the annoyance.

It wasn’t the end of the world. Not by a long shot.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the unthinkable happened.

His father, King Gristle Senior, who had always been an unshakeable force, strong and proud in a kingdom full of strong and proud Bergens—

Gristle Junior couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It just—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this!

But there was nothing that could be done. His father had fallen ill three months ago, and, despite every effort from every doctor in Bergentown, despite all of the King’s strength—

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father passed from illness, gone overnight like a snuffed candle flame. Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the title of King passed onto him, far too soon—he should have remained a Prince until he was a proper adult, until he was married with children who would become the Princes and Princesses that would help him run the kingdom—

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his world shattered for the second time. The funeral was held out in the plaza, barely a week after his father’s passing. The same plaza as Gristle’s first and final Trollstice, as his and Branch’s official crowning as Princes. It felt as though every major life-changing event in Gristle’s life happened here, the caged tree looming over it all like a shadow.

It still… it just couldn’t be possible. His father couldn’t just be… gone.

Gristle returned to the castle in a daze. Some distant part of him knew that he would have no choice but to take up his father’s crown, and soon, but—

The rest of him was sinking slowly, the grief thick in his throat and veins and head. The fog was all-consuming, pulling Gristle into depths of unhappiness he’d never thought possible.

Gristle had believed his first and last Trollstice, the day where he lost any chance to ever be happy, would be the worst day of his life. Oh, how wrong he was.

Gristle didn’t know how long he laid like that, staring up at the ceiling of his room without seeing anything at all. It was as though the world around him had well and truly shattered, and now the pieces had all fallen away out of his reach. Gristle floated on the nothing for what felt like an eternity and now time at all, the mire in his head growing thicker with every passing second.

“Hey.”

Gristle rolled over on his bed, pressing his face into the comforter to block out the rest of the world.

“Hey.”

What was the point? Gristle was never supposed to be King at fifteen. He’d probably mess it up, bungle the whole thing, and then all of Bergentown would be just as dead as his father.

“Hey!”

Gristle groaned, shoving his face into the comforter. He didn’t have the time or patience for this, his whole world was falling apart, why couldn’t he have a good cry about it in peace—

Something small landed inches away from Gristle’s head. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was—only his little-big brother could land so lightly.

“Hey, idiot.” Branch pushed at Gristle’s chin, lifting the Bergen’s head off the bed by a few inches. “Chin up.” He demanded, baring his teeth.

Gristle forced his head back down onto the comforter. “Leave me alone.” He growled.

“Mm, nope.” Branch declared, moving around to pull at Gristle’s ear. “You’ve been in here long enough,” he sniffed, “And you need a shower. C’mon.” He pulled, and Gristle had to put effort into staying in place.

“No.” Gristle grumbled. “Just let me rot.” Every inch of his body ached with the grief clinging to his bones, and the very thought of getting up and doing anything made him want to vomit. The whole world made him want to vomit.

“Can’t let you,” Branch said, his voice edging into genuine worry. “C’mon, at least eat something?” He tugged at Gristle’s ear again, darting away as Gristle irritably swiped at him.

“I said,” Gristle pushed himself up ever so slightly, just so he could look Branch in the eye, “leave me alone!”

Branch shook his head, paws clenching and unclenching. “You’ve been alone.” He said. “I can’t leave you. Brothers stick together.” There was something heavy in his words, some deeper meaning than a childhood promise.

“And how are you supposed to help?” Gristle asked, sitting up fully. “What could you possibly do to make this better?”

“Not let you smell like a rotting carcass, for one.” Branch snarked. His expression immediately softened. “You need to take better care of yourself.” He urged. “Letting yourself rot only makes it hurt worse. Please.”

“And what would you know?” Gristle accused. “You and Dad barely even liked each other!”

“You think I don’t know what grief feels like?” Branch spread his arms wide, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. “My Grandmother was eaten on Trollstice before you were even born! DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO GRIEVE!”

Gristle flinched back. All of his vitriol drained as Branch panted. “You…” Branch never talked about that, about those four years he’d spent in the Troll Tree. Gristle’s throat tightened as a wave of emotion hit him anew, his eyes beginning to sting.

“It hurts.” He sobbed, for lack of anything better to say.

Branch’s anger melted away. “I know.” He said, sitting down. “It hurts, and you want so badly to just curl into a ball and wish the world away—”

“But you have to pick yourself back up.” Gristle finished. “Because people are counting on you.”

“Because nobody else will.” Branch added softly.

Gristle sobbed, breathy and uneven. “I miss him so much, Branch.”

Branch nodded. “I know.”

“I’m not ready to be King!” Gristle’s face was wet, now, hot and sticky with snot and tears.

Branch nodded again. “I know.”

Gristle sobbed again, his whole body shaking with the motion. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

“It’s not okay,” Branch offered into the silence, scooting forwards, “And that’s okay.”

“It hurts.” Gristle whispered.

Branch nodded. No more words came, and Gristle continued to cry. All of his misery poured out, raw and real and painful, and Branch remained right in front of him the entire time. When Gristle finally ran out of tears to cry, he flopped back down onto the bed, and two paws pressed against his cheek.

The silence stretched.

Slowly, Gristle breathed. In, and out. His chest was still strung taut and raw, his face was cold and sticky, and his throat stung from the effort of crying so much. He had never felt so low. He knew the grief was far from over.

As Gristle breathed, Branch clambered up onto his chest. He kneeled down, and held out a paw.

“Unhappy together.” Branch offered. “Shit sucks, but it sucks less when we work together.”

Gristle inhaled, his breath choppy and uneven. “Unhappy together.” He agreed, offering his finger for Branch to shake. He sobbed again, and Branch wrapped his arms around as much of Gristle’s hand as he could manage.

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father died. And it sucked, and hurt, and Gristle wasn’t sure he’d ever really stop grieving.

But, at the very least, he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t much, but that simple fact helped.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was twenty years old when Chef returned.

The day started as any other, really. Wake up, get cleaned and dressed, find his brother already awake and poring over details from the latest construction updates in the new quarter. Have breakfast, Branch darting about to steal off of his plate as he stole from Branch’s, like proper brothers would do. Go through the castle halls greeting everyone, Branch walking along the various small walkways lining the walls and arching up across hallways like tiny bridges. Prepare for the biweekly levee in the throne room.

It was as the final petitioner was leaving that it happened. A Bergen that Gristle only vaguely recognized emerged from behind a potted plant, swishing her cloak ominously as she all but marched towards the throne.

And then Gristle recognized her. The chef’s hat, the lavender tint, the wicked gleam in her eyes. He glanced to the throne beside his, and anxiety germinated in his chest at the sight of Branch still as a statue, eyes wide and locked onto Chef.

“Were you behind that plant the whole time?” Gristle asked, for lack of anything else to say. He realized immediately how stupid that sounded—but Branch made no comment on it, which was so unlike him that Gristle’s uncertainty ratcheted up another notch.

Chef grinned as she reached for the zipper on her fannypack. Slowly, she opened it, and a sweet harmony emerged from within.

Gristle gasped, the rest of the world forgotten. If Branch had any reaction, Gristle didn’t notice it, too entranced with the sight before him.

For in Chef’s fannypack was a handful of Trolls, bright and colorful and singing.

This… this could change everything.

No—this would change everything. For all of Bergentown! Finally, Gristle Junior could live up to his title, could be the King that brought happiness back to his people!

If he had bothered to look back at the thrones, he would have seen Chef glaring daggers into his back.

More importantly, he would have seen the look of utter uncertainty on Branch’s face.

[tagerrkix]

god(?) said i shall have a badly drawn hastur as my profile picture

[kitsunesakii]

None of these are completely filled

Biggest lie is when I say I'll finish a sketchbook all the way

[wierdfanficwriter]

My mind is wierd as fuck. I could be sleeping and wake up at 3:00 am even though I was dreaming about nothing or dreaming about a something normal, or dare I say nice or cute. But soooooo when it's a fucking nightmare I don't wake up until my body clock thinks its 6 in the morning! Not that I'm mad or anything, it's great that I can still sleep without my sleep paralysis demon telling me gossip for an hour straight, but like- LET ME FINISH MY GOOD DREAMS DAM IT!

[mythicmin]

Overwatch NSFW Alphabet(s)

MDNI!! If you are under the age of 18, please DNI. Character requests are OPEN. Just slide into my ask box and specify which character you’d like to see :)

𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆 𝑴𝒄𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒆 / 𝑪𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒚

A = Aftercare ;

McCree is a firm believer in aftercare. Chances are you aren’t getting up to do ANYTHING for at least an hour. (unless he has somewhere he needs to rush to.) Need to pee? He’s gonna carry you. Thirsty? Hungry? Give him a second, he’ll be right back with your favorite drink/snack.

B = Body part ;

You can’t look me dead in my eyes and tell me he isn’t an ass man. He’s practically obsessed with it. Doesn’t matter where you’re at or who you’re with, chances are he’s got his hand on your ass or in your back pocket.

C = Cum ;

Bro is definitely a slut for facials if he can’t cum inside of you. There’s just something possessive about it, like he’s marking you as his.

D = Dirty secret ;

Secretly wants to get topped, cmon he’s a cocky little shit. Put him in his place and make him beg for you. ❤︎︎

E = Experience ;

I am a firm believer in thinking he’s got some kind of old fashioned way of thinking. He knows what he likes, but doesn’t have much experience with it. I know we all love fuckboy McCree, but him being a virgin makes me giggle.

F = Favorite position ;

Doggie. Need I say more?

G = Goofy ;

Bro is a whole clown in bed and you can’t change my mind. He knows how to act serious when need be, but he always wants to see you smile. Even if he’s balls deep in you.

H = Hair ;

I think he manscapes a bit, he’s never bare though. There’s always some sort of hair framing his cock, clean shaven just isn’t his style.

I = Intimacy ;

Lil western baby treats you like the princess/prince you are. Sure he loves fucking your brains out, but making love to you is another favorite past time.

J = Jack off / Masterbate ;

I don’t really know to be honest, I feel like he’d think he’s too busy to get himself off. But maybe it’s just hidden cockiness that only you can get him off.

K = Kink ;

Anal. I know this man eats ass as well. I just know it. Bro also definitely has a daddy kink. (or maybe that’s bc i’m projecting bc he’s so fine.)

L = Location ;

Anywhere.

M = Motivation ;

He really gets going when you slowly touch his arms/chest while making eye contact.

N = No ;

Sadly, threesomes. I think he’s just too possessive.

O = Oral ;

He loves both giving and receiving, but he enjoys making you fall apart with his mouth. Playing with that cigar should’ve warned you he was gonna be a beast with his tongue.

P = Pace ;

Whichever you want. He can deliver both fast or slow.

Q = Quickie ;

Loves them. Especially if y’all are out and about doing something.

R = Risk ;

He literally doesn’t care if y’all get caught with him balls deep in you.

S = Stamina ;

I feel like he cums fairly fast, but can go for a few rounds.

T = Toys ;

He’s iffy on them. He wants to be the one to make you feel good, but watching you thrash against the vibrator he’s holding gets him feeling some typa way.

U = Unfair ;

He’s so mean sometimes, bro is a WHOLE ASS tease and he knows it.

V = Volume ;

I don’t feel like he’s overly loud in the moaning or groaning criteria, but he’s definitely a smooth talker blowing your back in.

W = Wild card ;

Pull his hair while he’s giving you head and bro is putty in your hands.

X = X-ray ;

6” soft , a lil over 7” hard. (circumcised)

Y = Yearning ;

I SWEAR THIS MAN CAN TURN HIS SEX DRIVE OFF AND ON DEPENDING ON HOW MUCH OF A COCKY BASTARD HE WANTS TO BE.

Z = Zzz ;

Always waits until you’re asleep first.

god i love this man.

hope you enjoyed!! lmk who y’all wanna see next ! ❤︎︎

[darkurgetrash]

Music Tag Game🎵

I was tagged by @commander-krios - thank you!! I decided to hit shuffle on my Spotify ‘liked’ songs because I don’t have a brain, so let’s see what comes up. 👀

RULES: write one song for every letter in your url and then tag as many people as there are letters in your url

D Duvet — bôa

A Alien — Thumpasaurus

R Road to Joy — Bright Eyes

K Keep the Car Running — Arcade Fire

U United States of Whatever — Liam Lynch

R Ready To Go Steady — The Go! Team

G Grapeface — Warmduscher

E Exeunt — The Oh Hellos

T Tachycardia — Conor Oberst

R Remember My Name — Mitski

A Apple Tree — AURORA

S Seven — Sunny Day Real Estate

H Here Comes Your Man — Pixies

A good selection I think! No pressure tags (also spelling my url except I don’t follow anyone with a k name so c will do hehe 😘) @drizztdohurtin @attackofthefangirl @rinbeastie @charmedcleric @underdark-dreams @rolanpilled @gender-in-a-blender @el-tur-el @tadpolebrains @rolansrighthorn @a2zillustration @savriea @heytheresunflower 💕

[rainee-da]

Hello how's your day!! I wanna request fluff for the Walkis (the six critters) if that's okay... Thank you very much!!!!

URGRHRH I JUST RLLY LIKE YOUR WRITINGS HUEGSGSJAJKAK

🍀 Lay Down in Their Lap [2]

CHARACTER ❥ Lévis Rosequartz 🧲 / Charles Contini 📞 / Galuf Gargaron 👅 / Kenny Clark 🧊 / Malcolm Curtis 🪲 / Lovie Rosequartz ⚡

W A R N I N G ⚠️ R-15 for suggestive themes on some / BIG SPOILER for anime watchers!!!! / might be too OOC for you.

L É V I S R O S E Q U A R T Z 🧲

Scarlet red creeped from his neck up to his face. He stares at you with a bewildered look, unable to comprehend your 'ridiculous' request.

"H-huh?! Y-you want t-to... s-sleep... my l-lap... are you insane?! Stop acting like an idiot!" he shrieked as he scooted back to the edge of the bench.

He tried. He swears to the mightiest God or Goddess up there that he tried his absolute best to stay firm. He tried to kept a stern posture while you're looking at him like a kicked puppy.

After all, laying on people's lap in broad daylight on school ground is too lovey-dovey! too scandalous!

What would everyone think?! What would his FATHER think?!

But his resolution dwindling as rapidly as it could when you asked him again. This time fully utilizing those puppy-eyes to its maximum capacity.

"F-Fine! Just do whatever you want!" he snapped with an angry tone as he finally scooted closer and slumped his back against the bench, grabbing his abandoned book and flipping it to random page.

His mind is gearing at a rapid pace as he tried to calm his nerves, his damaged eyes now started to feel itchy. That's fine though, just act as if you didn't care and all would be fine, right?

The rumble in his mind shatters when he finally felt that soft pressure against thighs. He, embarrassingly, lets out a high-pitched low screech and he almost bang his nape to the bench.

"I-Idiot! Stop moving around so much!" he barked weakly as he squirmed in his seat, while you simply nuzzle onto his thighs. Uncaring of his outward misery.

He swears to God you'll make him die from heart attack one of these days…

He gulped, face scarlet red and teeth gritting as he stares down at your peaceful expression. His brain fixated onto your facial features, silently making it his new fixation.

His hand moves to move the strand that is in the way of your face. And his index finger accidentally brush against your lips...

Why is it moist? Can he try it-

Your face will ended up being littered with a bunch of tiny shred of paper. Because the man above you is apparently too nervous and ending up grinding down on his book with his teeth.

C H A R L E S C O N T I N I 📞

"Y-yes? Sure, sure... of course, Mama... W-what? My voice? O-oh, I'm just cold... It's winter a-after all.. Yes, yes, of course I'm using the b-blank...kkket.... you gave me... Really, I'm fine!"

The one and only Charles Contini is, in fact, not fine. His face is currently match that of a boiling hot kettle.

His body trembles, hand almost dropping his phone as he attempts (but failed) to gave you his meanest death-glare.

But you didn't care. You just swing your head on his thigh mischievously then get your head back inside his shirt, doing whatever you want.

His other hand desperately yanked the fabric of your clothes, teeth gritting and in the break of speaking to his mother on the phone he mouthed to you a word 'please', his lips is now visibly trembling.

You, somehow had managed to make him hate talking to his mother right at this moment.

"Y-yeah yeah... Mama, I reallly think I gotta-Hhhah... Y-yeah really, I'm fine... I swear I'm fine! N-now Igottagobyeeee-" click, finally the torture is over.

He exhales loudly as he plopped his body on the bed. He rolled his body to the side, forcefully ripping you out of his lap. He mumbles, "You're unbelieveable," as he rubbed his face with his palm.

You though, didn't care. You simply take a peek to his face with a smug look on your face, clearly satisfied. Fueling his irritation more.

Out of nowhere though, the tables has turned. He startling you by moving so fast and now you're pinned down on the bed, with him on top of you.

He smirked at you, tilting his head to the side. He looks so menacing... and hot.

"Mama said that I shouldn't play rough with others... but," he purrs quietly as his hand roamed to your sides, and his other hands pick up the strand of your hair and brings it to his mouth, giving it a peck.

His head leans closer, breath brushing againts the skin of your neck and he let out a low chuckle. Your reaction is simply too adorable.

"... I think a punishment is due, don't you think?"

Don't be weird lol he just tickled your sides lmaoooo of course I'm not insinuating anything hahahahhahaa-

G A L U F G A R G A R O N 👅

"I-is this okay? Are you comfortable?" he stutters nervously, both of his hand hovers awkwardly over your relaxes figure on his lap, not knowing where to put it.

On your hair? What if he accidentally yank it? On your stomach? What if he pushed on it too hard? On your chest? Uh-

He snapped out of his turmoil when you mentioned that his shaking hand is currently sweating a river, and it's dripping down on you.

"Huh?! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to please don't hate me-" please guide this poor lad. He never done this with anyone ever before. He's seriously gonna combust into acid mess!

His jitter and stutter earning him a few sore spot in his tongue due to him accidentally biting into it when trying to talk or move. It's a wonder that he managed to NOT bite it off.

His breath hitches when you grabbed his hand gently and guide it to rest flat on your hair, telling him to try playing with it as a start. THIS IS THE START?!

He swears if he accidentally hurt you he'll yank his limb off.

As the time passed by though, he started to calmed down as his mind focused on each strand of your hair. A faint blush tinted his cheek and by the time you realized it, he's in the middle of braiding your hair into a tiny parts. All the time checking your facial expression for any sign of discomfort.

His eyes rounded into what seemed like a doe-eye and his face relaxed, the corner of his mouth is quirked upwards into a small smile. He seems happy... until-

"WHAT'CHA LOOKING AT?!" He suddenly barked with eyes glaring to the side. Panicked, your head follows his direction and you saw his gang standing over there with face full of variation of expression.

Before you managed to speak your mind, your boyfriend's voice boomed across the place as he barked the word "SCRAM", making those group of teens scramble away into obscurity, almost stumbling onto each other.

"They're so noisy, I swear to God..." he mumble quietly, his eyes trailing back to meet your surprised expression. He avert his eyes shyly and he's back to his previous mode, stumbling over his word.

"I-I'm sorry, you must be surprised right?" he stated meekly as his hand silently encouraging you to lay back on his lap. "It's just my friends, they're being noisy as per usual. I hope I didn't scare you..."

Honestly, the duality of this man is mind-boggling.

K E N N Y C L A R K 🧊

"Calm down, no one's gonna now," he said nonchalantly, patting your hair without looking at you as his hand flipped through the pages of his module.

The both of you are in the library right now, and as it should be; nobody should be flirting in the library. Getting caught holding hands in itself will earn the culprit an one-day ban from accessing the library.

But did your boyfriend care? Of course not.

Because if he cares you wouldn't be in this situation right now; head pressed down onto his lap with one hand while he busying himself, studying for finals.

He reasoned that your love is his 'battery', therefore you should be 'charging him'. Whatever that means.

Sometimes he'll look down on his lap to check on you. He'll pinch on your cheek to make you look at him and he'll blow you a kiss. With a face devoid of any emotions.

Though his face seems stoic, he's actually secretly gushing inside his mind. He swears that that your misery flustered face is so adorable! That blushing cheek, wavering eyes... it brings warm to his chest.

All of that gushy-mushy inside his mind, while you're nervously checking around the room. Afraid to find the librarian striding in without any time for you to react.

The both of you have been banned from the library for far too many times. And finals week is not the ideal time for that to happen.

Noticing your distress, he closed his eyes and sighed softly. His hand relaxed and he stopped putting pressure onto your head. Giving you a chance to finally scrambled out of his lap and act normal!

But that's too boring for him.

That's why now he wrapped his hand around your shoulder and pulling you closer. Effectively making you lean on his shoulder.

But that's not enough for him, no! so he uses his hand to tilted your head upwards, making you face him while he leans closer to rubbed the tip of his nose to yours. Enjoying the reaction he earned from you.

"Rest assured, my angel," he mumbled quietly, intentionally breathing through his mouth so it would brush onto your lips. "After all, our love is always stealthy, it will flies under the radar." yikes

You might be hallucinating but you swear that you saw a glimpes of his lips quirked upwards slightly as he leans closer slowly, tilting his head, almost touching your lips...

"MR. CLARK WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING IN MY LIBRARY?!"

On a positive note, if you get a bad grades for final, you're free to blame him now! Yay!

M A L C O L M C U R T I S 🪲

"Are you bored, my dear?" his voice is calm and soothing as he push the strand of hair that is in your face to the side, his other hand is brushing through the back of your hair gently.

He look to the side and stares at his fishing equipment that he put up by the edge of the river. It's been an hour and no fish has taken the bait yet.

He's not surprised though. Fishing is a long, waiting game after all. Especially if one decides to not use a lure. For him though, that's what makes it even more satisfying if he managed to catch one.

You lay on the grass with your head on his lap. Moaning and groaning about 'stupid fish not knowing what a fine cuisine is'. A low chuckles escapes his mouth, muffled by the tube in his mouth.

"Well, it's indeed taking longer than usual for fish to take my bait. I'm experimenting with the new bug after all," and that made you pouted. Something that he adores the most.

He's always hesitant to bring you with him fishing, knowing that you'll not be entertained. But for some reasons you always insisting on coming along, and every time his lap always ended up as your pillow.

Not that he minded though. You seemed relaxed and content as you nuzzle onto his thigh. And that's all he wanted, for you to be comfortable around him.

Not many people can bear to look at his... face. People often stated that 'it's the face that can only be loved by his mother'.

Not you though... you seems to think that his face is ethereal, as if he's one of Michelangelo's masterpiece. He never knew why you seems to think that way... but it warms his heart.

You suddenly shrieked, almost making him jump to defensive position and activate his magic. He frantically look to the side and his eyes widened when his fishing rod had finally started to twitch.

He moves away as you woke up from his lap and quickly keep a hold to the fishing rod, slowly reeling it in and strategically stopped to not startle anything that is currently taking his bait.

Meanwhile his heart thump against his chest, hearing you yelling encouragements to him as if you're a cheerleader.

And... voila! It's a baby catfish.

He stares at the wiggling little fish at the end of of his rod with a deadpanned expression, while you currently laughing your ass off.

He looks towards your direction, and he was stunned in silence as he stares at your amused face. It was simply... beautiful.

He knew his hobby is boring for you. But if it can make you laugh like this... he hopes you'll never get bored coming along with him.

He feels serene, at peace, all because of you.

L O V I E R O S E Q U A R T Z ⚡

"Oh, Hi... sorry, but Lévis is not here" he greets you with a soft voice as you come to his room, closing the book he's been reading and giving you his full attention as you walked to his bed.

His eyes widened in surprised when you, as usual, told him that you're here to hang out with him. A faint blushes painted his cheek as he let out a sweet laugh, "Oh, of course! please, come sit by me. I was starting to get bored myself."

He never gets used to you visiting him for some reasons. Even after a year of him being sick and losing his magic, he never did.

After being bedridden, it's rare for him to met people other than Lévis. His father never even consider him exist anymore, deeming him to be a defective product.

Maybe the last time he met his father was more than half a year ago? when he dragged him to this room?

All of that didn't surprised him though, he was just happy that his brother didn't meet the same fate as him. He believes all of this happen as a karma for never tried to stand up for his brother.

For you to stick around and visiting him every other weekend though, just to hang out with him and nothing else, is never failed to surprised him. I mean, why? he was weak now, everybody leaves, why won't you?

He giggles as he scoots a bit to give you space. As per usual, you'll get on his bed and put your head on his lap. Hugging his thin thigh in a koala grip as if it's your lifeline.

The pressure was a bit too tight, but it was fully welcomed. The extra warmth from your body is radiating and creeping to his heart, warming the negative thoughts away.

"How was school? anything interesting?" he questioned while brushing his hand to your hair, and his sweet smile never fades as he listens to your story. His eyes radiating with adoration as he stares down at you.

For him, your story was always interesting. Even if all you gonna talk in your entire visit is only about the shitty new cafeteria menu you had on school, it was all very interesting for him.

If you mentioned about his smile towards you, he'll giggle and cup your cheeks before giving your lips a small peck, "It's because I love you so much. You're so cute!"

Any reactions you gave him after that will earned you more peck for him. Don't scoot away from his lap though, he'll be sad! and he'll use his entire energy if he should to drag you back to his lap.

In his weakened state, all whom stay by his side other than Lévis is only you. For him, you're the breathe of fresh air in this cramped, lavish space.

Your existence stuck in his mind, and it's what keeps him going through the day as he dealt with the illness in his body.

As he pressed his forehead on top of yours, he mutters a soft 'thank you' before sighing, enjoying your presence by his side.

He'll trade everything in the world, for you to stay by his side... forever.

By the way, Lévis is currently outside of his room the entire time, holding a tray of food, wondering if he should go in and become a cockblock or not.

I'm currently as good as a constipated bull right now And THANK YOUUUUU SM BOO I'M HAPPY THAT YOU LIKE MY WRITING! 😭😭😭 UEEEEEEEEEEEE-

Since you didn't specify what type of scenario you would want me to write, I used this prompt to write for them. If this is not what you mean, feel free to send another request!!!

I put Lovie in as a curve ball because I'm curious on how I myself would interpret a character that only appeared in the few panels. But unexpectedly Malcolm ended up being the hardest one. I paused writing for a day just because of him lol.

Anyway, thank you @doughnuts-eater for your request! Sorry it takes too long for me to write! I hope you and everyone else will enjoy this one too! 🍀

[moraxsthrone]

OK I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOURSELF BC YOU SINGLE-HANDEDLY GAVE ME ITTO BRAINROT HOW?? WHY?? W H A T???? DFCVHBNJNKMLAG

Indulge me with this little thirst

Imagine you're wearing the cutest lacy frilly lingerie set (bonus if it matches his colors black/purple/red) that just accentuates all the right curves and spots, crisscross stripes over your skin aND WHEN HE SEES YOU HE JUST GOES 👀!!!!!!! jaw hits the floor blushing drooling and repeating "babe" your name and freaking out, brain stops working just pulls you up on his big strong arms and sits you on his lap (and BOI his not-so-little friend downstairs is already excited huh)

and you just go :3c all coy and cute and delicate leaning in pressing your chest against his, scooting closer "Itto baby you gotta be careful unwrapping your present, it would be a shame to tear up something so pretty... right?" finger drawing circles on his skin making him SHIVER

AND IMAGINE HIM JUST S T R U G G L I N G TO KEEP IT TOGETHER and be delicate untying the lacy strings like NAH MAN he's got BIG HANDS NOT MADE FOR THIS TASK LMAO

plus you're making it REAL hard kissing and chuckling at his neck and rolling your hips against his crotch slow and sensual

by the time those panties come off they're soaked through with a mix of his pre and your slick asxdcvghjbnjkl

*HSAKING BITING MY PILLOW HORNY GRIP*

MA'AM I WROTE AN ENTIRE FIC WHAT HAVE YOU D O N E i think.... i think you gave me a size kink........ BUT GODS YOUR WRITING IS SO!!!!! *rabid horny crys noises*

i’ll have you know i am quite pleased with myself for making you (and anyone else who will listen) foam at the mouth for arataki mf itto.

‧₊˚ pairing — arataki itto x f!reader

‧₊˚ wc — 1.3k

‧₊˚ cw — nsfw. mdni. fem!reader. praise. oral (m. & f. rcv'ing). implied squirting.

‧₊˚ a/n — okay, so crys sent me this WEEKS AGO and every time i sat down and tried to answer, the words just wouldn't come out right? BUT THEN i realized itto's bday was only a few weeks away (at the time) and since she describes you as being his "present" IT HIT ME LIKE A TON OF BRICKS...THIS WOULD MAKE THE PERFECT BIRTHDAY IDEA FOR OUR ONE AND ONI KING ARATAKI ITTO!!

poor itto’s just sitting there, looking down between his claws and the cute frilly bra you have on, his big oni head full, debating with himself over whether he should try to be delicate and slowly work the lacy underthings off of you, or throw caution to the wind and get the things off of you as quickly as he can by Any Means Necessary™️. as ravishing as you look in that dainty lingerie, he decides it's worth sacrificing in the name of getting his mouth on your tits as quickly as possible. his hands are trembling a little and his cock is throbbing underneath your thigh when his pretty crimson eyes meet yours, full of unspoken apologies.

but then he gets another idea. a better idea.

what if he can do everything he wants with you without taking the lingerie off at all????

itto grabs two handfuls of your ass, squeezing your plush flesh between his big fingers as he guides your hips, rocking them back and forth to feel the heat of your cunt dragging along his clothed length. he’s so hard and big you can feel the ridge of his cockhead through the thin material of your panties, which are getting wetter with your slick by the second.

you huff a breathy laugh against his neck, shuddering a little when your clit catches on the front seam of his pants. you’re moving on your own when he captures your chin between his thumb and index finger, guiding your face away from his neck so he can press his lips to yours. his kiss is needy and passionate, a quiet groan escaping his throat when you push your tongue into his mouth. oh, he likes that very much, especially when you lick at his fangs with a playful moan.

he cups one of your tits in his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, making you whine a little in his mouth. he can feel your hard nipple through the lacy material and pushes the cup of the bra down to let your tit spill out into his hand. he temporarily abandons your fervent kiss to trace the tip of his tongue around your pebbled bud before closing his lips around it to suckle, his tongue still swirling. You push your fingers into his hair, holding onto his horns as your head falls back in pleasure. 

he picks you up and puts you on your back before getting on his knees and pushing your open legs back, spreading them wide so he can see the dark wet spot that has formed in the fabric that's covering your juicy cunt. he can smell you and it’s making his cock drool inside his pants. he kisses your folds through the flimsy cloth, the tip of his nose nudging your hard clit as he goes. soft presses of his lips turn into open-mouthed kisses just before he teases your sweet little pearl. he flattens his tongue against your cunt, making you moan at the feeling of his hot, wet muscle as it makes pinpoints of contact with your skin through the lacy panties.

“mmm baby, your pussy tastes so good…fuck,” itto mutters, his voice heavy with lust.

hooking his finger inside the crotch of your panties, itto moves the lace over to one side, exposing your pink, glistening slit. the sight of your beautiful pussy has him licking his lips...then slowly licking yours. you flinch beneath him, heels digging into his hard shoulders when he flicks and rolls your tiny hard-on around with the tip of his tongue before wrapping his lips around it and sucking it in. your oni may not be the smartest guy, but he knows how to eat pussy like no other. he pulls off long enough to stick his middle finger in his mouth and get it wet before carefully pushing it in your hole, watching your face with a mischievous grin as your back arches for him when you feel the slight stretch of his thick digit. he slowly fucks you with his finger before adding another.

and you certainly don't have to take anything off to be able to swallow his thick cock. he thinks it’s so sweet when you choke on it bc it shows how much you wanna please him and make him feel good. so he brushes his thumb over your hollowed cheek and there’s so much adoration in his fiery eyes when he groans and tells you how good you are to him. you treat him like a king and he dotes on you bc you’re his queen. 

and when he's ready to fuck you, he just rolls you onto your belly and pushes those purple little panties to the side. the thong is hooked around his thumb as he holds onto your hips and pushes his leaking cockhead inside you. little by little, inch by inch, he fills you with his thick oni cock and starts hitting it from the back. your whimpers and gasps of his name spur him on, driving his big dick in and out of your juicy cunt. he watches the way your tight little hole stretches open around his wide shaft, his fang leaving an indentation where he bites his lower lip to keep from cumming too fast. “nhnnn…fuck yeah, baby! takin’ my cock so well…” he praises you as the front of his muscular thighs clap against the back of yours.

a few more thrusts and he pulls out, making you whine. but before you can protest, he’s got you on your back and his huge hands around your ankles, pulling them against the hard plane of his chest. itto’s bedroom eyes are burning into yours when the tip of his tongue swipes across his lower lip as he guides his fat tip back to your hole. he pushes inside you again, his open-mouthed groan harmonizing with your pretty sigh as your wet heat stretches around him, tight and welcoming like he’s right where he’s supposed to be. leaning forward, he puts you in a press and starts fucking you again, but this time it’s slow and deep. irises of molten rock peer into your watering eyes as he tells you how beautiful you are, how good you are to him, how much he appreciates you and the way you’ve given him the best birthday present of all:

you. you, and your love.

your legs are hanging helplessly over his beefy, marked arms. the red straps of your bra have long fallen off your shoulders, your tits spilling out of the flimsy cups and bouncing with every hard thrust of itto’s strong hips. his long, white hair has fallen over his shoulders to tickle your skin, and your eyes soften.

“mmm, happy birthday, my king…” you sigh.

he leans in closer, pressing your knees to your chest, his hips still snapping into yours as he cups your jaw in his big hand. “i love you, my queen…love you so fuckin’ much,” he breathes, then kisses you hard. your tongues swirl and his hips begin to stutter. “fuck, m'so close. cum...cum with me, baby…” 

with the way his thick, bulbous cockhead has been tugging at your sweet spot for the past few minutes, you don't need to be told twice. you place your hands on either side of his face and nod, panting. he buries himself deep and grinds into you, his coarse thatch of white pubic hair rubbing your clit as his heavy balls draw up tighter and tighter against your taint.

“oh gods…” he sighs, “...fuck…”

“cum for me, itto,” you gasp, beckoning him as your own orgasm takes hold and he feels you gush all around him, soaking his lower abs and crying his name.

he plants his lips against one of your palms and squeezes his eyes shut, grunting, “cumming…i- nngghhaa fuck!” his hips twitch and jerk into you as the first jet of his hot semen erupts inside you. his oni ancestry ensures that he cums in massive loads, filling you to the brim and spilling out of you before he’s even done emptying himself inside your womb.

‧₊˚ itto m.list || happy bday you big sexy oni *kisses his horns, one at a time*

[monsterbunny69]

König NSFW alphabet 🤭

A=Aftercare

Aftercare w him🫶🏻

König will clean you both up and run a bath or shower for you both and he will admire you a lot after sex, especially the makes you left on each other

B=Body part

What body part of yours is his favorite?

He can’t decide. Probably your ass, maybe boobs (if you have em)

C=Cum

Anything to do with cum

When he comes for the first time after a few days without masturbating or having sex there a LOT. If you guys go for multiple rounds or he has been jerking off a lot lately then there will be barely any.

D=Dirty Secret

What is one of his dirty secrets?

Sometimes teasing him without actually having sec with him or touching his dick much can make him cum because he is so touch starved.

E=Experience

How experienced is he in bed?

Honestly? Not that much, but everyone believes he’s fucked lots of women

F=Favorite position

Self explanatory 💀

He LOVES it when you ride him

G=Goofy

Are they goofy or serious in bed?

He’s pretty serious, but sweet

H=Hair

What’s his Pube grooming situation?

He trims his pubes but doesn’t fully shave unless you really want him to

I=Intimacy

How romantic is he in the moment?

He’s very romantic in bed and sees sex as a romantic thing

J=Jack off

How often does he masturbate?

Often. Like twice a day

K=Kink

What are his kinks?

Oh boy here’s a list of all the ones I can think of: (if you have any suggestions lmk🤭)

-bondage

-pain

-he’s a switch

-blood

-cock warming

-tbh a lot of BDSM

-will choke you if you want

-spit

-orgasm denial

Tbh my brain is fried and I can’t think of anymore rn

M=Motivation

What turns him on?

You 🙌🏻, your body, when you show skin, when you tease him, making out with him, pressing him against a wall, teasing him into being dominant with you, if you can intimidate him

N=NO

What he wouldn’t do in bed.

He wouldn’t do non-con or heavy pain and gore, he will use knives but no other weapons on you because he really doesn’t want to hurt you.

O=Oral

Preference for oral

He loves giving and receiving, whatever you want bb

P=Pace

How fast does he like it?

He will start off slow and speed up as he gets closer or if you want him to

Q=Quickie

Does he like quickies?

Yes, specifically at work 🤭

R=Risk

Will he experiment with you?

Yes. As long as what you want to do is safe for you.

S=Stamina

How many rounds can he go for?

Many, pretty much as many as you want.

T=Toy

Do they use or own toys?

He doesn’t own any toys, but he will use them on you if you want

U=Unfair

Does he like to tease or be teased

Yes to both, he really likes teasing you ;)

V=Volume

How loud is he?

He can be loud if you want him to, he mainly grunts and moans pretty quietly

W=Wild card

Random sex head canon.

Let him cream pie you

X=X-Ray

What’s in those pants? How big is he?

7 and 1/2 inches hard, 4inches soft

Y=Yearning

How high is his sex drive

High, he’d fuck you everyday if you wanted

Z=Zzz

Does he fall asleep after?

It depends on how many rounds you guys go for

[plscallmeeren]

S A F E W I T H M E

Severus Snape x Reader

Request: yep @NurYgmmr

Summary: yandere snape (established relationship) but also u r a death eater living at Malfoy Manor. Just a Drabble, hope u enjoy :) btw apologize for the text being in weird placed my phone's fucked up at the moment

Warnings: Swearing; possessiveness; cruciatus curse; mentions of Death Eater activity lol

Word Count: 1.3K+

Severus Snape was not a bad man. He was not cruel, generally, or sadistic, mostly, nor was he prone to abuse, unless it was expected of him.

In other words - he could be a bad man.

But that wasn't what you liked to think. Really, you were very reluctant to accept the gravity of his propensity for mistreatment. Not that you were innocent.

It seemed Malfoy Manor was a haunted house - a building, not a home - that encouraged the very worst in every inhabitant, temporary or rooted. You extended your excuses to your topical residence.

There were other monsters living there. But there were also the candid, even there.

•••

Severus Snape tapped his fingers against his thigh to no apparent rhythm. His concentration had never been so hard to keep on a meeting, especially with Nagini hissing every now and then.

But you were still on your mission.

"It was you, wasn't it, Snape? Who said the boy would be moving at that time?" Dolohov called out loudly from the other end of the table. "Where'd you pick it up?"

"It was the original plan," he seethed, glaring.

"Right. Was it the original plan to become the ministry's own little spy-"

"You know I have had no contact since I murdered Dumbledore-"

"Enough!" Narcissa yelled, looking startled at her own outburst. "We all trust in the Dark Lord. Accusations and mistrust are his privilege, only. If we must discuss, why not concerning you, Dolohov? Why have you not been invited to accompany the Lord on his mission to kill the boy? Surely you wanted to?"

Severus could think of nothing but the fight you had had before you left. It was stupid, he knew, but everything felt ten times as intense when he was around you. Even when he wasn't, if he was being honest.

Dolohov sneered. Everyone had heard his pathetic begging in the halls. "Well?" Severus pushed, at least directing his general irritation at someone who was set on troubling him.

"The Dark Lord believes...," he murmured, "that I have been behaving rashly lately."

"I can't believe you, Sev'. We were talking. What about that could possibly make you jealous?"

"I'm not jealous! It's just that when two people who are fundamentally attractive are in a room together, 'talking'-"

"For fuck's sake! I'm about to go on a mission and this is what you wanna talk about? This? It's ridiculous, honey!" The pet name is obviously mocking, which makes it sting even more. He just wanted to... what did he want...? He didn't really believe you'd betray him, but maybe the other guy... Lucius..."

"He's a married man! He's married and I'm not interested and he's kinda my friend! That bloke's not interested in me, and I'd be careful, because your interest in becoming obsessive!"

You stormed out, slamming the door. He fell to his knees, head in his hands. What had he done?

"Really? What did you-"

Severus could hear the heavy doors swinging open from afar and jumped up, abandoning every thought of rash Death Eaters. He almost tripped twice running down stairs and over elaborate carpets, but eventually he made it to the door, where Bellatrix was groaning theatrically.

"The Potter boy?" he asked breathlessly, though his eyes didn't stop scanning the entry for you and he really couldn't care at that moment. All those years he had waisted looking after Harry, just for Lily Evans! Of course he had loved her, probably he still did, but what nonsense had the old man tricked him with, saying that it mattered what she had died for? She was gone, she was gone, she was gone.

He had learned to live with that, as long as you weren't.

Just as he could feel the last ounce of calm diverge from his brain, just as the Dark Lord said Potter had survived but some of theirs hadn't...

There you were. Disheveled and tired, but still, there you were.

"Sev," you whispered, wrapping an arm around him as half a hug. "We failed. But just the battle, not the war, I hope." You seemed to have forgotten about the fight, and he couldn't be more glad.

"Go to bed," he pleaded, though he knew you wouldn't. He tried to inconspicuously place his hands on some parts of your body, trying to see if you were hurt.

"I'm fine," you said curtly, answering both his worries. "You're probably more brought up about this than I am."

"Hurry up, bloody lovebirds," Bellatrix hissed from ahead, only turning when you nodded at her wearily. Severus had never understood how you could be so close to such a maniac. Then again, how far from a maniac was he?

"C'mon."

The Dark Lord seethed at the head of the table, scaring everyone into silence with his own. "We lost, today," he said finally, keeping a dangerously firm grip on Nagini. "We did not capture, or hurt, or kill the boy. Harry..."

Severus looked at you. "Kill anybody?" he murmured, hoping for the insurance that you were 'helpful'.

"No, but I did blast one of the Weasley boys' ears off... your curse, actually, that Sectumsempra one..."

"And you!" Voldemort cried, pointing his wand - or Lucius', rather - at you. "You had an opening! You saw the owl, you knew it was him, you were so close... could have knocked him off his broom..."

"I didn't want to accidentally kill him," you replied honestly, but before you could finish speaking, you toppled over the back of your chair, writhing in agony.

Severus sprang up, casting desperate glanced from you to the Dark Lord and back again. You were in pain, pain, pain, he had to do something, something...

You groaned through clenched teeth, rolling and tossing on the ground. Everything hurt. Everything hurt so badly. Why was this happening? Where were you...?

"For Merlyn's sake!" Severus cried, and the curse stopped.

He paused as you lay there, limp. What would the Dark Lord do now? Torture him instead? Torture you more?

"Take her to her room," he commanded, and in seconds Severus had scooped you up, carrying you away as fast as he could.

"Put me down," you muttered halfway up the steps, determined to regain some dignity.

"No."

"Sev," you growled, and he reluctantly obeyed, only lending you some support. He pushed open the door to your room, shutting it hastily.

You collapsed on the bed, gesturing for him to join you. "Relax, darling. He wouldn't let us go just to tease. I don't think. C'mon, lie down."

He did, slowly melting into the dark covers as you ran your fingers along his side. "I'm so scared," he admitted quietly, and you listened.

"Every time you're on a mission or he talks to you alone, anything... I just imagine life without you and I can't-"

"I'm not going to die," you stated, "but if I did - I won't - then you would be fine, anyway. There is no one I trust as much as you to find something to hold onto, okay? But it doesn't matter, because I'm here. I've survived plenty of torture already. I've survived countless missions already. We're on the mighty side of history. I'm here. I'm yours. Okay? Just like you're not allowed to die for me, okay?"

"Right," he breathed, hands still shaking. "Right."

"C'm'ere. You're safe with me. We're both safe, okay? For now, at least. Come on." He leaned into your touch, feeling warmth spread throughout his body. This is what he fought for, everyday.

"I forgive you," you said quietly. He felt like crying.

"I love you," he said for the first time, and though he didn't miss the way you tensed beneath him, he smiled.

"I love you, too, Sev'."

[mongooseundertheporch]

[okay here we go, sex alphabet for Will] [18+ you fucks, shoo if you're not an adult >:[ ] [Reminder these are my headcanons, if you don't like it, then uh. Go away] [Oh, tags for peeps related to Will, figured you'd find this useful :> : @yourtastefulcannibal @adm1rationofthem0ngoos3 @ask-zephyrkane @4mbrose-de-s1las ]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Very good at aftercare, at least for his partner, albeit he'll forget to do much for himself beyond cleaning even if he subs

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He wouldn't say he has a favorite body part necessarily, but he likes his voice pretty decently. And he's a big fan of hands, or thighs

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's kinda obsessed, although he keeps it pretty chill on the surface. He will clean up after himself though, and his partner-

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

One of the fastest ways to get him off is just to finger/fuck him, he found that out after getting wheedled into trying pegging with an ex-girlfriend of his. Just slip something into him and he'll go off like a rocket. He also likes bottoming for cockwarming purposes, it helps turn off his brain

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Fairly experienced, knows the basics and learns quickly

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy or just anything that lets him avoid eye contact

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He's serious once he gets into it

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He doesn't bother with shaving, it's an arduous process that makes him jittery, so it's messy

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

If it's someone he knows well, he's very intimate, and regardless, when everything's said and done, he's very cuddly

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jacks off fairly regularly, at least once a week if not more, more as a way to get rid of morning wood than anything since it's not very satisfying to him

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He's into bondage/shibari, and painplay, although he hasn't had the chance to engage in these kinks much

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom, or the kitchen for reasons unknown

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Pain [he's a masochist], just being touched in random situations [by people he knows and is sexually involved with], TBD honestly

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not a big fan of latex, horrible texture for him, nor is he a big fan of himself doing breeding talk

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Very very very good at it, prefers giving

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Typically, although it does vary between partner and situation, he likes to take his time, hard but slow

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He like taking his time, but he doesn't mind them, although since it takes him a while to cum from topping he's usually left to his own devices afterwards

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He has to be coaxed into it somewhat, but he does like experimentation and risks as much as he'll whine about it

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can go as long as he's wanted to, although he'll have to stall for time to recuperate. If he's topping, he'll usually last pretty long, half an hour or so. If he's bottoming, his partners have to edge him to get it to last more than ten minutes

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has a few toys for himself, rarely ever uses them on partners though since they're just small dildos and plugs bought on a drunken whim. He uses them more often than he'd like to admit

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He adores teasing, as well as degradation, he's not afraid to get mean if his partner is down for it

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's incredibly loud, although he'll go pretty quiet when he's close, just whining or panting his partner's name. He whines, keens, groans, hisses somewhat, a pretty wide range

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves giving oral, like a ridiculous amount, especially as he gets older and needs more recovery time. Eating out, sucking off, whatever it is, he's down. He'll even just do it absentmindedly as a cockwarming/cuntwarming sort of thing.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

6 inch, uncut

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It's comes and goes, sometimes it's all he can think about and sometimes it's dormant

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Once he's done with aftercare, he's out like a light. Eepy man, eepy forever

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 3/3

This list contains 194 items listed R to Z

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing as it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This list's intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This is a comprehensive list of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[A-H] [I-Q] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

R

Rabies

Radiation Poisoning/Exposure

Radio Silence

Ransom Note/Video

Rashes

Recovery

Reducing breaks or dislocations (bonus: out in the field with no painkillers available)

Reflection

Rejection

Reluctant Caretaker

Reluctant Whumpee

Reminded of trauma

Reopened Wound

Repressed Emotions

Repressed trauma resurfacing

Rescue

Rescued by the enemy

Rescues gone wrong

Respiratory Distress

Restraints

Reuniting

Revenge

Ringing Ears

Ritual sacrifice

Rockslides

Role Reversal

Rope Burns

Running fingers through hair (maliciously or comfortingly)

Running Out of Air

Ruptured eardrum

S

Sacrifice

Sadistic Choice

Sartorial constraints

Scars

Scoliosis

Scraped Knees

Scratched corneas

Scratches

Seasickness

Second impact syndrome

Secrets

Sedated

Seeing double

Seizures

Self esteem issues

Self induced injury to escape

Self sacrifice

Self-aid

Self-inflicted injury (to escape)

Semi-consciousness

Sensory Deprivation/Overload

Sentimental Items

Separation

Sepsis

Servitude

Setbacks in recovery

Severed Artery

Shaking Hands

Shipwreck

Shivering

Shock

Shock collar

Shot (gun, arrow, dart, etc...)

Shrapnel (blast/wounds)

Sick/injured at a party

Skull fracture

Slapped

Sleep Deprivation

Sleep Paralysis

Sleeping in the cold

Sleeplessness

Smashing their head into a wall

Smoke Inhalation

Snake Bites

Sneezing

So sick they can barely even stand or stay awake

Significant other taking care of wounds

So weak they have to hold on to something or someone to walk

Solitary Confinement

Special object being ruined/torn apart

Spinal Cord Injury

Split lip

Sprains

Stab Wounds

Stabbed (sword, spear, knife, TRIDENT!, etc...)

Stabbed through the back by the only person the whumpee trusted

Stage fright

Stalking

Status epilepticus

Stiches

Stings (insect, creature, plants)

Stitches

Stoic/Defiant Whumpee

Stoic/Rude/Harsh Reluctant Caregiver!Mentor & Ball of Sunshine Hurt!Mentee (platonic)

Stomach ache

Stomach Ulcers (a cause for vomiting up blood)

Stomach virus

Straight Jacket

Strangling

Strangulation resulting in bruised or swollen vocal chords and loss of voice + the process of regaining your voice and everything that comes with that trauma.

Stress (this could induce headaches/general illness)

Stress Position

Stumbling

Sucking chest wound

Suffocating

Sunburn

Super glued to toilet

Surgery

Surgery gone wrong

Surrendering

Survivor's Guilt

Swollen Lymph Nodes

T

Tachycardia

Taking the bullet

TBI (traumatic brain injury)

Team as a family

Team has a certain amount of time to get to their Whumpee before they’re killed

Team teaming up to take care of sick teammate

Temporary Loss of Sense(s)

Tendonitis

Tetanus

The Final Straw

Thrown from an explosion

Time Loop

Tiny whump

Tonsillitis

Tooth knocked out

Torn Ligaments - Achilles, Meniscus etc.

Torn Muscles

Torture

Touch Aversion/Touch Starved

Tranquilizer Dart

Trap

Trapped (whether this is after an explosion, car accident, natural disaster…)

Trapped Limbs

Trapped underwater

Trauma reveal

Tremors

Trust Issues

Truth spell/serum

Tuberculosis

Twisted ankle

U

Undead (vampires and ghosts and zombies, oh my!)

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Unresponsive

Upper respiratory infection

Used as bait

Usually big, strong and boisterous whumpee becomes quiet and weaker as the whumper conditions them.

UTI (Urinary Tract Infection)

V

Vampire whump

Vampires Thrall

Vehicular Accident

Venom

Vertigo

Very badly hurt and on life support - with slow recovery

Virus

Visions

Vocal chord paralysis

Vomiting/Vomiting blood

W

Waterboarding

West Nile virus

Whip scars

Whipping/Flogging

Whumpee being psychologically tortured via fake escape scenarios so when they are actually getting rescued they don't believe it. bonus point if they still don't think anything is real.

Whumpee dreams of a loved one happily inviting them “home” (They're actually dying IRL)

Whumpee getting the upper hand over whumper.

Whumpee stabbing whumper or beating their head into the ground over and over while sobbing, even when they’re clearly dead because they NEED to take their emotions out.

Whumpee turned Whumper

Whumpee watches caretaker take a bullet/hit/poison for them.

Whumper turned Caretaker

Whumper turned whumpee

Whumper with a crush

Wincing/Flinching

Wing whump

Wisdom Tooth Removal

Withdrawal

Withholding Medical Treatment

Witnessing. (Whumpee sees someone die in a brutal way. Whumpee sees someone get possessed/turned into a zombie/some other horrifying thing and they just stare horrified.)

Working for the enemy

Working through injury/illness

Working to Exhaustion

Wrists rubbed raw

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wrongfully Accused/Arrested

Wrongfully fired

X

Xeroderma. (Extreme sun sensitivity)

XMRV is a newly identified human retrovirus that is similar to a group of mouse retroviruses (called murine leukaemia viruses, or MLVs)

Y

Yellow Fever

Z

Zombie virus, etc.

Zoonotic Hookworm

Zoonotic illness (It’s a disease carried or transmitted by animals to humans like tularemia or psittacosis)

Zosler (Shingles)

Zygomycosis (Fungal infection)

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion

[eri-pl]

Tengwar <3

It's the best thing Feanor made. Seriously. Nobody will murder you for using Tengwar. Nobody will hack your brain when you use Tengwar in the wrong moment. (The lamps are ok, but kinda meh, Tengwar is better)

Did you know, just did you know, that every consonant has a name, and the name is a noun, and some are really cool (and foreshadowing)? (chart and translations below the cut)

So, if you want a chart, here is a chart. And the names are (I don't have diacritics, so I just double the long vowels) (Quenya mode, with some historical notes from LotR appendix and elvish.org):

"Normal stuff Feanor had on his desk" row:

T tinco - metal

P parma - book

K calma - lamp (like those Feanor made? Or... like those Aule made)

Q quesse - feather (birds are important!)

"Things that keep you trapped" row:

ND ando - gate (like... the Door of Night?)

MB umbar - doom (doesn't need a comment...)

NG anga - iron (also, used in sword names, even for non-iron swords)

NGW (in TA changed to NW) ungwe - spider's web (foreshadowingsight on Feanor's part? :) )

"Mountain things???" row

S suule - spirit or breath (Manwe Sulimo... king of winds and stuff...) | TH thuule - spirit or breath, but I'm a Feanorian, or at least I'm a linguistics geek and love the phonetic scheme (me! but otoh it sounds dumb :( ), or I love the Teleri and/or Sindar, who use it as th (Finarfin, iirc).

F formen - north

H (h before t) harma (voiceless velar fricative phonetically /x/... I think. the sources are confusing. In TA mostly softened into a breath h.) - treasure (my precious Silmarills...) | aha (later renamed, idk when) - rage (my Silmarils! and, even more importantly, my father!)

HW (like "wh" in "why" especially the fancy British way of saying it where it's actyally h-w, not w-h) hwesta - breeze

"We need to name a row after places of articulation" row

NT anto - mouth (couldn't you think of a better name? I get it's a place-of-articulation row, but i don't like it anyway)

MP ampa - hook

NC anca - jaw

NQ unque - hole

"Things that Melkor likes" row:

N nuumen - west (Numenor...)

M malta - gold

NG (by TA: N) noldo - Noldo, as in type of Elf. Yes, it was initially Ngoldo. I mean, initially initially it was a gnome, so...

NW nwalme - tornment

"I have no idea but vaguely positive-metaphysical?..." row

R (pre-consonant or end-of-the-word R | non-vibrating r, whatever this means. My bet is that it's "r" as in Japanese --- position like "r", movement like "d") oore - heart (or: rising. Guess whose name includes this component. funny that it's the same word as heart, especially given that heart is also defined as conscience here)

V vala - power (duh.)

Y (? it has some history) [there was a consonant here]anna - gift (totally not made into a sus word by now...)

W/V (Initially W, by TA changed to V) wilya - air / lower sky (funny how those two names are next to one another. )

"Really, I think Feanor ran out of ideas for coherent name sets" row

R (vibrating, typpical "rrr") romen - east (the same sound being written with "East" and with a word alternatively translating to "heart" or part of Melkor's name --- I love it! Why? See my recent post. I love that. Call it a coincidence, but I love it)

RD arda - realm

L lambe - speech

LD alda - tree (!)

Now we are not in regular rows, so, the extra letters:

S silme - starlight (or... metaphysically important light in general? because guess what word is connected to this one. Also, funny how it's just after "tree"). It's always S, never TH.

(nuquerma is just "flipped" or something I guess)

Z aaze - day / sunlight (in Noldorin changed to Z - aare) | SS esse (Numenor and later, because they did not use the "z" sound, I think) - name

HY (Numenor and later: H) hywarmen - south

I yanta - bridge

U uure - heat

(doesn't have a sound, in Sindarin it's A) osse - terror (I guess he isn't a very nice Maia?)

H (voiceless h: /h/ not /x/; in TA replaced by harmen) halla - tall | gasdil - stop

(short wovel carrier) telco - stem

(long carrier) aara - dawn

The Tengwa names after directions are also used as marks in the compass (like we use NSWE) And snarky comments aside, I love the schema and how the names connect into many interesting and often Silm-events-related patterns. I love how each (almost) row is named after a set of similar things.

I'm not an expert, and if I made some mistakes, I'll be grateful for corrections.

[artificial-ascension]

Reading through the wolrds surely most accurate source, Death Note fan wiki, I have accumulated a list of Wammys kid letters that are confirmed in some source to have an individual associated:

A- First successor of L, dead by suicide, mentioned in Death Note: Another Note

B- Beyond Birthday, number two of the first known successors behind A and a main character of Death Note: Another Note

D- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

E- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

F- Appears in the opening of L: Change The World film on a massion for L, dies via helicopter attack*

G- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

H- Sends L an email informing him of F's death in L: Change The World

I- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

J- Appears in the game L: The Prologue To Death Note, the game is unavailable in English so little is know of them, presumably a Wammys kid based on name, a separate J appears in the second episode of Death Note: A New Generation, she is not out right stated to be a Wammys kid, but she is assumed to be

K- Antagonist of L: Change The World book and film

L- If you do not know who L is why are you here, also Linda is a child who appears briefly in the manga and is responsible for the drawings of Near and Mello (I belive that is only presumed but I may be wrong, I can not remember where it was said)

M- Mello, second successor of generation four and a main antagonist of Death Note's main series and Matt, unranked member of generation four appearing as Mello's comrade in both anime amd manga

N- Near, successor of L and number one of generation four, appears in half the places L dose

P- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

Q- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film

R- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film, their letter is greyed out, presumably indicating they are dead**

T- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film, their letter is greyed out, presumably indicating they are dead

V- Shown on L's mailing list in L: Change The World film, their letter is greyed out, presumably indicating they are dead

X- Alluded to in Death Note: Another Note as helping in a detective war with L

Y- Alluded to in Death Note: Another Note as helping in a detective war with L

Z- Alluded to in Death Note: Another Note as helping in a detective war with L

Unused letters- C, O, S, T, U, W***, possibly J as both instances of the usage are for individuals only presumed to be successors

Letters with known duplicates- L and M, J(?)

------

Conclusion:

1. L: Change The World introduced a shit ton of Wammys lore for apparently shits and giggles.

2. Alot less dead Wammys kids than I expected. (Only 9/24, that's only over a third. Maybe 10/24 if you count Watari.)

3. I can understand not finding a U or V, but how the hell were there no genius orphans with S or C names??

4. It is impossible for a Death Note title to not have a : in it.

------

Notes:

I got this information from the fan wiki and my brain. If it is wrong I'd like to know. I'd also love to hear of any more orphans the fan wiki or I missed.

------

*I can verify that that happened. I remember it vividly. Only known Wammys kid to die from a helicopter.

**A greyed name implies death as B's name was also greyed out. However, this also implies L could readily email B whenever he wanted, which is extremely funny.

***W is often totoed as Watari's letter. However, I am not considering him a Wammys kid but this may mean some of the letters shown do not indicate successors but rather other Wammys higher ups.

[theskzkiddo]

Hi! I hope that it is okay that I'm back 😊

You said you did headcannons right?

If you do could you maybe do one for skz with a shy and anxious little?

It is completely up to you how it is done! Like ot8 or just a few members or whatever you feel /pos

I loved the boards!!!!!! Pink and yellow are my favorites!

-littleracha

skz + shy/anxious little headcanons <3

an: i’m sorry this took a bit! but i hope you like it! :D

1. they always have at least one of your comfort items with them when you guys go outside!

2. jisung is the best at talking you down and getting you out of your head

3. having said that! chan stumbles a bit on his words, but his are the ones that comfort you the most!

4. changbin can and will pick you up and just rock you back and forth while one of the members sing you a lullaby

5. minho has a secret book of your favorite meals/snacks/desserts! whenever he knows that you’ve had a particularly anxious day, he’ll make you something (even if he’s busy because seeing all the tension flow out of your body and the small smile on your face, makes it’s 1000000x worth it)

6. seungmin and i.n will gang up on you and tease you! you’re just so cute when you’re shy! can ya blame em? hehe

7. they have so many fidget/sensory toys! chewerly? check! pop it? check! stress ball? check! sensory slug? check!

8. if you wake up feeling not so good about the day and you’re just already lost in your head thinking about all the what ifs, they have a special routine for that! seungmin will come in to pick out your outfit, felix will get your bath/shower ready, minho and jisung will make your favorite foods, hyunjin will get a little art station set up in the living room, chan is getting your playmat and setting it up in the living room along with your favorite toys/stuffies, i.n will be getting your blanket/pillows and making you a little nap area so you don’t have to be away from them when your have to nap! and changbin will be carrying you the entire day! :3

9. sometimes slipping into your headspace is hard because! brain dumb >:(, but if your mind just won’t s t o p, jisung is to the rescue! and any other member! because while jisung is the best to help get you out of your head, any member is the best at physical comfort! just depends on who you wanna be held by!

10. felix reads you bedtime stories!!! you know the ‘twas a night before christmas read out loud they did? (IT MAKES ME FEEL S O SMALL) yeah, him and chan are the best at story reading! but! the other members tend to be silly and act everything out! hehehe

11. hyunjin loves painting with you but! since you’re just so shy he’s made a little barrier thing so you guys can’t see each others art until after you’re finished! (it helps calms your nerves a lot!)

12. i.n and chan will play peekaboo with you for hours! H O U R S, you’re just so sweet and your reactions are just t h e cutest (they love your smile)

13. whenever you guys go out to eat or anywhere really they will talk for you because they understand how daunting it can be to socialize with strangers :(((

14. they stim with you in public so you’re not the only one who’s doing it! (it helps bring the attention off of solely you and makes you feel more comfortable!)