#technically pre-relationship

[veinsfullofstars]

✨ May I interest you in some Dedede and Meta Knight as childhood friends? ✨

(ID: Kirby series fanart of King Dedede and Meta Knight reimagined as kids, interacting in various cute and wholesome scenarios such as coloring, cloud-watching, sparring with sticks, overindulging on sweets, protecting each other from bullies, and more. Design-wise, young Dedede is short and chubby with a smaller beak and three feathers sticking up from the top of his head. He wears a pair of red overalls with gold buttons on the straps and a pocket on the front with a white two-finger peace sign. Young Meta Knight is maskless and similar in appearance to Kirby, save for his yellow eyes, dark-blue complexion, and a pair of tiny wings on his back. Additional headcanons and worldbuilding for this AU under the cut. END ID.)

(AU info updated as of 04/01/25.)

Started on 10/09/23, finished on 10/11/23, updated 03/11/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 10/11/23. | Childhood Friends AU Masterpost

—

-This AU primarily takes place within the Kirby gameverse (with a few superficial elements borrowed from external media), the timeline starting many, many decades before the events of Kirby's Dream Land, eventually catching up to and following the main games’ canon (with nods to side games and some unique events added here and there for character flavor). I'm trying to stay canon-compliant, but I’m also making things up as I go and changing them as needed, so no promises I won’t just go completely off the rails the more I workshop things, haha.

-I'm leaving ages nebulous in this AU (both because the series itself doesn't give characters canonical ages and to keep the timeline a bit looser narratively) and will be referring to specific eras of their lives simply as kid years, teen years, and adult years (the latter split further into pre-Kirby's-arrival and post-Kirby's-arrival). For clarity's sake, we'll say that Dedede and Meta are both the equivalent of 7-to-11 years old during the kid years depicted here, though they first met a little earlier...

-In this AU, the Galaxy Solider Army (GSA) is an intergalactic military group fighting various malignant forces across the universe, their reputation generally positive thanks to a genuine effort on their part to balance acts of war and defense with acts of philanthropy, relief aid, and compassion, well-known enough to reach even distant Popstar. Most known Star Warriors - Sir Dragato, Kit Cosmos, Yamikage, etc. - are either long since passed on or retired somewhere outside of the story (with a few exceptions we may learn about later...).

-Meta Knight is just called Meta for now. He won’t earn his title until long after he starts his overstars military training in his late teens, a crucial element to his storyline since - upon learning of the GSA in his youth - he becomes enamored with their deeds and longs to be a knight himself (not yet aware of the hardships involved in becoming one).

-That hammer belongs to Dedede’s mama - a former pro-wrestler - and will someday be passed down to him (once he’s strong enough to actually pick it up).

-The kids like to spar and roughouse in their free time, but they sometimes get proper training from Dedede’s papa - a retired knight himself with connections to the GSA, who’d settled in Dream Land with his wife just before they had their only son. Meta looks up to him with the same admiration he has for the Star Warriors, while Dedede doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with his well-meaning but strict father.

-In his early years, Meta is quite shy around people he doesn’t know well. In overwhelming situations, he tends to either shut down and go non-verbal or quietly slip away to recoup. That said, he is much more expressive around those he trusts, listening eagerly and chatting far more than he would otherwise. He also has a bit of an anger streak hidden just under all that reticence, though it takes a lot of prodding to bring it out...

-As a kid, Dedede is impulsive to a fault and likes to make wild plans that often put him and his buddies in precarious situations (when he actually bothers to follow through with them, that is). Meta is often the first to point out the flaws in said plans (if Para Dee doesn’t do it first) but inevitably ends up tagging along anyway, his wariness easily overturned by his curiosity.

-Despite the generally welcoming nature of the village, Meta still faces some measure of bullying by certain kids due to his strange appearance and timid nature (and, curiously, his connection to Dedede). Usually, he waits it out until either his tormentors get bored or Dedede steps in to defend him, but - as the taunts persist and his temper grows - it's only matter of time before he's the one getting into scraps rather than his bigger buddy...

[keldae]

Writer’s Month 2023: Day Two

Word: Perfume / Setting/AU: camping AU

If anyone asked, Theron running across the Hero of Tython in a cantina on Nar Shaddaa was completely happenstance. It wasn't like he'd discretely arranged his schedule to come across Xaja Taerich here, after all.

Absently, Theron wondered if tracking Master Taerich's movements like this was perhaps a little bit stalkerish. Except, he reasoned, he had no ill intent for Xaja. He just wanted to reassure her that he was okay in the wake of the SIS putting a bounty on him, and get a brief status check with her, in the shadows cast by neon lights. It wasn't like he was stalking her with the plan of getting her attention or causing her harm…

… still, it's a bit stalkerish, he grumbled to himself. Maybe this was why he was single, apart from being a workaholic.

He looked up from his whisky when he suddenly smelled something faint, yet familiar to him, something he associated in his mind with the feisty little redhead who he couldn't get his thoughts away from. Said redhead leaned against his table a second later, green eyes twinkling down at him. "Hey, handsome," she said, "looking for a good time?"

Oh, am I, Theron thought before he could stop himself. "I could be persuaded," he responded with a smirk, giving her a very obvious once-over. She'd forsaken her normal tunics in favour of a cropped shirt and a leatheris jacket; the peek of bare skin around her navel sent a burst of heat through Theron that was completely unrelated to the whisky. She'd dressed for Nar Shaddaa, and yet to him, she still looked like Xaja. It had to be her normal ponytail, and her jade-green eyes, and the perfume she wore. Now that he'd identified it, it was all he could smell – and he definitely wasn't complaining. "How about you sit your pretty ass down and I get you something?"

Xaja grinned, then surprised Theron by coming around to sit right beside him, instead of across the booth. The spy couldn't complain about that either, as he reached his arm to wrap around her waist as though he did this all the time with her. "What's a charmer like you doing in a place like this?" she asked, playing up the flirty spacer act (or maybe the flirty hooker act) by resting her legs over Theron's lap and forcing him to suppress a groan.

"Lookin' for a good time with some good company. And I think I found it." Theron smirked and leaned in to boldly kiss Xaja's cheek, using the opportunity to whisper in her ear. "Korin teach you how to act like this?"

"Nah, Doc and Kira gave me the run-down on how to act," Xaja whispered back. "You okay?"

It touched Theron's heart that Xaja, the pretty Jedi he was not pining for, was worried about him. "Been way worse," he softly assured her. "Any news?"

"A couple of attacks we think are connected to the Revanites, but can't prove," Xaja murmured. "They seem to be staying quiet. How long are you safe here for?"

"Hmmm." Theron grunted in acknowledgement, then sat back up, letting his gaze openly trail down to Xaja's cleavage – in case of any Revanites watching, or other Republic spies, if anyone asked. He would have loved to keep his nose buried in her hair, where the scent of her perfume seemed strongest, but this view was definitely okay with him. "Baby, for you, I got all the time in the world," he said out loud.

Xaja's cheeks went pink, even under the neon lighting. Still, she smiled, and shivered as his fingers started touching the exposed skin of her lower back. "You promise, loverboy?" she asked, returning to her flirty persona. "You're gonna give me high expectations."

"I'm in good with my bosses," Theron assured her. "You name it, girl, it's all yours. Even a ticket off this rock with me to show you the galaxy."

"Ohhh?" Xaja grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Like where?"

"Like Tatooine, or Ylesia, or Ryloth… I'll show you the stars on the edges of the galaxy." He couldn't say where his next destination was, mostly because he himself wasn't sure yet. But he could tell her where he'd been for the last couple of months, since Manaan. His fingers fumbled around with the back of her belt until he found a pocket in her tight pants; it was easy for him to slip a datachit into the pocket without being noticed. "Check your pockets when you're back in your ship," he lowly instructed, under the premise of kissing her jaw and ear again. The scent of her made him want to forget his job and just focus entirely on her, disastrous as that could be for the mission.

Xaja nodded, but didn't say anything. Was Theron imagining things, or did she seem to be breathing a bit more shakily than normal? It must just have been wishful thinking on his part. A moment later, she sat up straight and winked at him. "So, how about you start showing me that good time you promised by showing me if a cute guy like you can dance?"

Theron grinned and let Xaja pull him to his feet. "Like I'll say no to dancing with a pretty thing like you."

[im-not-a-l0ser]

I think I want to write a one-shot set in the Beanies universe, or one similar I suppose, where Max goes on a road-trip with the nerds+steph, and he and Steph are very disoriented by their nerd music.

Like, Steph never thought she'd hear her boyfriend rap the Pokemon, made even worse when it led into a song about drugs with poke-puns. Max doesn't understand the language Richie's singing in, but he knows it can't possibly be english. Neither of them can even process how fast Ruth is going at it, but he knows the other two nerds will yell Lafayette in support.

[forest-hashira]

First Impressions

finished this last night but am finally deciding to post it lol. pls be nice to me + my first fic of the year.

read on ao3 | wc: ~1.3k | cw: gn reader, established/implied stsg, reader is implied to have bipolar disorder & a cursed technique, reader almost gets wrecked, bilingual reader & stsg, gojo is oblivious/flippant & it pisses reader off, meet ugly, extremely selfship coded

“Oh, fuck!” 

You barely managed to jump out of the way before a piece of concrete the size of a car flew through the air, smashing into the wall behind where you’d been standing a moment before. You could feel your heartbeat everywhere – your ears, the tips of your fingers, even the soles of your feet – and you fought to get it under control.

This cursed spirit was more than you could handle on your own, and not by a small margin either; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d struggled so much to exorcise a curse on your own. You’d exorcised curses nearly this strong before, sure, but you’d been working with other sorcerers on those missions. 

Being sent on this mission alone felt like a jab from the higher ups: you’d demonstrated on a few occasions when you were manic that you were capable of huge surges of cursed energy output – almost on par with Special Grade sorcerers, or so you’d been told – and that you could take on curses above your official rank as a Grade Two sorcerer, but everyone knew you had no control of when that happened or how long it would last. With that in mind, you could only assume the higher ups were trying to trigger a surge of cursed energy from you, with apparently no concern about whether you died in the process.

You found that you were quite pissed off by that idea. Holding onto that anger quickly dropped down your list of priorities when more concrete started to fly through the air; it landed somewhere after survive, get the fuck out of there, and maybe exorcise the curse. 

No matter where you scrambled off to, no matter where you hid, the curse seemed to know exactly where you were, throwing huge chunks of debris in your direction and barely leaving you the time to draw a breath, let alone try to launch a counterattack. Eventually, there was a few moments of still silence. Whether the curse had run out of things to throw, had tired itself out, or something else entirely, you weren’t sure, but you knew it was your now or never moment.

Taking a steadying breath, you stood from your hiding spot, expecting to finally see the spirit again. Instead, you were met with the sight of a manhole cover flying straight at your head. 

Everything after that was a blur. Instead of your head being turned into strawberry jelly by a giant metal frisbee, something tackled you out of the way, and you watched someone step up to the curse. You fully expected the person to be instantly killed, but much to your shock, the curse seemed to collapse in on itself, crinkling and buckling and growing smaller and smaller until it burst into a cloud of ash.

“Are you okay?”

The voice was gentle and filled with concern, and when you tipped your head back to look at the speaker, you were a bit surprised by what you found.

Hovering over you was Geto Suguru, Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer, and all you could think was What is he doing in Kyoto?

When he didn’t get a response, Geto asked you again if you were okay, though this time he asked in English, rather than Japanese. Part of you found that sweet, while another, smaller part of you was annoyed, even if you knew it was fair for him to assume you may not speak Japanese.

“I’m fine,” you replied after a moment, making a point to answer in Japanese, even if it was a little harder with all the adrenaline flooding your system and scrambling your thoughts. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said easily, offering you a small smile and helping you to your feet once again. “Can’t let a good sorcerer die if I can help it.”

“How do you know I’m a good sorcerer?” you asked, somewhat teasingly.

He smiled a bit wider at your words. “Because you didn’t run away, even though you were outmatched.”

“Does that make me good at my job, or just stupid?”

Before Geto could reply, Gojo appeared behind him, a huge grin on his lips. “Good thing we were here to step in,” he said, in English, which only served to irritate you all over again. “You would’ve been toast without us!”

Despite the fact that you had never met Gojo Satoru, Special Grade and Strongest Living Jujutsu Sorcerer, before this moment, his reputation preceded him, and so far, he was living up to the image of the smug, snarky, self-absorbed ass that existed in your head, thanks in no small part to everything you’d heard Iori-sensei say about him while you were under her tutelage.

“I would’ve figured it out,” you groused, pointedly not looking at him as you began to brush the dust off of yourself.

“With your brains splattered on the bricks of an abandoned building?” he laughed, “I highly doubt that.”

“Satoru,” Geto reprimanded, but the other just ignored him.

“Nothin’ wrong with needing help, y’know,” Gojo continued. “Everyone needs help sometimes. Not us, on missions anyways, but. Plenty of sorcerers need backup on almost all their missions! It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

That pissed you off, and you shot him the most venomous glare you could. “I’m not helpless, and despite how young I know I look, I’m not a child, and I don’t appreciate being spoken to like one. I am a capable Grade Two sorcerer, who the higher ups apparently decided to either test or kill, with no care about what the outcome was. I can take care of myself. I would have figured it out, thank you very much.”

He cocked his head as you spoke, and when you finished, he shrugged. “If you say so. Looked to me like you were about to become a stain on the ground.”

“Satoru!” Geto sounded properly scandalized then, and though he turned to you, presumably to apologize, you cut him off. Gojo’s words snapped something inside of you, and you let him have it.

“And what if I was? Sorcerers die every single day in our line of work! It’s great that you just get to see this as some sort of game and have fun with it, but the rest of us aren’t that lucky! The rest of us lowly, regular sorcerers have to be intensely aware of every second we’re on a mission, of every injury we sustain; we have to be aware that every time we’re sent on a mission, there’s a chance we’ll never make it home, that we’ll never get to say goodbye to the people we care about. So make all the jokes you want, asshole, and take credit for this mission, since you’re so eager to emphasize that you’re the reason I’m walking away from this. But you need to get a grip and realize that this isn’t a game for everyone else like it is for you. If we run into each other on a mission again in the future, don’t step in unless you’re asked. Nobody’s going to take me seriously if I can’t even complete my own missions.”

As soon as you finished speaking, you turned on your heel and stalked off. Your throat hurt from screaming at him the way you had, and you knew it wasn’t exactly the most mature thing to do, but you couldn’t take the words back. 

Whatever, you thought to yourself, pulling out your phone to call the supervisor to come and pick you up now that the curse had been exorcised. He’s Gojo Satoru. Why would he care whether I like him or not?

divider by cafekitsune

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @oceaneyesinla @pixelcafe-network @peachsukii 

@lemonloaves @lu-dao-writes @roselleviennesstuff @alt--er--love @witchbybirth

@dr-runs-with-scissors @benkeibear @teddybeartoji @sugurei @sootspritestar 

join my taglist!

[ditty-nightsong]

cracking the surface.

pairing: marena x fugue. (marfugue) word count: 1175 content warnings: deals with mentions of nervous habits (i.e. skin picking) and negative self-image.

author's notes: i've been Needing to write a comfort fic like this for a while so i feel a lot better after actually getting it down. i hope you all enjoy reading it!!

“Marena? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” The way that the other woman is white-knuckling her zweihänder tells Fugue the truth, despite the cheeriness of her reply. In fact, she’s not even looking at the foxian when she replies. Her blue-grey eyes are staring somewhere off in the distant stars - or perhaps, they are staring nowhere at all. This is the same answer Fugue always gets from her bodyguard whenever she asks this question; no matter how she phrases it, Marena always chirps back that she’s “fine!” and doesn’t elaborate.

Fugue has always been better-than-decent at reading people, and she can’t shake the feeling that Marena’s mind is akin to a freeze over a river in icy weather.

If I could just crack the surface, and see what’s really running under that current…

She had wanted to go stargazing, but she’s finding that she’s staring more intently at her bodyguard than the night sky. Marena, for all of her normal attentiveness, is still blankly staring into nothing.

Fugue wonders how long this chance to look at - really, truly look at, in great detail - her bodyguard will last. Marena always seems to try to avoid her gaze whenever Fugue tries to look at her closely, always tugs her hat down lower over her head and avoids making eye contact. Deciding to savor this opportunity, she quietly steps a little closer to Marena.

She decides to work her way up visually.

Her boots, Fugue thinks, are really cute. They compliment her well - the fur lining on the top of them makes her wonder where Marena got them from. She knows that the other woman isn’t a Xianzhou native, but she’s never brought up her homeworld, or much about her life before she arrived on the Luofu at all. As her gaze travels upwards, she finds herself admiring the curves of Marena’s body - she’s built stockily, and heavier-set. It’s refreshing. She doesn’t look like every other person here. She’s different, like a breath of fresh air.

One knuckle is still tightly gripping the top of the handle of her zweihänder - it has a name, doesn’t it? Stormwhistle, that’s right - but the other hand rests atop her knuckles, squeezing her own hand as if to hold onto herself. Her nails are chipped and uneven, probably from constantly handling the sword, but some of the skin around the nails has scabbed over into the cuticle - a telltale sign of nervous biting and picking habits.

Still, Fugue doesn’t look away or falter. She finds herself growing fonder of Marena with each small detail she notices as she moves her gaze upwards - the lip incompetence that gives way to… if she squints, she swears the other woman’s canine teeth look a bit like fangs. Is that why she covers her mouth whenever she smiles? But they’re so lovely and cute… Her blue-grey eyes, illuminated in the moonlight, remind Fugue of a summer squall, of the moment before the rain clears. Her shoulder-length black-and-white hair looks soft and healthy and…

Oh, I want to run my hands through it…

She’s grown exponentially fond of Marena in the time since she was hired as her bodyguard, and Fugue is beginning to realize that this fondness is blooming, transforming into something deeper. Perhaps smittenness is a better descriptor at this point.

She reaches out as softly as she can muster, just this once.

And Marena practically jumps out of her skin.

“What are you..?” 

And the moment is gone. “I’m sorry! Your hair just looked so soft and pretty, and…” She trails off when she notices Marena’s expression - it isn’t just that she’s startled. Fugue’s compliment seems to have genuinely rattled her.

“I’m so sorry, I imagine that was quite startling… Are you alright?”

“I’m… uh. You don’t even know me all that much, I shouldn’t bother you… Don’t worry about me.”

“But I want to.” It slips out before Fugue can think about it for even a split second. After a pause, where she does get a chance to think, she adds, “I want to know you.”

“...Why?”

Now it’s Fugue who’s caught off-guard.

Marena sits down on a patch of grass, curling her face into her knees and rubbing her temples, her sword laying at her ankles.

Fugue crouches next to her. She wants so, so, so badly to reach out and comfort her, to touch her again, but the risk of poking and prodding at a sore wound is too great. She hopes desperately that her presence next to Marena is enough.

“I’m sorry,” Marena mumbles. “This is probably a lot.”

Fugue feels a pang in her ribcage.

“No, no, it’s alright…” she coos. “I shouldn’t have startled you like that. But… I want to know what’s going on. You don’t have to hide how you feel, not from me. I really do want to know you…” She chooses her next words carefully. “You’re so unique compared to everyone else on the Luofu. And you never assume anything about me or expect anything of me. You are not like the others, but I would never want you to be.”

Marena’s breath hitches for a moment - Fugue hears her inhale softly, and then her breathing settles.

“Even on my homeworld, I never had a place where I felt like I belonged. I’m called a dhampir - a half-vampire. Jarilo-VI wasn’t just cold to me in environment and atmosphere. I was lucky that I met Stormwhistle before I left. As soon as things warmed up enough for me to leave, I did. And I found my way here, to the Luofu, where at least I can make myself useful. People have only ever needed me if I’m useful to them, or until they get bored.”

There’s a tense pause, where Fugue processes this, and where Marena waits - waits to regret not holding Fugue at arm’s length, waits to hear her walk away, waits to hear some kind of negative affirmation.

But it does not come.

What does come is Fugue’s sleeves wrapping around her shoulders gently.

“I’m so sorry, Marena. You deserved - still deserve - better than that. And there is absolutely nothing - nothing - wrong with you. You deserve to feel the love of the people around you.”

To Fugue’s relief and joy, Marena does not flinch this time. Her arms wrap back around Fugue’s in turn - at first, with practiced caution, but as Fugue holds her there, she feels Marena relax, and finally, lean into the embrace.

They stay there like that for a little while, sitting in each other’s arms. Fugue finds herself nuzzling into Marena’s shoulder; her black-and-white hair smells like apples and peach, which is pleasant, but mostly, she just wants to feel that Marena is still there.

“Fugue?”

The foxian hadn’t realized how comfortable she’d gotten nestled in Marena’s arms, her pink tail wrapped around the dhampir’s waist.

“What’s wrong?”

Marena giggles - a sound that makes Fugue’s heart soar high in relief. “Nothing’s wrong anymore, but it is getting chilly out here considering it’s late, and we should probably go home.”

“Oh!”

[fullscoreshenanigans]

do u have any hcs about isabella? can be of any gender!

That's quite a wide berth you're giving me. I don't really have many beyond her resolving to read all the books in a Grace Field library, either before being sent to headquarters or when she becomes a mom, partially because it's something Leslie wanted to do.

(TPN Light Novel 2: Moms’ Song of Remembrance - “The Starry Sky and Leslie’s List”)

Also because I like to indulge in it being another (petty) layer of Ray's quest to read all the books in the library before he turns twelve.

(Shirai's notes for Volume 4)

Not that she ever told him she did, but he figured based on the commentary she made about what he read. Similarly, realizing he seemed to be reading through everything was bittersweet for her.

(Chapter 8)

Many passing exchanges akin to this over the years, simultaneously wanting to be involved in his life and wanting to lord her power over him, forcing him to engage with her publicly every time she approached him (because rarely is it the other way around after he turns six other than their private meetings) under the pretense of them playing house. A painful and petty ritual.

Because of the favor she's engendered with Grandma Sarah, she has her own private collection of fiction and poetry she keeps in her office or room.

She's ashamed of the multiple times she's imagined Leslie playing the piano when she's closed her eyes and listened to Nat.

It wasn't very often, but if one of the children asked, she let her hair down for them to brush or to practice braiding during free time. - This is what inspired Anna to grow her hair long and adopt braids. - Ray happens upon this once when he's looking for her and finds it unsettling how serene she looks, but he can't help but stare for a moment before deciding to come back later.

At least once every year she makes flower crowns with all the children who are interested.

She calls Emma her little sunflower when she's younger and still uses it from time to time as she gets older.

(Chapter 47)

[welcometogrouchland]

Babygirl I can concieve of stephcass dynamics you couldn't even imagine (arospec Cass not understanding why "probably bi but has a job so she doesn't have time to think about that" Steph apparently needs a man (she doesn't, it would just be nice) and doesn't want to platonically settle down with cass in their old age)

[fuckingyrs]

maybe when we're older

Rated: T (for language) Word Count: 5.5k

Just before Will could contemplate any longer on the possibilities of performing various organ transplants in the middle of monster-infested paintball fields, the infirmary doors swung open again. “Where are you taking me? What is this place?” “The infirmary,” Travis Stoll said as he dragged a limping camper behind him. Will instantly recognized him as one of the two new campers mentioned earlier. He had seen him around the past couple of days, usually with a group of Hermes kids. Usually going in the opposite direction from Will. Today, his jeans were stained with a dark patch of blood and he was clutching something in his left hand. “Remember when your leg met the wrong end of a sword five minutes ago?”

A day over winter break leads to eleven-year-old Will witnessing two of his siblings fight, meeting a new camper, and having an interesting phone call with his mom.

[majoringinfanfiction]

Before Ford and Nimirylov started dating:

[blitheringbongus]

Take it slow

Scar and Mumbo were supposed to meet up for a tour of Scar land. Scar falls asleep in Mumbos living room, conversation ensues.

(Second fic wooo!! Threw in my own headcanons about Hermitcraft and how the world works, as well as backstories for Mumbo and Scar. I’m a maladaptive daydreamer so I’ve been daydreaming about these guy’s backstories for years and years. Scars backstory used to be different but then Hotguy happened and I became obsessed, anyways have fun reading!)

Mumbos base always look different in each season, but one thing stays the same. The yellow kitchen and brown red-ish living room.

Scar‘s never asked about it, but now, being sat in the old rocking chair, watching the grandfather clock tick on, he can’t help but wonder.

It’s not even that there are variations of these two rooms, as in, they change even just slightly over the seasons. He hasn’t payed a whole bunch attention to it until now, but from what he’s seen and from what he remembers visiting Mumbos base and witnessing these specific rooms in the past, they’re exactly the same! Like a carbon copy!

His eyelids fluttered, oh he was getting real sleepy.

He was supposed to be waiting for Mumbo to meet him, so that Scar could show him around Scarland! He’s only been in the room for probably less than five minutes, granted, but it was feeling like an eternity! Not that Mumbos late or anything.

His limbs started to feel heavy, as did his eyelids. Maybe he could simply rest them? The grandfather clock ticked on, and the cozy chair slowly but surely rocked him to sleep.

The builder dreamt of lands far gone. A city long lost. A life, long lived. He dreamt of his steady bow, and zooming across the city, hopping from building to building. Feeling the fresh wind breeze in his hair, feeling the adrenaline in his body as he fought off villains and creeps, Scar was happy. Then, a faint glow, in the sky, and- Scar? Scar?

„Scar?“ a cold hand shook the mans shoulder gently. He slowly opened his eyes. „Huh?“ the once mayor rubbed his eyes, seemingly confused. „What are you doing here? I thought we’d meet up at Scarland?“

Scar breathed, and took in his surroundings. Unlit fireplace, old furniture, big grandfather clock, stuffy bookshelves stacked with literature.

„Right-„ Scar sat up, did he really fall asleep? He looked up at Mumbo. „How long was I out?“ Mumbo wiggled his mustache, „I’m not sure? I was about to go to Scarland when I found you here, so- depends on how long you’ve been here, I suppose?“ „right,“ Scar lifted his arms, taking a longgggg stretch.

„Geez Mumbo, how do you do anything in this room? It made me fall asleep in- minutes! Probably!“ The redstoner giggled. „You get used to the atmosphere after a while,“

Mumbo sat down on the old sofa beside the chair. „So, off to Scarland?“

Scar groaned, leaning back in the chair. „Let me wake up first,“ he snickered, loving the mans interest in Scarland. Of course he’d be interested in Scarland, it’s amazing! He’s toured so many hermits around already, and yet, Mumbo finding the place interesting felt all the more special to him. He couldn’t place why.

Mumbo nodded, folding his cold dead hands in his lap.

Scar looked around, his gaze catching onto a coat hanger with a fancy looking top hat on it.

„Say, Mumbo,“ Scar began, and the taller man looked at him. „How come you always have these rooms in your base? The kitchen and living room, I mean.“

The expression Mumbos face shifted into was one Scar couldn’t read, but it resembled suprise? Something else was there.

„Oh- why do you ask?“ He crossed his legs, leaning his elbows on one knee, his hands still folded, now resting under his chin.

„Pure curiosity, I suppose,“ Scar laughed nervously. He already regretted asking.

Mumbo puckered his lips, looking around the room himself. Looking at the ugly wallpaper, looking at the small box above the fireplace, holding precious memories.

„Sentiment,“ Mumbo began, „Just- something I’d like to keep from before Hermitcraft.“

The air smelled old, the dust in the air comforting.

„Oh- I’m sorry for asking Mumbo, really-„ Mumbo cut him off, „It’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not taboo to talk about, I’m not sure why most hermits treat it as such.“

The builder looked at the redstoner, and he supposed, he was right.

When he died, when he separated from his old life as a hero, when he joined Hermitcraft, he felt that strong urge to keep his past hidden. To not let anyone know. Which felt strange, he’s usually an open book! Did the other Hermits feel the same? What were their life’s like before?

Scar looked around the antique room. What was Mumbos life like?

Scar took his chances, „What was.. what was it like? If you don’t mind me asking,“ the redstoner smiled. „Another day, Scar“

Scar bit his lip, he drove too far once again- he was supposed to feel bad, but with the way Mumbo was smiling at him, how comfortable he looked, how comfortable he himself felt, it conveyed the message, that it was all fine. That Scar wasn’t a jerk for asking. That Mumbo just wasn’t in the mood. That they’ll discuss it another day.

The builder smiled. „Awake enough yet?“ Mumbo asked, slowly getting up from his spot on the sofa.

Scar blinked, „not quite.“

Mumbo breathed, content. „Mh, would some music wake you up then?“ Music? Scar wondered, „maybe,“ he grinned at the taller.

Mumbos smile grew in a way where you could only see it in his eyes. Joy pinching at the corners of them, lifting themselves ever so slightly, crinkling so beautifully in a way that made Scar want to cry, Mumbo was so beautiful.

What did he just think?

The redstoner walked over to an old radio, leaning down to twist the buttons. „Does that thing still work?“ Scar asked, leaning up in the chair, ignoring his silly thoughts. „Very much so! The audio is a bit crunchy, but it still broadcasts the songs as if it was actually connected to a station!“

Scar watched the mans hands. „Is it connected to a station?“ „Not quite, I don’t think. It’s more so frozen in time, it just plays the songs and broadcasts from- well from the day I departed from it.“ Scars nose scrunched up, he felt bad for the man. The builder lifted himself up from the comfy chair with his arms, slowly approaching the taller. „What kind of songs does it have?“

Mumbo grinned as the radio sprung to life, playing a- as promised,- crunchy tune. „The best,“ you could start to hear a man singing, vocalists in the background. Something about love and New York City. „Have you ever been to New York?“ Scar asked, and the Redstoner turned to face him. „Not quite, no. Have you?“ „I lived there,“ the music was nice. „Oh! What was it like? Is it really the city where dreams come true?“ Scar snickered. „Not really. If you want your dreams to come true you don’t need to visit a city for it,“ „Well that depends on the dream then, doesn’t it?“ „I suppose,“

Mumbo was quiet for a second, watching the radio. A hint of blush dusted the mans cheeks, Scar raveled in the sight. „Would a dance wake you up?“ Mumbo almost whispered, though it came out more like a mutter.

Oh he was adorable. Scar took the mans hand gently. „What dance are we thinking?“

Short moments later, Scars hand was on Mumbos waist and he was holding his hand at shoulder level. Mumbo also held his hand, and the other one of his hands was holding the builders shoulder. They moved slowly to the soft tunes of the radio, the crackling became comforting.

„You were talking about a new addition to Scarland?“ Mumbo said in a slightly higher voice than he’s used to, his blush having deepened, just slightly more than the previous dust of it. The brunette loved how dark it was, as if Mumbos blood is darker than his own. Was it? „Oh- yes! I finally finished Adventure Land! With the- volcano cloud smoke and and bambooo-„ he drawled slightly, still lost in the sauce watching Mumbos face, specifically the slow spread of the deep red.

„Oh really? When’d that happen? It was like- last week where you told me you’d finally started building it up?“ „oh I finished it like two days ago,“ Scar laughed quietly, his own face heating up. He doesn’t remember ever being this close to Mumbo, let alone touch him for more than a few seconds! Or moments, he doesn’t really know the difference. „It was fun, oh I can’t wait to show you. The park in general- have you seen the trolleys?“ Mumbo snickered, „Yes, I’ve seen the trolleys Scar,“ he smiled, and Scar stepped on the mans foot by accident. „Ouch-„ „Sorry!“ Mumbo didn’t mind.

The song slowly came to an end, and another started up. A more upbeat tune, but still fitting to slow dance to. The distance between the two Hermits became less. Mumbos hand was now holding the back of Scars shoulder.

„What do you think I’d especially like?“ The taller smiled, wanting to hear the mans thoughts. „Hmm,“ Scars thought for a while, holding the man close. „I think you’d like the castle the most, though I’m not sure,“ „The castle is impressive,“ „you think so?“ „I know so,“

They fell into a comfortable silence, just holding each other and moving slowly. Swaying, almost.

Scar laid his head on Mumbos chest, „you’re good at slow dancing,“ The builder has already stepped on the taller man’s feet multiple times, having apologized for each. The redstoner always laughed quietly in response. „I’ve had much practice,“ „oh?“ „I used to do it a lot with Benjamin“ „who?“ „an old friend, from back then.“ „oh- is he-?“ Mumbo shook his head, „it’s fine,“ he said.

The hours passed, and they talked about random things quietly, Mumbo resting his chin on the smallers head.

Eventually, the raven haired man remembered something. „Hey,“ „mh?“ „are you awake enough yet?“

[mamawasatesttube]

i miss timkon... tmr i should write something cute for them. its been like what, 3 weeks since i wrote anything cute about them?? i miss them... besties to lovers im coming for u...

[mad-hunts]

✔

AHHH, thank you so much for the ask, kat! i hope you're having a great sunday :D and now, without further ado, let us get right into the... quick and easy plotting guide.

my muse(s): Barton!

do I know your muse(s):  yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse (i have taken a look at your headcanons for artemis and such, of course, buttt i feel like i could still know a bit more about her... and that way, i won't like assume the wrong thing about her because that would be a little embarrassing (': not to say that i've ever really been in the habit of assuming things whenever it comes to people's character's but y'know what i mean JSJSJ)

setting: our verse | my verse | your verse | modern | alternate universe | other

pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

possible relationships: friends | classmate | co-worker | roommate | family, real or adopted | dating or blind date | married | friends with benefits | unrequited love | lending a hand | teacher - student | rivals | allies | partner-in-crime | enemies | protecter - guarded | business partners | spy - infiltrated | manipulator - manipulated | star-crossed | first meeting | other (so i know that i didn't bold a lot of these here, but to be fair, that absolutely doesn't mean that i wouldn't be open to doing any other kind of pre-established relationship with them that you might be able to see! like maybe they were forced to work together to survive or towards a common goal and that is how they met? IDK, but i think it would be interesting if they weren't possibly entirely enemies... like perhaps they were frenemies?? who knows, i will always go for being fun + creative with this kind of stuff LOL)

i’m in the mood for: fluff | angst | horror | romance | humor | crime | hurt / comfort | action | supernatural | slice of life | crack | dark threads | light threads | any genre | multi-para | shorter para | one-line | any length | plotted threads | unplotted threads | other

feel free to: message me ooc | message me ic | tell me your ideas | write a starter | answer one of my opens | send a meme | reblog this with your preferences - let’s find common interests! (oh, and if you have discord, you can also ask for my handle if you'd like to chat there as i know that tumblr IM's can be quite unreliable at times from personal experience. but yeah - you could also message me on here and we could discuss things + come up with some plots for barton and artemis together, if you want! i know that that sounds like a good plan to me :D)

[wellnoe]

hello. excerpt of my jeanscott playlist in vaguely chronological order. biased toward their earlier years, by which i mean up til the twelve:

weird around you - eerie summer

sports - beach bunny

curses - the crane wives

smoke - moddi

diamond dave - the bird and the bee

if you were my love - stevie nicks

u make me sick - holychild

everything he needs - carly rae jepsen

til death - japanese breakfast

baby you're a haunted house - gerard way

[boleynqueenes]

Happy birthday!! I hope you treat yourself nicely too! You deserve a great birthday 🎉 and!! Important to note that one page is still something to celebrate 🩵

it is when you've had writer's block :')

thank you!

[shelfthe-reader]

Woah

[calenhads]

bite the hand (1k, sabina/lachlan)

Sabina is sick with it, all the hatred in her heart. 

It simmers under her lungs, the ruddy glow of coals on a midnight fire, the trembling ashes of the Undying Hearth. It is quiet now; not sated, but no longer clamoring for her attention with all the fervor of a yipping dog at her heel. A small mercy granted only because she is too exhausted to feel anything at all beyond the time-worn cloth of her trousers under her hands. Sodden strands of hair stick to her forehead, teased by a cool breeze gentle as a lover’s kiss. Her face is flushed, she knows, because of the way Lachlan keeps stealing sidelong glances at her.

Though present, worry is not the only emotion to cross his night-dark eyes. She almost wants to scold him, scandalized. A spark lights among the ashes, glimmering and notably not exhausted. 

“Again,” she says instead, pushing herself to her full height. Not quite taller than him. Bile rises in her throat at the movement, and is swallowed back down. Sabina draws, rapier light in one hand and dagger lighter in the other. Lachlan’s face twists into an expression she does not recognize, and speaks in a voice that she does.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. When did you even sleep last, Sa-“

“Again, damn you.”

Sabina hurtles towards her dearest friend, her lover if the world was kinder, with no small amount of tremulous energy. Lachlan raises his sword to meet her in a parry effortless enough to set that little spark into a flame. 

She gasps against the heat of it, and is surprised that her breath does not turn to steam in the cool air. Something within her bares its teeth, snapping at any errant hands. Come to stroke or to strike, they are bitten all the same. Arms straining, Lachlan shoves her back and away a handful of stumbling steps. 

“Sab, come on,” he pleads with wide eyes. His offhand is help up, palm facing her, placating. She has never resented anything more in her life. 

“I’m not done,” she snarls, more beast than woman. 

She lunges again, mad with grief and fury and denial as Lachlan diverts her flashing blades with his own. What a picture she must make, teeth bared and eye-whites flashing, stern brows furrowed even as her body trembles. A rabid animal in desperate need of the knife.

“You are,” he disagrees with the pleasant air of someone speaking to a particularly petulant child. “You really are.”

He’s not even trying anymore, not really. With each ragged breath her blows become sloppier, her responses slower. Lachlan is hardly sweating, only a single bead rolling down his impeccable brow. She likes that brow, normally. When it’s not condescending at her with only the tiniest of wrinkles to betray his pity. It always seemed heroic to her. Now it makes her want to claw and bite and scream until it is ruined. Until they are both ruined in their entirety. 

Sabina wants to take him to the grave. She wants to take him to bed. Are they not one and the same, in the end? She is surely making one of each for herself to lay in at the end of all this. Lachlan is merely providing the shovel. 

And perhaps company.

Something in her expression must change, because Lachlan’s guard drops and his expression softens. His brows untwist from the knot they tangled themselves in out of sheer worry. A mistake.

Barely registering the dull thud of her weapons against the sea-damp dirt, Sabina lurches forward with arms outstretched, and Lachlan steps forward to meet her. To catch her, if she’s interested in being honest with herself.

She’s sure she meant to kiss him, or bite him, or hit him, or any manner of things that are not the embrace she falls into instead. His arms, strong and covered only by the thin cotton of his undershirt, are warm around her. Unbearably warm, warring with the flame licking at her heart. Perhaps it is not rage that pulls at her, but longing. Or perhaps she is merely exhausted beyond all hope of understanding.

Either way, the beast quietens as she is restrained, as her body finally goes limp. She buries her face into his neck, breathing damp against his skin. 

“You’re burning up,” he whispers into her hair as one firm hand rises to cup the nape of her neck. “I was serious about the sleep thing. You’ve been up how long now?”

Sabina makes incoherent noises against his throat just to feel him shiver. 

He hums a question in response, a paper-thin attempt to stay focused that she can see right through. Above, she is certain his eyes have grown darker still.

“Too long,” she says, more clearly this time. Twenty-six hours and fourty-three minutes, she does not say. Her real answer would invoke even more misplaced, eyebrow-knotting concern than she wants to deal with at the moment. Not that she hasn’t ever been awake longer… but Lachlan would not like that argument either. Felix certainly hadn’t, at the time.

It’s no easy task to withdraw from his arms, but Sabina manages after a steadying breath. He still smells of woodsmoke from the fire, of the plain soap that her not-so-royal coffers can hardly afford. Sabina has no intentions of finding out what she smells like.

Upright again, she pats him once, abruptly, on the left side of his chest with a — weak, tired, wan — beatific smile. 

“I suppose it’s time for me to retire,” she says with a yawn, stretching her heavy arms above her head as if it will quell her rising nausea. “Join me if you will.”

Lachlan laughs, shaking his head in what can only be disbelief. Not rejection, not yet. Sabina’s eyes dart towards his.

“As your nursemaid, maybe. You’ll pass out the second you get horizontal. Maybe wake up in a state of feverish delirium hours from now,” comes his answer, along with a broad hand on her shoulder. Softer, he murmurs, “Go to sleep. I’ll send in Felix to watch over you.”

Unbothered, Sabina nods and the world wavers at the edges as she does. The moment has passed, and done so long ago. She retrieves her abandoned weapons from the soil, and goes to bed.