#too bad the wood was very rotted and old

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, gods.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, gods.”

Nico scowls, wrenching just eyes away from Will’s poorly-covered grin and shaking shoulders.

It’s not that bad. It isn’t.

Sure, the complete lack of lighting except Greek fire torches makes the cabin look like a little piece of the Underworld, right here on the surface. But that’s comforting. Honestly. Nico knows the Underworld. It’s — familiar.

And, yeah. It would, probably, be pertinent to have some furniture, or something. At least somewhere for him to store his clothes, because he has more than one set of those now, and maybe a shelf, or something. And, admittedly, the obsidian altar could take up a little less space than it currently does.

But it’s not that bad.

“Are those. Coffin shaped beds.”

The tone of Will’s voice is unlike he’s ever heard it. He turns back to face him, slowly, and finds him biting his fist, hard, every muscle of his body tense as live wire.

“I was twelve godsdamn years old,” Nico snaps. “Forgive me if interior design wasn’t my passion.”

Solace loses it.

In his defense, not that Nico is too worried about defending him, he does appear to try very hard to not lose it. When the first giggle slips out of his lips, he clamps his jaw shut tighter. When his whole body begins to shake with the force of repressing his laughter, he curls inward, as if making himself smaller might reduce the chance of a lapse in control.

But then he glances back inside and looks, really looks, at the dreary, stone walls, the lone skeletons standing guard, and the plush, teakwood black coffin bunk beds, and he collapses to the floor.

“I’m going to open a chasm beneath you,” Nico threatens. “You are going to fall and crack your spine into a million pieces on the bank of the Styx, rotting there with every other forgotten hope.”

“You are a Black Parade lyric personified,” Will wheezes.

Nico doesn’t know what that means, so he kicks him. Unfortunately, he only laughs harder.

“I mean it, Solace. It’s a long way down to the Underworld. You will spend the entire fall petrified with the knowledge that nothing can save you.”

For added effect, Nico makes the floor under the medic’s body shake, makes the tip of a skeleton hand peek out from the earth.

Ironically, this stops Will’s laughter, but not for the reason Nico was aiming for.

“Hey!” A bright blue flipflop-clad foot darts out and collides With Nico’s ankle, sending him sprawling. “I said no spooky magic for the next two months! Put that skeleton away!”

“Fuck off, Solace! It’s barely half a bone! You are so annoying!”

“That’s my specialty.” Will pushes himself upright. He waits until Nico sits up, too, so he can catch his eye before his face splits into a dazzling grin. Actual sparkles seem to flicker beside his face. “And you are ever so easy to annoy.”

Nico stares, unimpressed.

“Anyways.” Will coughs. “You can’t stay here, Neeks —”

“Don’t call me that.”

“— it’s straight-up too depressing.” He peers inside. “It’s also cold, and, like…borderline unliveable? So. As your doctor, I can’t allow it.”

“You’re a medic,” Nico says, raising an eyebrow, “first of all, not a doctor. Second of all, you can’t tell me what to do. Third of all — where am I supposed to sleep? The woods?”

“Hm. Good question.”

Will gets to his feet, brushing the dirt off his shorts and offering Nico a hand. After a second of hesitation, he takes it, allowing Will to haul him up.

“C’mon!”

Nico snatches his hand away, face burning. (Gods. Why does Will have to be so…touchy-feely? And why does it always do weird things to Nico’s stomach?) But it hardly takes a look over Will’s shoulder before Nico’s feet are following after him, without his permission.

“Where are we going?”

“Well, my dad’s kind of a hoe,” Will says matter-of-factly. Nico chokes. Will’s grin widens. “And our cabin was built with that in mind. I know we’ve got an extra bunk or two for ya. Hurry up!”

This…cannot be allowed. Nico doesn’t have a ton of Camp Half-Blood experience, or anything, but as far as he knows, Hermes is the only cabin that can really do that. He doesn’t want to incur the wrath of Apollo, or whatever, by staying in his cabin uninvited.

Well. Will’s inviting him, technically. And there’s a confidence to his offer, like maybe this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

“What if I don’t want to live in your stupid sunshine-y cabin,” Nico grumbles, trying to cover up his nerves. “Holding hands and singing about how much I love being alive isn’t really my cup of tea.”

Will snorts. “Oh, di Angelo,” he says dramatically, shaking his head, “you are in for a world of discovery. Welcome to the Cabin Apollo. Take your shoes off at the door and remember that Kayla bites.”

———

Living in the Apollo cabin is strange.

Four days in, and Nico is only just starting to get used to it. He’s not entirely unused to sharing space with people — he’s had two sisters — but the Apollo kids argue like they enjoy doing it. One minute, Will and Kayla will be screaming at each other at the top of their lungs about touching each other’s shit, then they’re teaming up to pull Gracie off Yan’s face for the exact same argument, only now they offer sage advice on respecting boundaries and compromising. It’s bizarre.

(Austin is pretty chill, actually. Nico has noticed him starting quite a few fights — it was he, in fact, who moved Will’s shit and then gracefully framed Kayla — but he has a very powerful eyebrow raise and a very powerful image as Unproblematic. He has quickly become Nico’s favourite.)

He’s only just barely beginning to understand how they work together, and the struggle comes in because everything is so chaotic. When Nico spent time with Hazel in New Rome, she was in the barracks. He never really had to worry about squabbling over counter space in the bathroom with her, because she had her own little toiletry caddie like everyone else, and bathrooms were public. With Bianca — well. There’s no one alive who knows this about her, but she was bossy. She was sweet and wonderful and self-sacrificing and brave and kind and the centre of Nico’s life, but by the gods, did she take her authority as a big sister seriously. She ordered Nico around all the time. He never had to worry much about when he would have the chance to use the bathroom they shared at the Lotus, or who got the T.V. remote, or who go to sit on the bus instead of standing, because he was not the one deciding. He could stick his tongue out and whine all he wanted, but she was boss. He knew that.

The Apollo kids are not like that.

As well as Nico can figure, it’s kind of a free-for-all. You want first shower? Either wake up the earliest — a strategy only Will every manages to employ with any success — or manage to jab an elbow in someone’s rib and sprint. You want whoever’s humming to shut the hell up so you can sleep? Make sure your threats are quick and believable, or just straight up start throwing shit until they finally stop. You want the coveted middle of the bench spot at breakfast? Well, tough shit on that one, actually. Nico has yet to make that one happen for himself.

He won’t admit it, but he has kind of learned to enjoy it. It’s annoying, and the Apollo siblings do indeed sing at all hours of the day (although the content usually skews more towards diss tracks and delighted insults, if not straight-up curses), and it is so godsdamn bright in there, seriously, is it a gimmick or what, but there’s something to be said about the fact that he’s so surrounded by people and chaos that he hasn’t even had the chance to feel lonely. Not even at night, panting to himself after a nasty nightmare, because all it takes is a particularly loud snore from Will one bunk down to remember where he is. To remember that he’s safe — by demigod standards, at least.

But, still.

He kind of misses his privacy.

“Will,” he whispers urgently, on his fifteenth day of rooming with the Apollo weirdos.

The medic hums noncommittally, attention very focused on the test tube in front of him. Nico has been fighting the urge to try and launch a piece of dust inside it for forty minutes, just to make him explode.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sounds good, Nico.”

Nico narrows his eyes. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Uh-huh. Agreed.”

“I can say anything I want right now.”

“Sure. Maybe double check with Austin.”

“…I’m going to put a colony of ants in your pillowcase.”

“Good idea.”

“Then I’m going to douse your hair products in gasoline and set them aflame.”

“Baller.”

“After that I’m gonna read your super secret diary to the entirety of camp at singalong tonight.”

“You betcha.”

“And then I’m going to shadow travel to Russia.”

Will blinks, frowning. “Hey, no shadow-travelling. What’s this I hear about shadow-travelling?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Nothing, stupid. You were just ignoring me.”

Will smiles guiltily. “Aw, I’m sorry, Neeks. Got focused on this. I’m finished in twenty, then I’m all yours?”

“…Don’t call me Neeks,” Nico grumbles, furious with himself for how quick he’s relented under wide blue puppy-dog eyes.

“Sorry, Neeks.”

Huffing at Will’s quiet laughter, Nico slides off the nurse’s station counter and wanders around the empty infirmary. Things have luckily finally cooled down in here, nearly three weeks after the end of the Giant War. Some of the exhaustion has faded from Will’s features now that he’s had time to sleep properly.

Not that Nico has noticed, or anything.

“Okay,” Will says a few minutes later, holding his hands up protectively in front of his geeky little setup. “I just gotta do this last step, so long as I calculated it right, it should be fine…” He squeezes a drop of something into the liquid bubbling over the burner, freezing immediately. One, two, three seconds pass and nothing happens, so Will relaxes, sighing in relief and turning to face Nico fully. “Okay, we’re good. What was it you wanted to —”

The text tube contents explode in his face, dousing him in slimey green goo.

Nico bursts out laughing.

“Great,” Will says darkly, swiping the stuff from his eyes. “The one day I don’t wear goggles. Great.”

Nico gasps, sides aching. “Oh my gods —”

“Feel free to help, di Angelo.”

“— you look like a cartoon! Your face!”

It takes Will twelve cloths and seven whole minutes to clean himself and the nurse’s station off of the goo. Nico cackles at him the whole time, and tastefully does not mention the many globs of goo that remain caked in his hair.

“Whenever you’re done.”

Will is very, very bad at being stern when he doesn’t really mean it. And he doesn’t really mean it now, because every time he tries to glare at Nico, his mouth twitches.

“I’m good,” Nico finally wheezes, forcing his face back to normal. “I’m good, I’m good.”

He very pointedly does not look at Will’s hair.

“Dick,” Will huffs, fondness bleeding into his tone. “What did you want?”

He must notice the change in tone at his asking, because he clears the bench fully, hoisting himself on top of it and patting the spot next to him. Nico hesitates for half a second, then crawls up, sitting criss cross applesauce, knees touching.

“I need to move back to my cabin,” he manages, finally.

Will’s face betrays no judgement or emotion. “Oh?”

“Yes.” He picks at a loose thread in his jeans. “I need — space.”

The thread loosens, allowing Nico to tug on it. A hole begins to unravel along the seam as he pulls and pulls and pulls. He stops himself before it gets too wide, tearing the thread off and winding it around his fingers.

“I can tell everyone to tone it down,” Will offers softly, eyebrows creased. “We’ll be more quiet, we’ll —”

Nico places a hand on his knee, cutting off his sentence. “It’s not about that, I promise. You guys have been great.”

A wounded look still pulls at Will’s strong features, as much as he visibly tries to pull his face back to something more supportive. “It’s not?”

“No, no. It’s just —” He frowns, trying to articulate the tangled mess of his thoughts. “I have my own cabin.”

“So?”

“And I can’t stay in yours forever.”

“I mean, you could.”

“Chiron’s been giving me looks, Will.”

“So what! I’ll — write you a doctor’s note, or something!”

Nico snorts. “A doctor’s note letting me sleep in your cabin?”

Will nods fervently, although he seems to acknowledge the ridiculousness of his suggestion, if the grin on his face is any indication. “Yes! For medical reasons, you know.” He mimes writing. “‘Patient’s cabin is dank and sad. To avoid bouts of misery, patient must sleep in the presence of the coolest and best and prettiest and most uplifting people in camp.’”

“Hm. Not sure Chiron’s gonna buy that last part. Not sure I buy that last part, actually.”

“Hey.”

Nico dodges Will’s shove, chuckling.

“Seriously, though, Will. This was never a long term solution, right?”

“I know. You’re cabin just — sucks so bad, man. No offense.”

“I take great offense to that, actually. My cabin is art.”

“Sure, Eddie Cullen.”

“I don’t know who that is, so that’s a horrible insult.”

“Travesty, honestly.”

Outside the open infirmary windows, Nico can hear distant, triumphant screaming, laughter, and the clang of metal. Today’s a good day. The weather’s balmier than usual, for late August, and some of the gloom that’s hung over everyone’s head for the bast few weeks seems to have lifted.

“You can’t go back to your cabin like it is,” Will says into the silence, startling Nico, “but —” he grins when Nico begins to protest, holding up his hand. “We can definitely change it up.”

He slides off the bench, botching his landing and almost sprawling on the floor. He holds a dramatic hand out to Nico when he rights himself. Nico ignores it, rolling his eyes and getting to his feet by himself.

“C’mon,” Will says, grabbing his hand anyway. Sparks shoot up Nico’s arm. “We need to go ask Chiron for the van keys and approximately five hundred dollars.”

———

Three hours is too fucking long to be in a vehicle. Especially when Will is driving, because all he does is play nonstop country music and let everybody cut in front of him.

“I’m driving us back,” Nico informs him as they (finally) get out of the stupid van, snatching the keys from his hands.

Will shrugs. “Sure.”

Nico had expected more of a fight, honestly. But he supposes neither of them are legally allowed to drive, age-wise, and besides, Nico technically has seventy years of driving experience on Will.

(…The Lotus had a racetrack.

Nico was very, very good at it.)

“What is this place, anyway?”

“This place,” Will says grandly, throwing an arm over his shoulders, “is essentially the mortal version of the Labyrinth, minus, you know, the soul-sucking terror.”

“Okay. All that’s telling me is that you have horrible ideas and we should leave immediately.”

Will rolls his eyes. “It’s a furniture store.”

“Well, then —” he punches Will’s shoulder, huffing when he only laughs. “Say that, then!”

“But then what would I do with all the drama in my heart?”

“Choke on it, hopefully!”

Ikea is weird.

Since Will did not tell him what the plan was, he didn’t draw up any plans. Luckily, Will has the dimensions of his cabin — although where he got them, Nico does not ask — so they spend an hour or so in the cafe drawing out a plan.

“You need more than two beds, Neeks.”

“Uh, no I don’t. Unless my father has something very important to announce to me, I need a bed for me, and a bed for Hazel.”

“What if I want to sleep over?”

“You can sleep on the porch.”

Mostly, they wander around the sets. Nico isn’t really sure what he wants his cabin to look like — he has to remind himself that yes, actually, he cares about the space he’ll be spending at least the next three years of his life in. It’s a startling reality, to have control over his own space. He must’ve had some say in his childhood bedroom, but he has no memory of it. He spent the most time in his and Bianca’s room at the Lotus, but that was already furnished when they got there, and besides, it only felt like they were there for less than a year. It always felt like a hotel room, never his room. Westminster was no different. His room in his father’s palace had already been designed, too. In fact he’d based his cabin on it.

What does Nico want his bedroom to look like, without someone else deciding for him?

“I’m not getting a fucking Lightning McQueen bed, Solace.”

“But it would be so sick! And look — it’s got little cubbies!”

“I’m going to ditch you, and shadow travel back to camp,” Nico threatens. “And I have the van keys, so you’ll be stuck here for real.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Will looks at him sternly, hands on hips. “No shadow travelling for you, Death Breath. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t fade into nothing on my watch.”

“I’m joking,” Nico says, exasperated, but cannot deny the warmth that fills him up at Will’s concern.

In the end, he decides on a pretty normal bed. It’s bigger than Will’s bunk (“Or anyone else’s bed,” Will grumbles, “you lucky asshole.”), but not ridiculously designed. He picks a similar size for Hazel, only the frame is white, not black, and the bedspread that comes with it is a soft, coral pink that he knows she will like.

“Wanna see if they’ve got a Mythomagic bedspread for yours?” Will teases.

That would be the coolest thing ever in the entire world, Nico thinks, and is so embarrassed that he shoves Will, shrieking, into a giant basket of pillows for making him think it.

“Obviously I don’t want that.”

“You are such a turd! I’ll get you, di Angelo!”

He does not. Nico is way too sneaky for him, and after the fifth time Nico manages to give him the slip, he gives up, sulking in a display for a bedroom of a nine year old girl.

“Fitting,” Nico teases, gesturing to the princess wallpaper. “You drama queen.”

“Buzz off.”

Next, they look for furniture. It’s pretty easy — Nico doesn’t need much, and he’s not too concern with cut or style or anything. He quickly picks out two dressers, one to match Hazel’s bed frame, and one to match his, and then a couple bookshelves.

Four hours into their trip, Nico is exhausted. They have a three hour drive ahead of them, they’ve been out all day, and he wants to go home.

But Will stops him before they go get all the boxes for their furniture.

“This is still pretty bare bones,” he says quietly, then grins at his own accidental pun. Nico shoots him a venomous look, warning him against making it more obvious, and for once he actually listens. “You know, we’re still under budget. We’ve got around $200 left — we can get a motel, stay the night, then we don’t have to drive back right away. And tomorrow, maybe we can check out some other stores, look for smaller decorations and stuff. And if we don’t have to drive back tonight, we’ve maybe got another hour in here, if you wanted to get a couple more pieces.”

Nico opens his mouth to refuse — that’s way too much effort to spend on one person’s cabin, c’mon — then pauses, thinking about it.

Chiron hadn’t even thought about it before handing them the money. Will had barely gotten the words out before he’d started counting out the bills.

“I want you to make a home here,” the centaur had said, touching his hand. There was a pain in his kind eyes, stopping any protests. “I made a mistake, Nico, the first time you came here. In another life, you felt welcome enough to stay the whole time. Take what you need.”

What does he need? What does home look like, to him?

“There was a beanbag chair, in our room at the Lotus,” he says, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. “Me and Bianca used to fight over it.” His voice shakes. A tear gathers at the corner of his eye, and he blinks it back. “It wasn’t real fighting. When I called mercy she’d — scoop me up and throw me on it and squish in after me, and we’d sit together and play video games. Or read. She liked to read.”

Will squeezes his trembling hands. “We can get a beanbag chair.”

“And I — don’t like the blackout curtains. The dark makes me think of — the pit.”

“Okay. They sell lotsa lamps here, too. Might be nicer than the Greek fire.”

Nico nods. There’s — more, far more ideas, now, flooding his brain; Hazel crowding over him on a rug-covered floor, shrieking as he teases her about Frank; a desk tucked in the corner where Will sits, mouthing along to his textbooks as Nico sharpens his sword; Jason running his fingers along rows of books on a big, cluttered shelf; Reyna with her fist curled around her mouth, studying a chess board across from him, hair shining under the natural light from the window.

He can have that. He can have that.

Thankfully, all their stuff fits in the back of the van. Despite his insistence earlier, Nico hands Will the keys, and he drives around until he finds a shitty motel with a vacancy sign flashing out front. He pulls into the farthest corner of the parking lot, killing the engine, then waits.

“You okay?”

Nico shrugs. “I’m…not sure.”

“That’s okay,” Will assures, pressing a fleeting touch to his shoulder. Nico grabs his wrist before he moves away, tugging down his hand and linking their fingers together.

For once, it doesn’t make him feel all sparky. The warmth of Will’s hands is grounding, and so is the gentle squeeze, the smile he feels pointed in his direction.

“C’mon. Let’s check in and sleep, huh?”

Nico’s exhaustion compounds in the walk from the car to the lobby, so by the time Will is speaking quietly to the host, he’s half asleep, leaning on Will’s shoulder. He vaguely feels it when Will shifts his weight, sliding a hand around his waist to hold him better. He blinks and they’re standing in front of a door.

“Almost there, Death Boy,” he murmurs. “Hold on a sec.”

It takes him six separate tries to make the keycard work. He gets huffy when Nico snickers tiredly at him.

“Finally, yeesh.”

He guides Nico in, dropping the backpack he brought somewhere near the door. As soon as the bed is within Nico’s sights, he makes a beeline, barely remembering to shuck his shoes and jacket.

“Please do not sleep in your jeans.”

“Mmmfuck off,” Nico groans, already sliding under the covers. He’ll regret it in the morning, but whatever.

“Goober.” Callused hands brush through his hair, resting lightly on his forehead. “Goodnight, Nico.”

Nico’s out before he can even think to respond.

———

He wakes up, in the middle of the night, scream caught in his throat and heart pounding in his ears. The air smells like smoke and fear. The rushing of the Phlegethon is so loud it’s overpowering.

A loud snore knocks him back to reality.

Crawling desperately towards the source of the sound, he hangs over the bed, eyes adjusting rapidly to the dark to see a curled lump on the floor, head resting on his own hands. A quick glance behind him confirms the other half of the bed has been left untouched.

“Stupid,” he mumbles, tiny smile chasing away the last of his fear.

He tugs the blankets off the mattress, pulls off the two pillows, and joins his dumbass, selfless friend on the floor.

———

“Question,” Will asks, swallowing the last of their disgustingly delicious greasefest of a breakfast. “Were you alive when Walmart was invented?”

“I was alive before your great grandmother was.”

“No, I mean — were you out and kickin’. Have you strolled the endless aisles of corporate soullessness, basking in the wonder of American overconsumerism?”

“…You’re such a weird, particular person.”

Will looks delighted. “You’re a Walmart newbie!”

He pulls into the dead, cracked parking lot way too happily for this hour in the morning. Nico would even say he takes the nearest exit to get to the store gleefully. He is embarrassed for him.

Walmart is…underwhelming.

As stupid as it is, Will had hyped it up so much that Nico was almost a little excited. It just looked like any other basic superstore. Will, for whatever reason, seemed delighted by that fact.

“I do not like this store,” he explained when Nico asked, expression not matching his words, “it just means so very much to me that you are joining me in the misery of having experienced it.”

They spend more time than they mean to just dicking around. At one point they nearly get thrown out by management, because Will finds a pair of NERF guns that some child dug out of its packaging and no words need to be spoken. They gear up and scamper off, hunting each other through fluorescent-lights hell.

“Please just get your shit and leave,” says the very tired looking manager, and they have the good gall to at least appear embarrassed as they mumble, “Yes, ma’am.”

It doesn’t take long when they have their head on straight. They get some fairy lights, a couple cool posters, dorky little trinkets that Nico probably doesn’t need, per se, but what was he supposed to do, leave the little plastic crow skeleton behind?

Unlikely.

With his own money, Will buys several cans of paint and a CD. He explains neither of these purchases. The look on his face gets steadily more infuriating as they make their way through the line, and Nico really, truly considers leaving him behind.

The purchase of the CD becomes very obvious very quickly. Even though Nico is driving, and therefore Nico should get music control, Will pouts and pleads until Nico gives in and lets him play his stupid country album. He justifies his decision in his own brain by noticing the radiance of Will’s smile as he belts out the words, badly, at the top of his lungs. He then spends the rest of the drive back to camp convincing himself not to be embarrassed for having said thoughts.

They get back to camp about lunch time, and Will destroys any attempt for a subtle reentry by whistling the second they cross the property line.

“Austin! Kayla!” he hollers, making Nico jump. “Come help us unload!”

“We coulda done it ourselves,” Nico grumbles.

Will pats his head condescendingly. “It has been twenty-four long, long hours since I’ve bosses my siblings around, Neeks. I need this.”

It does go by quite a bit quicker with Austin and Kayla’s help. Lou Ellen, Cecil, Yan, and Gracie come to help, too, but Gracie’s too little to carry much more than a small desk lamp. Instead, they lay down the biggest box — Nico’s bed frame — and let her climb on top of it, carrying her like she’s a queen atop a throne back to Nico’s cabin. She has the time of her life, giggling to herself like a madwoman.

By the time everything’s unloaded, a couple hours have passed, and the Hades cabin looks like a clusterfuck.

“Maybe you stay in Apollo a couple more nights,” Will suggests.

“Might have to,” Nico agrees. Will looks inordinately pleased with himself.

All in all, it takes about two days to disassemble the old furniture, get rid of it, and start putting together the new stuff. Will helps for most of it, but he has a few shifts in the infirmary, so Nico ends up trying to do a fair bit on his own.

“May the wrath of Zeus come down upon this fucking piece of shit, no good, poorly designed garbage-looking idiotic mother fuc —”

“Maybe time for a break from furniture assembling?” suggests a voice, accompanied by a quick knock in the open door. Will leans on the doorframe, grinning, box propped up on his hip.

“Will, thank the gods,” Nico sighs, relieved. He angrily shakes a tool in his direction. “Allen wrenches are fucking useless. I’m three seconds away from throwing this through the window.”

“Definitely time for a switch, then.”

Will’s smile is wide and crinkles his eyes. He’s got dimples, too, Nico is now noticing, and then very rapidly un-noticing then because gods above that is a dangerous path.

“Did you and Rachel get into another prank war?” he asks, praying the flush on his cheeks goes away.

Will glances down at his paint-spattered clothes. “Nah, this is just my painting outfit. Why ruin more than one set of clothes, you know?” He sets down the box in the middle of the room, then heads for the half-built furniture sprawled all throughout the cabin, tugging it all towards the middle. Nico inches towards the box, curious, and finds it full of dozens of paint cans and brushes, including the ones he got at Walmart.

“I didn’t know you painted.”

He flashes another grin in Nico’s direction. This one has a little mischief to it, a little teasing. His stomach swoops.

“Gotta have at least one artistic talent or my dad would disown me. Help me tape down this tarp, will you?”

It takes them twenty minutes to prep the room, protecting the floor and the furniture. Once everything is ready, Will jogs over to the CD player he gave Nico a few days ago, flicking through the stack of CDs and choosing one at random. Soft opera music begins to float around the cabin.

“Okay,” he begins, clapping his hands, “first we need a base coat. Get the white paint and the rollers.”

It takes them the rest of the day, painting until dinner, then waiting past sunset for it to dry. Nico follows Will back to his cabin that night — he wouldn’t let him sleep around the paint fumes — and the two of them return the next morning, re-donning their paint-spattered clothes. Will braids his hair, this time, tucking the little pigtails behind a kerchief. It makes Nico smile every time he looks at him.

As much as he’s in painting clothes, Nico doesn’t really do much of the painting. He stays in the centre of the room, half assembling furniture, half watching Will bring his walls to life with more colours than he’s ever seen in one place.

Will doesn’t ask what Nico wants him to paint in his murals. Instead, Nico watches as the streets of Venice begin to unfold on one of the walls, bright and blue and exactly as he remembers, even though he knows for a fact Will has never been. The shining fruit of his stepmother’s garden is next, with a notable absence of the pomegranate tree, and then the hills of New Rome, the sunflower field in rural New York Nico used to visit, the Chinese mountainscape from the first big shadow travelling jump he ever made. Even the poplar forests of the Underworld, looking much kinder and livelier in Will’s rendition than in real life, with Mrs. O’Leary and Cerberus chasing each other through the flickering leaves. Beautiful, colourful, breathtaking scenes; Nico’s favourite places, Nico’s many homes.

“I get a lot of dreams,” Will admits, dragging a smear of rich purple near the ceiling. “You’re in a lot of them. These are the places you’re smiling, the most.”

“They’re beautiful, Will.” Nico’s throat is drier than any desert he’s ever been to. “Gods, they’re more beautiful here than they are in real life.”

“Liar,” Will teases, although his smile is shy.

Nico has never seen him smile like that. He’s seen a lot more of Will in these past few days, actually; his softness, his kindness, his love.

He has only knows Will for a little over a month, he thinks. But Will loves him. That much is obvious.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

His eyes are still trained on his work. He is on his tiptoes on a step stool, one leg extended precariously, tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth. The curve of his brush is careful, meticulous. Only the best for his friends, for Nico. That’s Will.

“Hey,” Nico says again, more urgently. He steps forward, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.

“Just a sec, Neeks, as soon as I’m done we can —”

Nico pulls until he loses his balance, falling into Nico’s arms. He stares into wide, blue blue eyes, for one second, two, then presses their lips together. Will’s squeak of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, hands sliding up his arms to cup his face, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh,” he sighs, eyelashes ticking Nico’s cheeks as they flutter close. “Oh.”

He melts into Nico’s hold. There’s a thunk and a crinkle as his paintbrush falls from his loose fingers, splattering onto the tarp, and paint-wet hands tangle into his hair. Nico finds he doesn’t mind.

“You love me,” he murmurs in between breaths, lips brushing Will’s with every word.

“Yes,” Will breathes. He kisses Nico again, and again. “A lot.”

“Good.” He’s not sure if it’s the paint fumes making him lightheaded, or the odd, slightly uncomfortable position, or the intoxicating, delirious feel of Will’s warm skin. He’s not sure if he cares. “Good.”

It’s not quite an I-love-you-too. The words won’t form on his tongue, so instead he tightens his hold, sending them that way, and presses closer, closer, closer.

Will smiles into the kiss.

He understands just fine.

[tiyoin]

Now I'm thinking about twisted anxiety reader being able to sing really well. I feel like there could be some very interesting/funny moments (4 us not reader).

Reader probably only sings in a reclusive area like a forest around the dorm

I wanna say that the forest already has haunting rumors about it ,and when someone (jade or rook) hears reader singing they think that the "ghost" is up and active again. So students start doing a "test of courage" type thing.

I put Jade or Rook being the one to hear reader cuz they're really the only ones that would really be in that area without a reason.

I also know they're intelligent enough to know it's not a ghost ,but start the rumor anyways cuz they want to know who's singing. And it becomes this big thing the school trying to figure out.

Cut to reader losing her mind cuz she like "wow, I didn't know people thought it was that bad. How am I supposed to live, laugh, love ever again??"

When in reality they were just memorized by reader's singing. And they really want to find out who it is.

Bonus points if they film it and sent it to the group chat you posted about earlier. And reader just has to be like 🧍‍♀️ "whattt???? No way!! 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ a random voice in the woods 😱😱"

I'm sorry for sending 2 long asks back 2 back ,but twisted anxiety just gets my head going.

Also if you don't like being sent stuff like this just tell me and I won't send any more. I don't want to over step at all. These are just like head cannons I give to reader ,cuz I just love making things worse for her. Can't let her know what peace is

YOU

hOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN MY HEAD 🫵

i’m going to give you the fattest smooch alive you don’t understand. AND I LOVE IT WHEN I GET LONG ASKS!!! so please! ask away i don’t mind, i actually get really flattered that people want to share with me their long, detailed thoughts !! i was actually nervous people wouldn’t like my long responses 😖

no cause that’s ALWAYS one troupe i ALWAYS go back to.

i was thinking about making them a singer, REALLY I WAS- but i had second thoughts cause i thought people wouldn’t like it / maybe people would think its too… y-nie or im trying to make twisted anxiety reader too much, ya know

BUT OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU MEAH MWAH (also dw i got your other ask and fully plan on answering it, this one was just at the top of my inbox 🫶🫶)

but oh my god,,,, HEAR ME OUT;

twisted anxiety reader getting pent up because they. have. no. outlet.

none.

maybe they played a sport in their old world, but no longer can’t because seriously?? going up against beastmen, mermen, fae and just,,, men?! absolutely not.

they can’t do anything fun in ramshackle because of the ghosts can and will find a way to stick their noses into your business. also hello??? no privacy at ramshackle👎👎

honestly, twisted anxiety reader doesn’t have any friends so they can’t blow off steam that way either. and going to the gym is out of the question because 1. anxiety 2.gym bros- and working out at home is… different.

so there has to be a way to let off steam… good thing twisted anxiety reader dilly dallied in everything!!

they want to sing but aren’t confident enough to join the pop music club, and the walls to ramshackle are paper thin.

there’s absolutely no where you can go.

and yet… every time you glance at the forest. you can’t help but wonder…🤔

AND IVE ALWAYS IMAGINED READER SINGING

“everything stays” from adventure time

“love all mine” by mitski

“rises the moon” by liana flores

“sky fall” by adele

“memory” from cats

“listen” by beyoncé

“hopelessly devoted” by olivia newton-john

oh my god i have to make a separate post for this before i completely rot and accidentally write a whole chapter because i’ve been WAITING to write about this and i’d feel bad about making this SUPER LONG

but i can’t imagine rook going for a sunset “hike” (…sure, let’s go with that) and hearing you. belting your little heart to “hopelessly devoted” HAGFJAIWOFOSOWOFOAPEIFOZOQFOXOD

ROOK IS AWE STRUCK

such passion! such devotion! how marvelously beautiful! rook is stunned.

of course after you finish singing he can hear you moan and groan about trivial things but- rook hunt was not a hunt if he didn’t appreciate the gift the forest provided.

and yet, the carful hunter made a careless mistake. cursing silently, he glared at the twig his boots stepped on before he snapped his head up to the clearing up ahead.

ah, you fled.

to say rook was… upset was an understatement. yes he was able to marvel in your voice, but he lost the privilege to listen to more, to observe from afar.

the strange songs you sang and possibly wrote (what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him) are gone with the wind and the high step of your foot as you vanished into thin air.

rook could easily hunt you down, but he stopped himself after a slight muscle twitch. non non! he was the enjoyer of beauty! not the hunter! yes he hunted beauty but it would go against his very being to trap it instead of let it fly free and continue its song.

so let this be your little secret, okay.

jade would def walk into you singing ‘everything stays’

OR OR ROOK N JADE BOTH TAG TEAMING READER IN THE CHAT SAYING HOW THEY WISH TO MEET THIS BEAUTIFUL VOICED GOREST ‘NYMPH’ SO THEY CAN HEAR MORE OF THEIR SONGS

readers just like;

😟

“time to find a new location☝️”

*there’s no where those two won’t be able to find you fyi*

TWISTED ANXIETY READER WILL NEVER KNOW PEACE‼️‼️ NOT AS LONG AS IM HERE‼️‼️

please send more headcanons i love reading them 🙇🏻🙇🏻

babes this is me n u rn:

[llamagoddessofficial]

How do you think the forest god bois (Im sorry i just love them) would react to their darling wife being stolen from them?

Please don't apologise. I love them too

Sans: This particular Forest God's rage is cold. It's damp, dark... it's eyes in the woods, it's the dooming feeling of being lost with no hope, a mould that rots you from the inside out. Kidnapping your potential partner may be commonplace among the Fae, but man... stealing a Forest God's wife is one step away from just outright cursing your own name forever. No punishment is too gratuitous.

The only hope for her kidnapper(s) is that she's back in Sans' arms quickly, and she intercedes on their behalf. If her return is fast he may have enough presence of mind to make the death quick. If not... well. If he thinks her seeing might make her too upset, he isn't above tucking her into a comfortable dream.

Once he's done, he's going to need a few days of cuddling. It's best she doesn't ask what happened to them. Their voices will echo through the darkest parts of the woods for many, many more centuries to come.

Red: Red wants to be human. He always tries so hard to be more human, surrounding himself with objects and trinkets of that world, learning their languages and lives and tempers. He craves humanity- that possible version of him, that could have people by his side forever, and by God standards he's very attuned to them. But someone taking his wife- it definitely brings out the Old Fae within him. The darkness, the possessiveness, the lack of empathy. And the wrath.

Some small part of him wants to be merciful, to prove to himself (and to her) that he can act like her kin.

... At the end of the day, however, he's not a human. Nothing will change that. A hoard of birds and bugs make short work of a face; and even when he sees the terror in her expression at what happened to her kidnappers, he can barely find the energy to even pretend to care for their deaths.

Skull: He was starting to be nicer to humans, you know. He'd let so many people through his bog untouched. His beloved's presence in his life was dampening the age-old flames of hatred... perhaps humans aren't all bad. She's so wonderful, after all, maybe the ones who hurt him long ago are gone now, and things are better. Maybe he can start to figure out how to let that hatred rest. Maybe he can start to figure out how he can rest.

... Then she gets stolen. And it all comes back. First his forest, now the only one who ever broke through his loneliness, all humans do is take the things he loves most. Her kindness, her love, she's the exception- an exception to a rule he despises.

He lives in... difficult terrain. Without his blessing, it's impossible for any would-be kidnappers to get very far away. Skull doesn't need to strain himself to catch up. While he's chasing, he has a lot of time to ponder what he's going to do to them.

There are many terrifying, painful, prolonged ways to die in a bog, after all.

[popatochisssp]

favorite scents of the boys??!

Scents are something I’ve thought about a bit, though more in the context of what they might smell like.

Still, some of that does touch on the kinds of scents they like, so I’m gonna answer it like that anyway!

Sans (Undertale): Probably his favorite scent is cheap rubber, the kind that goofy novelty items tend to be made of—rubber chickens, whoopie cushions, groucho glasses—and yeah, he smells of it pretty often for the amount of them he keeps on his person at any given time. He’s also a fan of the smell of ketchup, but only smells of it himself rarely, when he’s recently been partaking of it…or if he pulled the ‘loose ketchup bottle’ prank on somebody and caught some splash-back. A lot more often, unfortunately, he bears the faint yet persistent smell of hot dog water…which could be worse if he wasn’t using water sausages for it, a little more pine-y than your typical cased meat odor, but it is still hot dog water so… Alas.

Papyrus (Undertale): His likes ocean-y scents the best, salty and fresh and powerful, just like him! All his most favorite colognes and deodorants are under that umbrella, so it’s probably his most typical scent. If he’s been going on any culinary adventures recently, trying to find his elusive perfect spaghetti recipe, he may smell a bit more marinara than marine…which he doesn’t mind, there’s nothing wrong with a good tomato! A perfectly excellent fruit, that he will probably shower off of himself soon, but nonetheless! …He’s loath to admit it, but he’s also acquired a fondness for the smell of crafting glue, from using it so often assembling models and customizing action figures. He won’t go out of his way to smell more like glue, but if he already does, well…he doesn’t hate it…

Sky (Underswap Sans): His favorite scents are plant-y, fresh and natural but not floral. Aloe vera and cucumber are the big ones vying for the top spot in his arsenal of bathroom products, so he’ll most often smell like that. If he’s been putting in a lot of time at a bar, though, you might catch him smelling more like some kind of booze or other—he’s surrounded by it and people spill, the stuff sinks in whether he wants it to or not. And he does fall into the ‘or not’ category, but less because he dislikes the smell(s) and more because he knows it gives off a bad impression, without context. Luckily, working at a bar usually has him smelling even more strongly of citrus, cutting up limes and lemons for juice and garnishes on behalf of coworkers a lot more susceptible to bar-rot than he is, and citrus smells he does like!

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Old paperback books are the best smell in the world to him, if he could huff it all day long, he……… Well. He kind of does, admittedly, with the amount of old paperbacks he has. He doesn’t actually smell like that himself very much though, since (much to his dismay) it just doesn’t linger long. Probably most of the time, he smells like cloves, because that lingers and it’s the most assertive scent he tangos with. It’s pretty prominent in the Dog Treats he smokes and tends to soak in everywhere, so he’s at least lucky that it’s pleasant and something he doesn’t mind smelling of. On occasion, he also tends to pick up the scent of pencil shavings—he’s a writer, and a traditionalist who just loves something about the feel of a real wooden pencil…but they do need a lot more regular maintenance to stay sharp than the mechanical ones, and the byproducts…tend to stick to hoodies.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): His favorite smell is wood-smoke, hands down, no contest. It’s what Grillby’s smells like, and he’s been haunting that joint since he was practically a kid, so it’s familiar and comfortable—and yeah, since he’s there so much, it’s all over him too. As far as when he’s not there, he’s enough of a greasemonkey privately and professionally that he gets a lot of crud on him from that, motor oil and gas and transmission fluid, et cetera. He doesn’t love those smells, but he doesn’t really notice or care about them much either, so it is what it is. Regrettably, he will also often smell of mustard. It’s mostly on his breath but it is his favorite condiment to put on anything, and sometimes that means a bit of spillage here and there. Alas.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): He loves the smell of leather and wouldn’t be able to tell you if that love came before or after the amount of it he’s amassed in his wardrobe. He even likes the artificial stuff that they put in leather cologne, so even when he’s not actively wearing leather, he probably still smells like leather. He also has his own unique musk—obviously strongest during and immediately post-workout—and while he makes all appropriate efforts to be cleanly and not reek, like some brothers do, that never really goes away and he’s not-not a bit partial to it, personally. Sometimes, rarely, his hands will pick up a bit of a faint rosewood scent, from the fretboard of his—wait, no, the reason’s not important, they just do, and it’s a perfectly fine and acceptable smell that he’s neutral towards!

Mal (Swapfell Sans): If he had to choose a favorite scent, it would probably be cedar wood. He himself only smells like it occasionally, when he’s been furtively whittling, but he’s got a bit of a Pavlovian calming and focusing response to it, so he likes it around. Mostly he smells like talcum powder, since it’s a favorite of his for keeping dry and not sweaty after the workouts, strenuous military patrols, and wildly psychologically tense political situations he’s had to navigate throughout…his life in general. He smells clean and calm and pleasantly neutral, he’s never been stressed even once, have you seen him sweat? No. …That said, if he happens to be unwinding in his private time, after a not-at-all-stressful day, he will probably smell strongly of whatever wine he’s been drinking—almost always something red and dry, naturally.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He adores the smell of coffee, definitely his favorite. Muffet’s was always a safe place for him, so a lot of it is tied up in some of those memories, but he still drinks it a lot (at inadvisable times of day) and he just generally finds the smell of it pleasant. Chocolate has a similar effect, since he has a major sweet-tooth and tends to store a lot of little treats on his person for later…and sometimes he ends up smelling like it too, when he forgets about those treats and they…melt. If he’s not actively smelling like one of those two things, though, it’s probably pen ink, which is his favorite medium for sketching and pretty far up there on his list of preferred scents, even as strong and chemical-y as it is. It mostly only rubs off on his hands, if anything, so it doesn’t linger too long and he finds it meditative for as long as it does last.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s pretty passionately in love with the way most things in the Allium family smell when being cooked, but garlic is at the top of the list. He could smell it all day long and be a very happy man, and he preps and eats enough of it—garlic bread, confit, pasta, pizza—that he’ll sometimes get it on his breath or his hands. A lot more prominently and frequently, though, he’ll smell like dog, or cat. You know the smell, it’s indescribable, but he works with animals and tends to come home stinking like them, and honestly, he doesn’t really mind the smell at that much, himself. It’s a good stink. …But of course, not everyone agrees, and the fur is a bitch, so sometimes he also smells like the dryer sheets he keeps on him to get some of that hair off and mask the dog-smell.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): His favorite scent in the world is flowers! He doesn’t really have a strict preference, but he does like magnolias, jasmine, gardenia… Sometimes he does smell floral, because he definitely prefers soaps that smell like his favorites, or because he’s out in his garden tending to the flowers and the vegetables. The latter is also how he gets a lot of fresh-cut grass and dirt smells into his gardening clothes, which is absolutely a blessing because he loves those scents too! Possibly the only thing he tends to smell like on a regular basis that he doesn’t love is antiseptic. It’s pretty harsh and chemical, but as much as he’s not a fan, it’s a necessity for a nurse—you work a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, antiseptic is probably one of the better things you can come home smelling like. Rest assured he showers immediately when he gets home, he doesn’t like the hospital stink either.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): His favorite smell is a little particular, the way cloth smells when it’s kind of old and worn. Cotton is preferred but linen is also perfectly acceptable, just something about broken in, familiar clothes or sheets or even couch cushions makes him happy and—with the amount of those that he has on and around and over himself on a regular basis—he does pick up a bit of that scent himself fairly often. Still, he does have a brother in the picture who refuses to abide him smelling like musty cloth all the time, so a lot more often he’ll be smelling like fabric softener from the freshly washed pile of laundry he grabs his sweaters out of. He likes that smell well enough too, so no issue there. Sometimes, more frequently than you might guess, his hands (and sleeves) pick up the smell of dish soap, from a chore easy enough that even he can handle, in between rests.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): He’s an absolute sucker for the smell of vanilla, nothing makes him happier. Every candle and air freshener and cologne he gets his hands on is vanilla-scented because he just loves it so much. When he’s not busy smelling like vanilla, however, he’s probably off in the kitchen smelling like bread instead. He does plenty of cooking and baking, and getting lightly floured and saturated in the ambient scent of rising dough is pretty much inevitable—albeit not especially long-lasting. Another not-uncommon smell around him is sweet, light florals, like plum blossom or honeysuckle. They’re just under vanilla as far as ranking his personal preferences might go, so a lot of the soaps and body washes he gets tend to be something like that, if he can find it.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): As far as a favorite scent goes, his is probably WD-40. It’s a little weird and a little specific, but he’s fixed up enough things around the house with it that his love affair with how useful the stuff is has fully extended to what it smells like. If he knew there was a cologne that smelled like it, he’d probably wear that shit all the time, but since nobody’s told him about that, he only smells of it himself when he’s been doing the handyman thing. If he’s been working a lot, knitting or buying and sorting yarn for knitting, he’s at least somewhat likely to have some lanolin smell on and around his fingers—since his preference is generally wool yarn over acrylic and that has the straight-from-the-sheep aroma built-in. He’s more or less neutral to it. If he knows ahead of time that he’s going to be going out somewhere, though, he’ll freshen up properly with some body spray, something in the amber or oaky range of scents, warm and woodsy with a little spice to it. That, he likes.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): He’s not a fan of most strong scents, less so if they’re noticeably artificial. Probably his favorite is cocoa butter, since it’s soft and pleasant and not overwhelming, so the majority of his soaps and other toiletries—and the man himself—smell like that, and that’s the way he likes it. If he’s been meditating recently or otherwise trying to center himself, he might pick up a faint tinge of sandalwood from the incense he burns, but again, since he favors light scents it’s bound to be subtle and probably won’t last long outside of his meditation room. He will sometimes get some long-lingering fruit scents on his hands, since it’s something he likes to do, peeling or otherwise unwrapping fruits for himself, or ducks and geese at the park, or for someone he cares about. It’ll be apples and oranges, mostly, but sometimes he’ll make a go of a pomegranate, and his spindly talons will be fragrant for awhile and that’s…fine.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): He’s a little different, depending on whether you catch him before he’s solved his DT problem, or after. In both cases, he’s liable to often smell like something sweet, thanks to his home-baking business—almond more than most things, since he favors it for texture, or as extract, or as flour for a gluten-free option, but sometimes frosting, compotes, or plain old powdered sugar will cling to him a bit outside of the kitchen too. He doesn’t love it, but he’s fine with it, especially with what it covers up when he’s regularly destabilizing. The DT in his body is an overwhelming presence, to the point of having a noticeable scent when his magic spikes—an iron smell, harsh and metallic…and if he happens to lose control of himself and start melting, the smell of liquidizing bone is equally strong and unpleasant, something chalky and like…corn chips? Understandably, he’s…not a fan. He tends to mask it where he can with strong citrusy colognes, orange and lemon and yuzu, which he does like and will continue to wear for special occasions once his Issue is sorted. But his favorite scent…that’s probably orange blossom, which is just a little too subtle to assert itself over liquid bone and charged DT, but perfect on its own, after everything’s fixed. It’s his favorite kind of soap and he doesn’t really bother with anything else.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Like his brother, he also has a lot of DT in his body, just not as much and he’s in control of it. Still, that does mean he sometimes smells strongly of it, that thick and harsh iron tang, but usually only when he’s really, truly angry—just a bit of grump or peeve won’t cut it. His method of covering it up, when it does happen, is with some original scent Old Spice body spray, which he thinks is infinitely better and a classic, timeless scent to wear. He’s not necessarily wrong either, since he’s not a teen boy using it as a replacement for showering, so he doesn’t ever empty a whole can onto himself, but that’s a low bar. As much as he does like the Old Spice smell, the honor of favorite has to go to any combo of fruit-and-cream, and of those, orange creamsicle wins with him by a mile every time. He only has a few soaps and sanitizers in that category, but he’ll replace them immediately when he runs out, to make sure it’s always around.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): No hesitation, his favorite scent is blackberry and herb—his preferred cologne has it with bay leaf, but he’s found it in soaps and sanitizers paired with basil or sage and finds that equally pleasant. He uses it more to accent than cover up, and he thinks it pairs nicely with his own natural musk. If he’s been working out or boxing a lot, that musk will come through a bit stronger and blend with some other distinct things—neoprene, chalk, hand-tape—to give him an overall ‘gym smell,’ which he’s aware of but maybe only slightly negative on, at worst. He can always wash up after… Probably the only other thing he smells like regularly is chlorine or bromine, since he loves pools and jacuzzis and taking a nice dip in either, and those have to stay clean somehow. If pressed, he’d say he likes that smell in the same way some people like the smell of gasoline—it’s chemical, but there’s something about it to like, even if sniffing it too much directly would probably make you sick.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): His favorite smell is tea, freshly brewed. His general preference is probably more for black teas, but the occasional herbal tea is nice too. His fondness for it is mostly in the act of steeping, pouring, holding, sitting with and sipping the tea rather than only the smell, so he really only smells of it himself when he’s actually made or drank some. More than anything, he tends to smell like marker ink, from his persistent habit of doodling all over himself. It’s definitely chemical, but he does kinda like it, brings back nice memories for him and makes him feel creative and happy. Add in a somewhat compulsive cleaning habit, and you also have him kitchen-lemon-scented whenever he’s at his most sleepless and anxious, and understandably he doesn’t especially love that one, but hey, at least it’s clean and fresh.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): He loves the smell of cola, a little syrupy but sharp and cut with carbonation bubbles, it just hits all the right notes of ‘pleasant’ for him and makes him feel relaxed. He does drink it, but not so much that he overly smells of it anywhere but his breath if he’s actively in the middle of a can or glass. Mostly, he smells a little grassy and warm, like vetiver or lemongrass since those are the kinds of soaps and body washes he prefers—nothing too strong or overpowering, just clean! ………And sometimes, in odd moments of high emotion, when things feel weird… he smells………like nothing? But something. Kind of like…petrichor, the scent that hangs in the air when it’s about to rain, but…not that, something more charged and…dark. …He doesn’t like that one.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Like his brother, he too sometimes smells like something and nothing, some kind of undefinable electric darkness that he can’t put a name to…and quite frankly, he doesn’t like it either! What he does like are herbal scents, the more assertive, the better—like mint, he loves the smell of mint! Rosemary is also nice, or eucalyptus, but nothing quite beats a crisp fresh mint aroma in his heart. The only time he’ll really stray away from those kinds of botanical scents on purpose is when he’s looking for cologne to wear, and then he’s very unpredictable in terms of what he goes for. He seems to find himself almost magnetically drawn to the most abstract and loosely defined concepts. What is lunar cologne, what does it mean to smell like the moon? He can’t really say, but it seems like it would be good to impress new people—acquaintances, colleagues, perhaps a date… He’ll keep wearing it for the fancy occasions.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): His favorite scent is the ocean—not artificial approximations of it, or combinations of scents that someone has decided to label ‘marine,’ only the real thing will do. It’s mostly the experience of being there that resonates with him, so similar standing bodies of water (like lakes and Great Lakes) will also come close for him, but it just can’t really be bottled, what he’s after. Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on your perspective), he does occasionally smell like sea or lake water himself since he often decides to walk right in whenever he visits one, and that scent lingers even after he’s dredged himself back out. He doesn’t especially mind it, but other people do, and if he then has to be around some, it tends to be easier to…find…some new clothes, preferably some overstock from mass-produced fast-fashion brands just sitting in a warehouse somewhere. So, a lot of the time, he’ll smell like that—the strong dyes and starches and other chemicals that linger in fabric before the first wash. He’s pretty neutral to it, since it fades anyway the more he wears it around. When the weather’s hot, he may pick up the slightest scent of silicone rubber from his body components heating up, but he’s very well-constructed, so that’s the worst of it.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He doesn’t have a favorite scent, it’s not a sense he has anymore. Which he’s fine with! Lots of smells are gross, and he’s gained plenty of other senses and capabilities with his lifestyle change to counterbalance it, so he really doesn’t miss it much ever. He himself does have a scent though, to an extent. His hard-light form smells a little like how static electricity smells, sharp and tingly, and the more fully solidified he is, the stronger the scent. If he was told about it, that would be his favorite scent by proxy. Sometimes as a precursor to his appearance, the air itself tends to sharpen and smell crisp, the way it does in cold weather—this, he wouldn’t especially like, since it takes some of the surprise out of him showing up if someone happened to notice it as a trend, but of course there’s nothing he could actually do about it anyway. It’d be hard to notice, but occasionally, devices he’s tampered with or poked around in might have a faint aroma somewhat like hot plastic, fleeting and easily put down to just the object itself overheating or something. He wouldn’t really like to know that either, no fun if he's so noticeable but again, it is what it is.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans):  His favorite scent is a sweet berry medley, not all that particular about which ones, as long as there’s a couple different kinds of berries mixed in! A lot of his soaps and body washes will be of that ilk, so it’s probably also the thing he smells like more often than not. He also likes to burn incense, but it’s mostly gifted, or sticks and cones picked up incidentally from all over, so he’s not very consistent with any one scent. White sage pops up a bit more than some of the others, but there’s a whole laundry list of incense aromas he could pick up by proximity. And on occasion, especially if he’s been frequenting pottery studios, it’s entirely possible that he could have a bit of a clay smell stuck to him…or actual clay, on him, it can be messy stuff but super fun and he loves it—even when it’s wedged in between his phalanges.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): His favorite scent is definitely bergamot. He himself smells like it often, since it’s the feature of every cologne he wears, and most of the body washes and potpourris he keeps around his home. He’s also fond of the way magazine paper smells—he keeps a steady supply of them in circulation to keep on top of lots of different trends (and to see if any inspire him to participate)—but that’s a scent that doesn’t especially linger, maybe a bit on his hands if he’s been at it awhile. What does linger, whether he likes it or not, is bird smell but he only picks that up when he’s been whistling too many birds onto his fingers, or if he’s been petting learning how to handle raptors in the hopes of some day soon getting to keep a falcon. What the bird smell actually smells like depends entirely what kind of feathers he’s been preening and for how long, but either way he kind of likes it.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): His favorite smell is metal, brass and copper and steel. Mostly, they don’t have a smell of their own but they do when someone’s touching them, or if they’re being actively cut and machined, and that’s the kind of smell that he likes. He smells of it personally every now and again, since he does have a passion for tinkering with most anything he can get his hands on, and on his hands is where that scent tends to linger a bit. Way more often, what he smells like is ozone, a kind of heavy electrical smell, like lightning’s about to strike—or already has. It’s at its worst when his magic is in high supply and lightest if he’s running low, and most of the time at a ‘Huh, storm’s coming’ level that he's…admittedly nose-blind to, so he has little opinion on it. If you’re up close and chatting, something you’ll definitely catch of whiff of is the cinnamon gum he prefers, but that’s a calculated move, premeditated on his part. Nobody likes rank breath, best to keep it smelling like something nice if he’s going to socialize, right?

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): His favorite smell is soap. He has a strong preference for softer ‘clean’ scents, something like Dove soap, vaguely floral and light and not overpowering or chemical. He never really had a choice in anything what he used to clean himself with before, but now that he does, this is one of the easier choices he’s made. He also has an odd fondness for the scent of still, stagnant water—even when it’s heavy on the mildewy, algae notes. He doesn’t much smell like that himself, unless he’s been maintaining his aquariums recently, but he certainly doesn’t mind the mustiness of it as much as some might. If he’s been working, he’s liable to pick up any of a dozen scents common around a job site—sawdust, gravel, paint, spackle—whatever’s around and whatever he might’ve been tasked to do…but those will get replaced by the scent of soap in short order.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): His favorite scent is definitely ginger, extra points if it happens to be gingerbread, but he likes it in most other things as well. It’s something of a special treat for him, so he doesn’t indulge in it very often and he’s in the habit of hiding any evidence, but if he lets his guard down it’s possible to catch a faint whiff of it on him, rarely. Probably the most notable smell on him is balsam fir, which he prefers for a cologne. It’s a good strong scent, woodsy with a balance of sweet and spicy, and makes a subtle enough statement about himself…though naturally, he goes without it whenever he doesn’t want to be noticed. Every now and again, he may also smell a bit like apricots, coinciding directly with the summer months when they’re in season and it’s an ideal time for him to get a whole bunch and make illegal booze out of them. He likes the smell inasmuch as it can be a conversation starter to ask if anyone is interested in a bottle or two when it’s ready, but he’s not especially passionate about the smell for its own sake.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): If you ask him, the best smell in the world is wet earth, or just plain old mud. It’s sharp and gritty and real, and he loves catching a whiff of it under his soles or even his palms whenever he’s been outside long enough. He does wash, sometimes, so he doesn’t always smell like literal dirt, but his preference for a juniper berry body wash keeps him smelling pretty outdoorsy most of the time. Under all that, there’s also his own natural musk which he doesn’t much care to hide—after all, it blends so nicely with the smell of fresh air and trees that cling to his clothes after he's come back from a run or parkour through the woods…or at least he thinks so. Why would he want to douse himself in fragrances to get rid of it?

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He likes the scent of nutmeg the most. It smells warm and spicy and little bit bitter, and he likes that—but mostly in beverages, like coffee, so he only occasionally smells of it himself. Also faintly on him is the scent of formaldehyde, from when he’s working. He’s less susceptible than any human coworkers to some of the more astringent chemicals in his line of work, so a lot of the mixing and handling is left to him, which he’ll surely make wry comments about but actually doesn’t mind so much. Even faint, the smell seems to be a bit of a subconscious deterrent for most humans, once they get close enough to notice it. Most of that, however, is sadly rendered ineffective by the strong floral scent he often picks up, mostly roses and lilies, from setting up, moving, disposing of (and occasionally absconding with) funeral flower arrangements. …Even so, he can’t bring himself to truly despise it. He does enjoy flowers.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He likes flowers too! Certainly a lot more than he enjoys the scent of dirt, when he’s working, or the scent of rot, when he’s trying to obtain new animal bones for his collection. To that end, he’s definitely also a collector of dried flowers, and he keeps them on his person anywhere and anywhen he thinks there might be unpleasant odors that could sink into his clothes—lavender and hibiscus and lotus are common choices…but even so, none of them are his favorite. That honor goes to rhubarb! It’s so fresh and fruity and lovely, almost every cologne and soap and toiletry he buys features it as a key note, if not the only note, and he feels at his best when he’s wearing it. Rarely, he may sometimes smell a bit smoky. Just candle wick smoke, since he likes to burn a lot of candles and then has to go around blowing them all out so as not to leave them unattended and that scent clings for at least a little bit. It’s not his favorite either, but he doesn’t mind it at all.

[lebenspurpur]

what do they smell like

AN: I know I did this before, but I need to correct myself. Plus, it was like 2 years ago, so..

ℝℤ 𝕄𝕚𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕖𝕝 𝕄𝕪𝕖𝕣𝕤

Most of the time, he smells like sweat and that sweet coppery odor of blood.

That changes whenever he actually decides to take a shower and change his clothes.

Suddenly he smells like nothing. And I mean nothing.

If you inhale deeply enough, you might get a faint whiff of sanitizer, like the kind they use in hospitals, but that's it.

You can decide for yourself if that's a blessing or a curse.

𝕍𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

Paraffin wax.

So he smells like plastic and, like, the worst kind.

Maybe you need to convince him to use some bee wax candles for a change. Or some wax that smells like something nice, at least.

Which makes me think of another headcannon: Vincent hates the smell of cheap scented candles. He can not stand them. You'd think his nose might be desensitized to bad smells by now, but no.

The only scented candles he allows in his basement are the expensive ones, with real dried flowers or some good essential oils.

Other than paraffin wax, he smells like his body wash, which is the same as Bo's.

(You can not convince me they do not share one. Maybe buy him some nice shampoo while we're at it.)

The smell of the wax easily overpowers anything else, though.

𝔹𝕠 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

Bo prides himself on owning some really nice cologne.

So, if he applies that, he actually smells really nice.

Other than that: cigarettes.

I feel like he actually has a nice smell, though. He smells like someone who'd call you sugar, if that makes sense.

𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕊𝕚𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕚𝕣

I know, we have the ongoing joke of Lester smelling bad, but I've changed my mind.

Of course, after working, he smells very bad. Like a dead animal that has been cooking in the sun for way too long.

But he's a clean boy! After he takes a shower, he smells like a mix of leather and something flowery, airy. Kind of like a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers. Don't ask me where that comes from.

When he's been crafting something, he also smells like hot glue and wood, but it's not powerful enough to be unpleasant.

𝔹𝕣𝕒𝕙𝕞𝕤 ℍ𝕖𝕖𝕝𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕣𝕖

Dust.

Like, you know when something smells old because it's been standing somewhere without being touched for too long?

That's what he smells like.

He doesn't need to, though. He probably has an arsenal of really expensive perfumes and colognes standing somewhere in that mansion.

After he meets you, there's a slight chance that he'll take more care of himself. And in that case, he will finally use those fragrances.

As soon as he does that, he smells like that mansion looks. Rich, educated, charming, handsome even.

𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕤 ℍ𝕖𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕥

Hay, dry earth, Tommy smells like a hot day on a field.

When he spent some more time in the basement, the smell becomes even earthier and damp. Like a crypt.

Though, most days the 'warm' smell is stronger and it's really wholesome. When you hug him, it feels like you're hugging a cat who's been lounging in the sun for a while and got all heated up. (I just want to hug him, man.)

𝕆𝕥𝕚𝕤 𝔻𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕥𝕨𝕠𝕠𝕕

Now, that man smells bad.

Rotting corpses, vomit kind of bad. It's not good.

When he does his makeup and actually showers, it's not that bad anymore. Then, he just smells like the makeup he applies (you know, the stuff they paint children's faces with?) and (probably Baby's) body wash.

𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪

Baby loves sweet perfumes, especially when they have a fruity note (pun intended).

She has a few fragrances she always uses, and they make her smell really nice, and really sweet, kind of like candy.

If she doesn't apply those, she smells like lotion and body oil.

Pretty, that's what she smells like.

ℝ𝕁 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕗𝕝𝕪

Motor oil, leather and rain.

Motor oil from working on the trucks all day long, leather from his jackets. Where does the smell of rain come from? Don't ask me.

He smells really masculine in that sense, like a ride on a motorcycle.

𝕁𝕒𝕤𝕠𝕟 𝕍𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕙𝕖𝕖𝕤

Do corpses emit smell if they're still alive?

Well, Jason does.

He smells like wet earth, rain, and the forest. A really grounding smell overall.

Hugging him feels like laying on the forest ground after it has been raining for a while. In a nice way, though.

It's really refreshing, and really pleasant.

𝔸𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕘

Amanda uses really nice body wash. Something that smells like pine needles.

Other than that, she smells like old metal and disinfectant.

Old metal, because she spends half of her days designing traps and disinfectant because of John.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for killing and dismembering the school bully?

now, i know this sound bad, but listen.

i (18f) am a senior in high school. i go to a public school, as there are no christian schools in town.

the school i attend, to be as nice as possible, is a pathetic excuse for education.

the school itself encourages lust every single year with it’s homecoming dance. everyone is all over each other, kissing one another and dancing waaaay to close to one another.

clearly, this is morally reprehensible, and so naturally, i made it my goal to get the homecoming dance canceled.

throughout the first week of school, i campaigned around the building with that goal in mind. while doing so, a guy (18m), who’s probably bullied the entire school at this point, began hitting on me. i kindly rejected his advances, reminding him that if he keeps it up with the way he speaks, he’s going to be roasting in hell… and then i left.

despite that, when i got home, i could not stop myself from thinking about him. not in a regular way at all though. i felt an attraction to him.

it disgusted me that i would feel this way about someone.

but it wasn’t my fault. it was his. (obviously)

so, i decided i was going to get back at him.

turns out, a group of other people, who each will be represented by a letter:

a (17m)

b (18m)

c (18f)

d (18f)

wanted to get back at him too!

so, i helped devise a plan.

we would go to an old, haunted, house my father was the realtor for. we would then, lead the bully into the house under the guise of a fun event, which d was able to do as she was a part of his friend circle. finally, b would film him freaking out about the “ghouls” (played in costumes by a & c) in the house, and then post it online.

the stage was set, and so the show was on . all was going well until we realized he was going to try and fight both a & c, believing they were actually monsters. d had to get in the way to make sure a&c didn’t get hurt, and told the bully that a prank was being pulled.

he seemed to be a bit happy about the prank; that was until he fell an entire story and got impaled by wood planks.

and for some reason, everybody was freaking out. d suggested we call the police and show the video as evidence, but apparently b hadn’t got any footage of him falling.

a, filled with ignorance, said we were surely going to prison for this.

but i knew we wouldn’t.

his death wasn’t an accident, but it wasn’t murder.

it was an act of god.

i believe if he would have turned to jesus, he’d still be with us. but no, he was a terrible terrible person and got what was coming. thank goodness he’s rotting in hell now.

unfortunately, we couldn’t just leave him there.

so, i suggested we dismember the body and hide him underneath the floorboards.

with a lot of confusion and minimal protest from the group, we did just that.

it’s been a couple weeks since the incident, and i’m having a very hard time feeling bad about it.

he was a real crappy guy. everyone seems a lot happier since he’s been gone.

but i’m not sure.

should i feel bad about this?

AITA?

[historia-vitae-magistras]

i’d never even considered how the civil war would affect alfred during ww1, that’s a really interesting idea. would you mind expanding a bit more if you haven’t already?

fuck yes I can expand on that. TW for historic nastiness.

Okay to prelude— I don't typically do 1:1 state/gov to character but considering the cession of the south into a separate state and the US itself is the Union, my boy is in blue. In this blog's universe there is no schizophrenia or split personality or Doppelgänger or any other representation of the south. It gutted him and he lost feeling in a lot of his usual area and it severely weakened him but he represented the United States and that means union blue. And considering the north really doesn't have all that much moral leverage on the south especially in matters of racism, it's not much of a jump. If you aren't crazy about that, look away now.

So. Trench warfare. It's as old as humans bashing each other's heads in. Defensive ditches are an archaeological feature across the applicable world. But it's the American Civil War that might hold the gold medal for largest gap between how technology designed to kill had advanced spectacularly over any innovation that might save lives. I won't say deadliest because you do have the Taiping Rebellion around the same time but a lot of that was sièges and counter sieges and river based naval engagements. But anyway— rifled artillery and direct fire techniques had changed the game and soldiers were driven underground behind parapets and sandbags. Around Petersburg especially. And it's towards the end of the war when the Confederacy is increasingly desperate and hand to hand fighting is getting more common and more brutal. Entire regiments were lost in hand to hand mêlée. And if a soldier didn't die instantly, it was off to a field hospital. Guts ripped open by iron shells, lungs hanging from the tips of bayonets, wounds so infected they glowed, limbs hacked off by a surgeon who hadn't washed his hands in six days and sepsis rot so foul someone can taste it on the air even with the mouth closed. Malaria and typhoid so fucking bad the army cots would literally shake apart from how bad men shivered when the chills aspect of the fever cycle hit. I know it's fashionable right now especially on vintage fashion YouTube to say people in history weren't disgusting but like, I've been in archives for years. Yeah it fucken was. Never was medicine so far behind the ability to kill.

So Alfred's probably died a solid dozen times half of which from shitting himself because he's probably riddled with parasites. He's been shot, stabbed, slashed. Shaken, rattled and absolutely steam rolled. And the final part of his almighty trauma is this is happening just up the river from where he was born in Jamestown. Alfred is on his belly in the earth beneath the feet of the people that bore him and then rejected him, begging his Protestant God and any of his own people listening and the very earth itself to protect him, to keep him alive as shell after shell lands around him.

When every battle is over, the dead rot in piles across the fields and trenches. The famous photos of the Antietam and Gettysburg dead are days old, you can see some of the bodies had been looted. There were so many dead and so many dying that upon its tardy entrance into world war one, the US had a more coherent body management and disposal program than any other of the entente powers. Who had already been at war for nearly four years.

So yeah, in my opinion he got ten steps into a front line trench where the British and especially the French were just causally walking on bodies, he vomited so hard New York felt California rattling around in there and said fuck it. My boy was either off to cleaner pastures like Belleau Wood or the air corps. It was too much too soon and he just couldn't keep it together in those conditions. They knew what bacteria were by WW1 and he was a burgeoning world power. So he probably only went full himbo with dysentery twice in France so it wasn't as bad as his civil war flop era but oof. That smell, the screams, pressing himself into soil that is not his own yet again is too recent and too vulnerable. He can't do it again so soon.

[insomniamamma]

Forever's Gonna Start Tonight: Joel Miller X F! Neurodivergent!reader

A/N: hey, you all remember how Spinner was supposed to be a one-shot? LMAO. I am incapable of one shots. I started this around last Valentine's Day and felt too intimidated to finish it. I guess most of the fandom wanted to take Joel to the big dance. So I shelved it for a bit, and then, while struggling with another WIP, I revisited this and found that I still really liked it. And you know what? Fuck it. Two cakes.

Warnings: A smidge of angst. A bit of awkwardness. Mentions of crappy people in Spinner's past. Spinner is neurodivergent. This is a direct sequel to this fic, so you should probably read that one first. Dancing. Very soft kisses. Spinner is meant to be a reader inset, but she's right on the line between RC and OC.

Ellie’s already up and  gone when Joel comes downstairs, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Of all the teenage orphans he could’ve ended up with he’s stuck with one who has no concept of sleeping in on a Sunday.  A mug of herb tea waits for him on the table with a saucer placed over top of it to keep it warm, and he feels himself smile, Ellie looking after him in her way, a curled scrap of paper pinned by the mug, marked with her laborious printing. Joel frowns. Ellie likes to leave him little notes when she makes it out of the house before him. Usually a shitty pun. Ellie collects puns the way a crow goes after shiny things. He cradles the mug in his hands for a moment before making his eyes focus on the note. 

Valentine’s in two days. Ask her to the dance you pussy. Joel groans. Her. You. He’s been thinking of you. More than he expected to. Paired up with you on patrol and the weather went to shit. Bad luck and punky wood that wouldn’t do much more than smolder in the stove. Your hands were so damn cold. He knew from the moment you’d finally stopped shivering and relaxed against him and started snoring into his neck that you’d become a problem. The same way Tess was a problem, Ellie is a problem. Tommy is a problem. And now there’s you. He has to remind himself sometimes that he’s safe, that Jackson is safe, that he and Tommy and Ellie are safe here. And now you are counted into that worried toll.   

He’s been thinking of you. The way your eyes will flick up and hold his before darting away. Your eyes turn away but then you smile, just a little. a soft dimpling of your cheek, like the two of you have a secret. And you do, he thinks, that night curled together, your freezing hands cradled in his, zipped your sleeping bags together like a couple of kids on a camping trip, the feel of you going lax against him, your face, your cold nose tucked into his neck, curled his arm around you and you burrowed in closer. A thread of tenderness strung between you.

 Walked you home after he found you in the square. He knows you’re not brave, but you were brave that night, even though you shook as he pulled you up from the bandstand steps, walked you home, your arm hooked through his like he’s some old time gentleman but it made you smile even if you wouldn’t quite look at him.   This is me, your porch light flickering slightly, power from the dam isn’t always consistent, there’s so much to do, so much maintenance, so many things left to rot, and he doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but you surge forward and hug him, arms banded tight around him, feel him stiffen and then his arms come up around you, tucks you tight against him, cups the back of your head and draws you close, nestles you into the column of his neck, feels you relax in to his hold.   “Thank you,” you breathed against him, allowed yourself to be held and then withdrew, caught your cold hands in his and squeezed.  “Anytime, honey,”  Your eyes didn’t quite meet his, but your cheek curved in a smile and then you closed the door between you. 

 He thinks about the two times he’s held you, the two times you’ve relaxed into his arms, but you still can’t meet his eyes. You might never meet his eyes. Joel decides he’s okay with that. The soft arc of your smile is enough.

 He settles beside you, bowl in hand, venison chili and cornbread. Your eyes flick up to him and you nod, acknowledge his presence and then go back to eating, the cornbread is nice and grainy and sweet, the chili is thin but warm and decently spicy, more potatoes and sunchokes, tough beans than venison, this is the deep of winter and things are lean, find yourself daydreaming about Olive Garden of all places, the soup and breadsticks, so much food that you always had to take some home and you feel a nudge at your elbow. Joel says nothing but slides you a bit of paper folded into a compact triangle, and you feel yourself smile, glance at Joel and he’s busy sopping up his chili with his cornbread, looks nonchalant but you can feel the bounce of his leg beneath the table, tuck some cornbread into your mouth and chew, unfold the complication of paper, yellowed with printed blue lines, ripped out of some notebook.  Will you come to the Valentine’s Dance with me? Yes. No.  The implication being that you circle your choice and hand your answer back to him. You pull a nubbin of charcoal out of your pocket and draw a circle around the “Yes”. Hold the fiddly bit of paper in your palms, not sure how to turn it back into it’s triangle shape, so you press it into orderly thirds and slide it back to him. Steal little glances at him as he reads your answer. His leg stops bouncing under the table, and when you look at him, he’s smiling.   “See you Saturday, Spinner, Joel murmurs. And you think you hear the smile in his voice but your are never sure.

 

Saturday. Saturday. Shit fire and save the matches. You said yes. You circled yes on that stupid note, like a stupid high school kid. Your experience of dancing is limited to court dances on the Ren Faire circuit with a dash of square dance and reels. You’re not sure how to act, you’re not sure what to wear. Do you have to dress fancy? Do you have to paint up your face? You have no idea what to expect so you do what you always do when some social expectation evades you.  You go and ask Maria. Bring the tiny pair of socks you’ve been working on, still not entirely pleased with the final color, more brown than yellow, still working through different mordants. You wish they’d managed to snag a display of Rit from that Walmart, but nobody thought it was important.   “Spill it,” says Maria, knows you well enough to know when something’s bothering you.  “I don’t like the color, the mordants—“  “I know all about the mordants. C’mon. Spill.”  “Joel asked me to the dance.”  “And you said yes.”   “I said yes.”  “So what’s the problem?”  “What if he’s messing with me—“ Maria laughs but then rests her hands lightly on your upper arms, a touch that means grounding, that means truth, something you would not tolerate from anyone but her.   “Do you know that man to have a sense of humor? Other than those terrible puns he saves up for Ellie?”  “Guess not. It’s just--“ You’re not sure how to word it, did plenty of dancing at Ren Faire, carefully proscribed steps and agreed upon roles, danced at your wedding reception with your ex mouthing the steps into your ear so you didn’t fuck it up, semi-formal dance in the seventh grade your mom fixed your hair and put you in a powder pink dress with a sailor collar and you’d spent the whole evening the darkest part of the gym you could find, waiting for it to be over.  “I don’t know what I’m doing, do I need a dress because—“  “It’s not prom, says Maria, No one’s gonna be fancy. Except Tim.” You feel yourself smile. Tim with his his button down shirts and fussy little bowties, tall, whip skinny and twice the age of God. No one quite knows how he made it through the outbreak, but he knows how to make explosives so no one is in a real hurry to ask.   “Tim’ll probably show up in a three piece suit.”  “Wear something with no holes and you’ll be fine.” You frown and Maria grins at you.  “That’s not exactly helpful.”  “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

 Through the next couple of days, Joel is there like he always is, a steady, unobtrusive presence, the two of you side by side over the deep sink in the caff, dish duty but you don’t mind. Soap and scrub and pass them along to Joel who rinses and sets them in the racks to dry.   “Joel?”  “Hmm?”  “I can’t dance.” He huffs laughter.  “I’ve seen you dance.” And you feel heat rising in your face, ears going hot. Someone had played the Chieftains on the juke in the Bison (hang out there more often now that you know Joel is there) and the bit of step-dancing you’d picked up on the Ren Faire circuit had come out.  “Not like normal people do.” Scrub the dishes and hand them off to him. Normal people, you hear him mutter, hold out a bowl for him to rinse and rack but he doesn’t take it.   “I could show you,” says Joel, “You know, so you’re not worried about it.”  “I’m not worried,” you say.  “Yes you are,” he says, wipes his wet hands on the towel slung over his shoulder, “Come here.” You wipe your soapy hands on your pants and stand facing him, lip bit in a frown, he holds up his hand like he means for you to give him a high five. “Give me your hand.”  Lay your palm against his and he laces his fingers through yours. “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”    “Like this?”  “Yep. I’m gonna put my hand on your hip,” he says, “That okay, Spinner?”  “Sure,” and he rests his hand on you, not gripping, not grabbing, starts swaying, foot to foot, back and forth and you mirror him, warm weight of his hand, gentle pressure that swings you around.  “That’s it? There’s no steps?”   “No steps,” says Joel. “Just like dancin at prom.”   “Never went to prom.”  “Really?” You shrug.  “We played Shadowrun instead.”  

 You settle on the wrap skirt, sewn from an old cotton bedsheet. Dyed yellow with a dusty box of Rit you found on the top shelf of a cabinet in the house they gave you. Didn’t turn out as bright as you wanted, but it’s still a nice yellow, like softened butter on a plate, and you like the patterns that the knotted twine made. Pair it with a rust colored v-neck, looted from the Walmart around the time you arrived in Jackson. You know it won’t hold up so you rarely wear it, but it looks nice with the skirt and clings to your curves in a way that isn’t entirely horrible, longies underneath your skirt because February in Jackson is fucking cold. 

 The caff looks different set up for the dance, long tables with their legs folded up, stacked against on wall, folding chairs around the perimeter, paper and fabric hearts hung from the rafters, all hung with old Christmas lights, cast your eyes around and worry, you’ve been stood up before, it wouldn’t exactly surprise you, and then you find him, tucked back by the DJ, cobbled together equipment from the high school’s AV club, too-rah loo-rah too-rah loo-ray-aay— he sees you and smiles, dimples sunk into his scruffy cheeks, stands and hurries to you, takes your hands in his.   “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show.”  “I wasn’t sure either.” Runs his thumbs over your knuckles. He’s beautiful in the low, shifting light, disco ball with a third of the little mirrors missing, little blots of light passing over the walls, catching the silver threaded through his hair-and Everything I do start’s playing, that goofy song from Robin Hood movie, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to talk about how ridiculously inaccurate the movie is, Kevin Costner’s accent was so bad, his hands folded warm around yours.  “Wanna dance?”  “Yeah. Okay.” And you let him lead you onto the floor, his hand laced with yours, your hand on his shoulder, just like you did by the deep-sink, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching anywhere beside where your hands rest, and in hand and his hand on the swell of your hip, the two of you turn and turn, Joel doesn’t push. He doesn’t dig his fingers in, just sways you side to side in a slow circle. It’s nice in the anonymous murk, he doesn’t try to dip you or change the pattern, Bryan Addams fades into Cindy Lauper, time after time, and he pulls you closer always liked this song, he murmurs into your hair and you nod, tuck your face into the join of his neck and shoulder unthinking, and then you stiffen, this is where he will push back, drag you back to arm’s length, and maybe ask you what the fuck you think you’re doing, but instead he breathes out a contented sigh and you turn and turn and tun in the broken light, his pulse thrumming beneath your ear, if you’re lost and you look then you will find me, and for a moment the world isn’t broken, and then Time After Time Fades out and the fucking Chicken Dance comes on.  “You wanna—“  “Absolutely not.”  “You don’t know the chicken dance?”  “Of course I know the chicken dance. I fucking hate it.”   “Let’s sit this one out then—“ and then Tommy enters like a meteor, grabs Joel by the arm   “C’mon man it’s the Chicken Dance!”  Joel shoots you a beleaguered see what I have to put up with look and lets his brother haul him onto the floor. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else on the planet, but he knows all the moves, the contrast of his grim expression and the shimmy of his hips as he wiggles his imaginary chicken tail is too much for you and you laugh bright and bold, the loud bray your parents said was unladylike, your ex said made you sound like a donkey, and for a second that old fear spikes, but no one’s looking at you, no one notices. Joel glances your way and smiles before his brother grabs his hands and swings him in a delirious apple hooch fueled arc while the accordion does it’s thing.   The music changes again and Joel extricates himself and plops down in the folding chair next to you.   “No Macarena?”  “Gotta draw the line somewhere, Spinner.” 

 A string of fast songs plays and the kids take over the floor momentarily, some recognize and some you don’t, Joel rests his hand on your knee and you lay yours over his, sit back and let them have their fun, sip strong apple hooch out of pitted plastic tumblers, burns a little going down, but makes you warm inside. You lean against him and his hand leaves your knee, arm comes up around your shoulder.   “Is this what prom was like?” Joel frowns.   “The music’s kinda the same,” he says, “But everyone was dressed up all fancy. There was lots of drama. Lots of people crying about who asked who and who dumped who.”  “Sounds stupid.”  “Yeah, I guess it was. All that shit seemed so important and now—“  “We didn’t know.” Your eyes hold his, deep wells in the dim shifting light, even though it makes you want to squirm, too many times told look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, too many times told to stop staring, stop being weird, “Joel. We didn’t know.” He turns from you and stares out over the floor, nods his head, and you wonder if you’ve said it wrong, but his arm is still draped warm over your shoulder, looks troubled, but then the lights drop and a few familiar piano notes sound and the kids scatter into the dark, confused—turn around every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you’re never comin round turn around  “Oooh this is a good one—“  “C’mon, Spinner, let’s dance.” The floor fills with couples, mostly harried survivors like you and Joel, the folks of Jackson old enough to have danced to this song in stuffy school gyms hung with crepe paper streamers and balloons, Love’s Baby soft and Darkkar Noir and flop sweat.  Maria and Tommy sway with their foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, Ellie dances theatrically, mouthing the lyrics like a cartoon opera singer to the delight of a cluster of sugared up kids who’ve formed a loose ring around her. The configuration has shifted, both your arms draped around his neck, his hands on your hips, the pretense of space between you forgotten, some murky memory of the your middle school English teacher reminding people to save room for Jesus when you danced, had no idea what that meant at the time, but now you have some idea, Joel warm and strong and flush against you, gentle susurration of his breath in your hair, warm beat of his pulse beneath your ear.   “Joel?”  “Hmm?”  “You remember this video for this song?”  “There was football players or somethin. People with glowing eyes.”  “And Ninjas. Don’t forget the ninjas. I think there was an angel too.”  “And a guy in a fencing mask,” says Joel, “I think?”   “You’re right! Glitter poured out of it when he lifted it up!”    “Then she was just some professor all along, like she dreamed the whole thing.”  “Just a dream.” You whisper against his neck and he holds you all the tighter.

 Eventually the lights come up. Happy Valentine’s Day! Ez’s voice booms through the mic and you wince, for those of us lucky in love it is time to take that noble sentiment elsewhere—  god, I hate that guy.   — For those on clean up duty now is your time to shine. Everyone else needs to skedaddle. I will now play some skedaddlin music. And true to his word, that shit techno cover of Cotton Eye Joe starts playing at migraine levels, stagger out into the frigid night, clear and still and biting cold, got a bit more tipsy than you intended. Cider for when the seasons turn, applejack for the dead of winter, but Joel is right beside, hand hovered just over your hip in case you falter.   He’s walked you home enough times that it’s not a question any more. You don’t have to. I know. Got nowhere else to be, Spinner.   “This is me,” you say, you always say, faint flicker of your porch light. Power from the dam is not always the most steady. So many things left to rot, so many things to fix.  “I know,” he says, like always, You hug him, squeeze your arms around him tight.  “Thank y—“  “Stop that, Spinner. You don’t have to thank me for loving you-“  “You love me.” You draw back from him. It comes out as a statement and not a question, and here’s where he will retract, will back pedal,  say he didn’t mean it, it was the applejack doing the talking, the applejack and the music from when you were both young and none of this had happened yet.  “Yeah, I do.” And when you hook your eyes to his, they are wide and deep and dark with worry, and you can’t look at him, gaze slides to the curve of his shoulder, the shape of him against the starshot sky, so much brighter now that everything is over. His hands find yours and, his thumbs brush back and forth over your knuckles. And you have so many questions, since when? That freezing night on the trail? Before? After? Why?   “For real?” Is the question that comes out, and you hate how small you sound, how your voice wavers. Squeezes your hands in his.  “For real.”  “Since that night?”  “I think so. I don’t know. Holdin you, it felt right. Feels right. Shit. I’m real bad at this-“ You laugh, breath plumed out like dragon smoke,   “Me too.”  “Tommy used to make fun of me. Said I could never tell when girls were tryin to flirt with me.”  “I can’t flirt to save my life. Never could. None of that ever made sense to me.”  “Good thing I didn’t try some crappy pick up line, huh?”  “Very good thing. There was this one guy in high school he started walking around me like this—“ You drop Joel’s hands and start orbiting him, watch that lovely smile crawl it’s way up his cheek.  “—and when I asked him what the fuck he was doing he said, I’m part wolf, baby, we always circle our prey.”   Joel guffaws, his eyes screwed up in crinkled crescents, rests a desperate hand on your shoulder as he doubles over— “That is. The dumbest. Goddam thing I have ever heard in my life—“  “I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or punch him. So I just kind of stared at him. And he went away.”  “I bet he did.  Look, Spinner, I didn’t mean to blurt it right out like I did but I do mean it. You don’t—“ He swipes his hand over the back of his neck, “If you don’t feel the same m’not gonna push. Shit, I’m sorry-“ You reach for him unthinking and cradle his stubbly cheeks in your palms. His eyes are big and wide and shining, he’s scared, you think, at least as scared as you are, and the words aren’t coming. In a movie you’d have some perfect come-back, something you could say that would make all the things roiling in your mind seem clear and concise. In a movie there’d be a declaration, something that would roll out of you and the music would swell, but now there’s only Joel’s warm, dark eyes and the yellow thrum of your porch light and the brittle chill in the air. You can’t say. You can’t make what you’re feeling, what you’ve been feeling, resolve into words, so you kiss him instead, press your lips to his and he kisses back, mirrors you, warm, calloused palms cradle your face.   

Not sure if it’s you or him who deepens the kiss, mingled breath and gentle touches, soft meeting of lips and tongues and hands, feels fevered and rushed and right,  he tastes like applejack and when you break for air he rests his forehead against yours.   “Wow.” He breathes against your lips.  “Yeah.” Leaned into each other, foreheads pressed together, swaying together, a bit like dancing together in the caff, no disco ball just the bright and brittle sky, a million pin-point stars stitched through the black.   “You can come in if you—“  “We both been drinkin”  “You don’t want—“  “I do, but I wanna do this right,” draws the backs of his fingers down the curve of your cheek, “I want to love you the right way, honey. We’ve got time.” You wrap your arms around him and tuck your face against his neck where it feels safe, cups the back of your head in his warm palm, cradles you close.  “Does this mean we’re going steady? Do people still say that? Going steady?” Joel chuckles, and you feel it, low rumble of laughter transmitted from his chest to yours, threading beneath the beat of his pulse in your ear.   “Yeah. I think we are.”

[thelampisaflashlight]

Headcanons surrounding the abbey, the siblings, and the ghouls. Let's go.

-The abbey is a mix of new and old architecture, with an emphasis on cohesively blending the newer wings with the older parts of the building, at least from an aesthetic standpoint.

However, there are some parts of the abbey that have been intentionally cut off by modern additions, in other words; There are parts of the abbey that are visible form the outside, but completely inaccessible from within.

These parts of the abbey are either structurally unsound, thus dangerous for anyone to venture into, or have been sealed for reasons unknown.

As a result of this decision to conceal rather than demolish these areas, the abbey has a very mazelike layout akin to the Winchester Mansion, and new and old siblings of sin are often seen consulting maps to find their way around.

-The basement where the ghouls reside/where their dorms are housed is NOT the abbey's "real" basement; The abbey's actual basement, where the electrical panels and pipes feed down to, is only accessible through two points on the property.

The first entrance is located through a door labeled, "Custodial Services Only", and is pretty obvious, given that the door itself is painted bright red and has a keypad beside it, whereas the other one is located... somewhere.

Yeah, no one actually knows where the second entrance is, but it's somewhere outside.

The ghouls also have another way of getting into the actual basement, but that's because ghouls really love to dig.

-Speaking of weird shit underground, if it wasn't bad enough that the abbey is a maze, there's plenty of places where one could accidentally wind up in the catacombs, because, yeah, not only do they have two basements, they have a tunnel of bones, too!

Mountain says it used to be used for burials back in the olden days, but that it eventually took on a more sinister history that he prefers not to delve into.

Dew sometimes hangs out down there with "the nuns", and he won't elaborate more on what he means by that, and everyone is lowkey a little concerned.

-On the topic of the nuns though... Yeah, there's a bunch of dead nuns floating around the place, which may or may not be the reason why the library is so fucking haunting, but we digress.

Many of the siblings report seeing apparitions of nuns -not sisters of sin in their habits, straight up nuns- traveling through some of the more secluded hallways, and on occasion one of the old chapels seems to be filled with the sounds of prayers spoken in Latin despite the room itself being condemned and empty.

This is another place where Dew can be found from time to time, seemingly having conversations with the air.

-The infirmary is one of the newer additions to the abbey, as the older wing dedicated to medical services was bricked shut during renovations decades ago and has been left to rot ever since.

There's a challenge among the medical staff, ghouls included, in which they have to travel from the infirmary to the old wing, touch the wall where the door used to be, and come back, and there are marks from where they've placed their hands there.

Aether undertook this mission solo after his retirement, needing to feel some kind of connection to the abbey and leave his mark, and truth be told he's never quite been the same since.

According to him, once you see the wall, it's impossible not to feel different.

"You'll always know someone is looking out for you... whether you like it or not."

And lastly;

-There's a rumor among the siblings that there's a secret cemetery in the woods surrounding the abbey, but no one has been able to find it... at least no one who's lived to tell the tale.

Many more scientifically minded folks think these individuals may have fell victim to sinkholes or one of the edgeless, cavernous wells -such as Ol' Dens' Pond- that have cropped up over the years, but no one can say for certain.

In a way, perhaps, it is a self made graveyard, born of aimless wandering and a lack of caution.

Though the worn crosses turned to naught moss covered stones beg to differ.

[coolearistrashcollection]

Prologue: One very inconvenient time

tw: talks about death and bad luck, will add more warnings in the next chapters

Part 2 here!

--------------------------------------------------------------

“Geez, are you even listening to what I'm saying? What's up with you this morning huh?” Geto says in an irritated manner. The entire day Gojo has been distracted, wondering why there was something lingering in the air. Of course, no one else could see it, let alone sense it. His Six Eyes picked up even the smallest of details and he was sure someone had been there, and recently.

“See? You are not even registering what I'm saying when I'm telling you to listen! What's got you so distracted, huh?” He asks again, trying to get his friend's attention for the millionth time already that day. “Did you even pay attention to Yaga? He said–”

“He said we're doing it because Kyoto is too weak.” Gojo crosses his arms behind his head and smirks “Which like, duh, even Utahime isn't the same grade as us.”

“That's not even remotely close to what he said…” He sighs “I'll put up the veil, we've reached the forest.” 

The ambience turns darker the more they walk closer to the mission's location. The clouds are concentrating and darkening, the woods are more silent than usual, even the surroundings are trying to warn the approaching two. The harsh caw of a crow as a bad omen snaps the white haired male back to reality. An intimidating pagoda ahead of them presents itself as another bad omen: the wooden tower had weathered tiles and four floors. 

“So like, we just have to retrieve this… What was it again?” Gojo scratches his temple “Not that it matters, it'll be an easy mission anyways…” 

“We're meant to retrieve a burial urn, it's meant to be a cursed object, suspected grade 1.” He states “This is the shrine; it should be here.” 

A scowl appears with the location, the once pristine shrine now rotting away with the passing of time, every type of moss and sign of decay obnoxiously visible. It was unavoidable stepping on cracks, as the stone path had been broken several times from the freeze thaw.

“Focus now, we don't know what curses could have attracted that thing. Remember, dont–”

“Don't kill them, yadda yadda, you wanna eat those curses– can we start looking for that thing already? I'm bored.” Says the white-haired male as he steps into the holy place, the timber floor creaking with every step. 

Before them stand several wooden pillars with tables around the room, the decorations now either rusted or tarnished. The back wall was covered in several different statues: forgotten deities now greeting the sorcerers with an altar serving as a barrier. They formerly served a purpose: protection, sanctuary and peace to the believers. 

Inspecting the holy table more closely, the two see several objects covered in dust and grime, different plates adorned with maggots and remnants of rotten food. “Offerings, probably.” Geto says while adjusting his messy bun “Let's keep moving, it reeks in here.”

From the interior, the height of the building was even more intimidating; the inside balconies highlighting the distance between the floors. Old lanterns were now unlit, waiting for someone to give them their purpose back, allowing darkness to engulf the building. The tall pagoda had cleverly hidden stairs behind the statues, most likely to deter any visitors from going upstairs. Yet another warning completely ignored by the duo to be added to the list. 

“That is it. It's on the top floor” Gojo indicates, quickly followed by pointing at the last floor. “The trace energy matches the one here.” He yawns with boredom.

“What is it?”

“The cursed energy is being emitted from there. It's a lot more recent than the building’s, it's still similar tho.” 

The room is naked, in fact, uncorrupted. The shoji walls as white as snow, the thin paper without any defects; the tatami flooring crispy as if no one had ever stepped on it before, a sage green colour, waiting to turn a sandy yellow. It was a tiny paradise in a putrid place, a piece of heaven in hell. Both males, analysing the situation, realise that neither a person nor curse was seen within stepping foot into the surrounding woods, and this room would need constant maintenance to be in these conditions. Why is this room different? What made it so special compared to the rest? And who is this intruder, the presence Gojo has felt from the beginning? 

However, scattered pieces of white porcelain spoiled the scene, with no particle of ash spilled. Strange, as these are meant to contain ashes, otherwise they would just be expensive and morbid decorations, glorified pieces of clay.

The two look at each other in confusion. That is the cursed object. Or rather, was. They succeeded at locating the object, but returning it to their professor in that condition? That would be a tough ask. A failed mission… that's what it was. They stood dumbfounded at some pieces of pottery. It was long gone, crushed, fragmented, smashed to pieces. Someone had come in earlier and broke the urn they had to retrieve. 

“Well, that sure is one way to break that seal, it was probably older than the higher ups” Gojo looked at his companion with a goofy smile, waiting for what he had to say. “But hey, at least the curse energy matches the one I felt earlier–”

“What do we even tell Yaga!? Wait– you felt there was someone else and didn't care to tell me!?”

“Eh, no biggie. Besides…” he pauses, “It's not like that fragile tupperware was important” another pause, “OH AND– I didn't feel anyone's presence, I simply said it matched outside’s energy.”

“You seriously didn't listen to Yaga, did you? It had to be retrieved at all costs. Intact.” Geto facepalms.

“Nah I didn't, why though?”

“I don't know, he said that it was confidential. Which means we seriously fucked up.” he says with a defeated sigh at the end.

Gojo crouches to look at the cursed energy trail in more detail, the residue parting from the urn, yet none coming in. “Hey uhh.. I don't think someone broke it… No one entered the room" –he adjusts his glasses– “but one left. I think it broke from the inside. Is that even possible?”

“The seal must've expired, then.” Geto places his hand on his chin. “And whatever was inside, got out.” he thinks out loud. 

The black-haired male walks towards the balcony, observing the dense woods surrounding them. How gloomy did the forest look that day, the evergreen trees and the fog in agreement to completely obstruct the sorcerer's view on the field. If anyone had run away, they would not be easily spotted by vision alone, even locating the cursed energy residues would be a hard task.

“You said you felt the same energy outside? Let's trace back our steps, start from there again.” Geto commands.

Rolling his eyes, his friend groans “I totally jinxed it when I said this would be easy.” 

With their anger as a new source of motivation, the duo explored the woods starting from the trail leading to the shrine and followed the steps left by the mysterious being. Minutes quickly turned to hours and the two were almost done traversing the woods: they concluded they were looking out for a curse –a fully conscious one too, as it had changed its path several times to confuse anyone following– and they had reached the gorgeous city of Nara.

After lifting the veil, they walk through the picturesque city. The two sorcerers note many small curses in groups, mostly lower grades and fly heads. They go past a lake too where many deer were either peacefully drinking water or eating crackers from both locals and tourists. In the distance, they notice familiar uniforms: Kyoto students on a mission. 

“Mei-Mei! Utahime!” shouts the white haired male, and a shriek can be heard from the latter “No way! I thought you guys weren't allowed on this mission!” The Tokyo students close the distance, a deja vu. 

Utahime crosses her arms “Shut up Gojo! We just got sent to eliminate some curses that were disturbing the area… a routine call. What are you guys doing here? Tokyo is a long way from here.” She frowns, and emits a sound –close to a growl– when Gojo towers over her with a shit-eating grin.

Geto, trying to ease the tension with a soft smile, interrupts “Sorry to bother you, are you familiar with the city? We need information on the four-floored shrine.”

“Hmm? The mausoleum? I'll help, but only if you give me something in return.” flirts Mei-Mei.

“Gojo will deposit the money in your bank account, we just need to know the local folklore around it. We suspect that a curse escaped from there.”

“So that's why you're here? Well, locals say that building was cursed from the start of construction, they think the grim reaper resides there.” Her arm snakes around Geto's body, her index trailing his shoulder “If you enter, whatever spirit resides there will suffocate you.”

“Fun!” Gojo exclaims and gets his phone out. It's a tan flip phone with stickers and a star charm. Geto will never admit it, but he helped decorate the phone and even gifted Gojo some of those stickers. “I'll send a message to Yaga.”

“And don't forget the money~”

A quick message to Yaga turned into a sermon for the two students, maybe they should not have called their mentor and instead returned to Tokyo with the broken vase, because now they were tasked to follow-up. This also meant they would have to stay at the sister school in Kyoto to minimise travel, which Utahime immediately protested.

And as expected, Gojo complains about this too, but for other reasons. “I cannot believe that we now gotta find this stupid curse.” He crosses his arms and pouts. “Are we there yet?”

“It’s literally been 5 minutes since the train departed.” Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s just relax for the rest of the day, then begin this Kyoto-Nara manhunt tomorrow morning.” 

Guess this will be a long ride…

[ghoul-foolery]

Dirty Windows | 10 | Nora x Hancock

A Fallout 4 Soulmate AU

\\

Fic Summary:

Hancock never thought he would find his soulmate. Once a common occurrence, soulmates turned into a bit of a rarity after the bombs dropped. It was to be expected when there was an influx of people getting shot in the face on a daily basis. So when Hancock discovered that he had a soulmate he was ecstatic; all of the people in the Commonwealth, and he was one of the lucky few.

Too bad his soulmate didn't want anything to do with him.

When Nora thought for sure she was going to die too, the pain stopped – and then there was nothing. Nothing but the emptiness. Nothing but the grief. Half of her soul was suddenly gone forever. She was dropped in the middle of the ocean, drifting among the waves with no land in sight. Then just as suddenly she had been cast adrift, she found land. The hole was filled the moment it had been created. As she gripped Nate’s vault suit and begged him to open his eyes, Nora found herself battling with the horrifying realization that she had another soulmate; that some stranger had taken Nate's place.

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[ 1 ] <- [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] - [ 11 ]

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Nora Morrison was a woman who firmly believed in law and order; she believed in the justice system. She believed that those who infringed upon the law must be judged by a group of their peers, and given a just sentence. The problem was that there was no room for old world ideals in the Commonwealth. These people were murderers who showed absolutely no hesitation, and they had no fear of any potential consequences, because there were none. These people were wild, and they were crazy, and for some reason they really seemed to want Nora dead. During her stint as a prosecuting attorney, Nora had been on the receiving end of a whole lot of ire – but this was something else entirely.

The, admittedly petty, endeavor to hate her soulmate and drive him away crumbled the very moment he came barging back into her head. It should be strange, how he was consistently there whenever she needed him. Like he would always come and check on her at just the right time. It was typically deeply annoying, and she often wished him away. This time she not only welcomed the man, but she finally reached out to him willfully. Their connection became firmly set, so steadfast that it felt like a tangible thing. The man gasped softly.

Nora’s vision was clouded with the man’s view of whatever room he was in – there was a chair sitting in front of an open window, a couch tucked off to the side of a room – before she pushed the image from her mind and focused on his emotions. There was a feeling of absolute panic, but there was an underlying layer of anger. He would have to work on controlling his own emotions when accessing their bond; he was letting her feelings influence his to a noticeable degree.

She took a slow breath, catching the smell of phantom cigarette smoke, something like burning petrichor, and something else that was tangy-sweet. That was from him. Those were his senses.

Another breath and she was picking up the smell of dust, coppery blood, and rotting wood. Mold. Mildew. That was her environment.

It took her a handful of precious seconds to make the connection to his mind, and then sift through all of the accompanying sensations until she was left with what she wanted. It was his emotions that she needed, and even though she was seeking out some sort of level-headed calm, she could work with his anger – she could feed off of it.

Nora struggled under the dead weight of the man she killed as she tried to prop his corpse up against the old desk she hid behind. Even the slightest bit of anger helped take the shake out of her hands, and brought some strength back to her limbs. She’d definitely need to be nice to her soulmate after this.

“Do you have time to reload?” His graveled voice was rasping low and threatening. “Find some more mags t’pack around after this. Running into a goddamn firefight with just one was real damn stupid.”

Nora scoffed. She slid the magazine free and started shoving in bullet after bullet until the magazine was full. “It’s not like I did it on purpose,” she growled, her tone matching his. More gunfire punctuated the statement, more yelling followed.

“How many you got left?” Her eyes dipped down to her gun. “Not bullets. I saw how many bullets you got. How many assholes are there tryin’ t’kill ya?”

Nora chanced a quick peak, yelping as the edge of her cover was torn away by a bullet. It wasn’t really much cover, it was an old heavy wooden desk but it was doing a mighty fine job at keeping her safe at the moment. “Three?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

Biting down on her tongue was the only way to prevent herself from swearing at him. Ultimately, she didn’t mind swearing – Nate had a military mouth – but she herself tried to avoid cursing. It wasn’t lady-like, for one thing. A visceral memory of her mother forcing her to bite down on a bar of soap for having a “dirty mouth” was another.

“I counted three,” she ground out.

“Yer gonna hafta kill ‘em,” he replied. “And yer not gonna have the time to be gettin’ sick every time you do it, ya feel me?”

The connection she established faltered when her eyes drifted to the corpse she sat beside. She had killed a man. It wasn’t her first time seeing a dead body; she hadn’t shied away from crime scenes and morgue visits in her career. It was so much more different, though, knowing that she was the one that made the kill. She took someone’s life. Despite the situation, a surge of guilt had her eyes growing misty.

“Hey, sister, get yer head in the game!” Her eyes snapped to the side, away from the body, the connection stabilizing.

The man was irritated, she could feel it right along with his anger. She could use that, too. The only problem with utilizing those emotions was that she found herself snapping right back at him, “I told you to stop yelling at me!”

“Then focus!”

“You focus!”

It had been bound to happen. The stranger was overly receptive to her emotions, incapable of blocking them from affecting his own. During his last visit, he had come barging into her headspace only for his intentions to be broken down under the assault of her own grief. In Nora’s current circumstance, with both of them reaching for the other, and with the man incapable – or unwilling – to block out her emotions, they were creating a feedback loop of sorts. His anger affected her, affected him, affected her…

Even though Nora was aware of it happening, having a building white-hot rage burning in her chest was leagues better than the raw guilt that was roiling in her gut. She leaned into it, embraced it as tightly as she could.

The stranger growled. It was a deep, rumbling sound that carried more gravel than a quarry. It sounded like a feral animal. “Shoot at them. Stay below cover.”

She did. Remaining tucked low behind cover, she fired in her assailant’s direction blindly. There was a surprised yelp from their end of the fight this time, and then resounding laughter. She fired again, and the laughing fell silent.

“Okay. You’re going to push our friend away from you. Out from cover. Use him to draw fire.” His words were clipped, and precise, and they left very little room for argument. Nora took hold of the corpse’s shoulder just before her soulmate continued. “Hey.”

She paused.

“You’re going to get one shot at this. Make it fuckin’ count, you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

Nora gave the corpse a firm push, and his body toppled out from behind the overturned desk she crouched behind. The movement caught her assailants’ attention, and the corpse promptly became riddled with bullets. From the other side of the desk, Nora peered out from cover. She caught her first target crouching out in the open, a look of shock on his face. He started to redirect his aim just as she settled hers on him.

“Shoot him.”

Nora pulled the trigger. The gun jumped in her hand, and she ended up shooting too wide.

“Lean into the shot! Pull the trigger and fuckin’ MEAN IT! This is your life or theirs! Kill them!”

She did.

She killed all three.

Tags: @takottai

As a note, dear tag lister: I have 41 (almost 42) chapters of this thing ready to go. Holler if you ever want off the ride.

[officialcreepypastareheated]

What your crush spooky spaghetti says about you. [Reheated Edition]

Yes this is an excuse for me to infodump now shut up and read the post ya simps. (Some of these should not be read at the dinner table. Nothing explicit though.)

Jeff Harrison:

You like trucker types, don't you Squidward? /ref

You don't care if he's got a rotting eye socket, gingavitus, and Zalgo knows what else, you ARE going to kiss that man and DIE HAPPILY.

His hair isn't soft and luscious. The grease and burnt bits would stick to your hand like raw spaghetti covered in olive oil.

BBG he doesn't just bite and let go he'd borderline cannibalize you. You are walking away a skeleton. (He's not a cannibal btw he's just insane.)

You crushed on Bob Velseb. AY DON'T START RUNNING AWAY I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!!!

Leo Harrison:

Save a horse.

You liked Jeff cause he was Southern but you liked Leo more cause he's SOUTHERN.

That or you're a girlie and respect that Jeff is gay. (thank you for that btw ily /p)

You saw their full bank account, cooking skills, and overall how they can provide and said "Finally, an actual caretaker type who can ACTUALLY TAKE CARE OF ME!!!" sorry to disappoint but he's just as depressed as you are.

As a Texan with friends who simp for southerns, I know y'all. We all know why you like the cowboy. (i still don't understand what the southern charm is though)

EJ:

*Walks onto the stage. Taps the mic. Clears throat.* Tendrils.

Hey so wanna talk about the Predators and your opinions on them?

You are simple minded and EJ knows how to do taxes.

BBG it can help you finance but it cannot cook I hope you like cup ramen.

He's autistic too and that is his safe food. Enjoy the sodium.

LJ:

Clown.

Caretaker clown.

You're probably on the aro spectrum too.

Aroflux/Aroalligned LJ supremacy.

I can't be mean if you like or simp for my LJ y'all probably been through stuff cmere. *hug*

You are loved btw.

SeedEater:

So... wanna talk about the monster thing?

Like when it's EJ or Slenderman that's one thing, they're very much human/humanoid, but... THAT IS A WEIRD BIRDMAN.

Wanna talk about Mothman?

You're not kid oriented.

Slenderman:

Alright folks, let's all say it together on 3!

1, 2, 3! DADDY ISSUES!!! ✨️

Oh and tendrils too.

You like to go on long walks in the deep woods.

You're either pretty mature and understand his struggle, taking care of a bunch of idiots.

Or are an idiot who needs extra love and care preferably in the form of headpats.

Btw, big hands. I know what you are.

B.E.N:

Hon, that is a computer.

That is a laptop with a neural network inside it.

How... How are you...

....

Would you just text through the notes app or smth?

I know what app you prolly have btw.

Jane:

Lesbian. I don't make the rules you just kiss women.

Wanna talk about that one zombie girl from Corpse Bride?

Or Morticia?

Or ghostly goth girlies who love to roam the cemeteries on cloudy afternoons in general?

Perchance with a parasol and singing somberly?

Nina:

Lesbian who was closeted or comp het.

Also neglected and exposed to bad people who got you into bad interests.

In general you'd simp for her because you feel her and want to help fix her.

You also prolly crush on Jane/Clockwork and wanna be a part of their polycule. Three alt girlies in one, I can't blame you.

Clockwork:

*Slides you a cup of hot cocoa.* So should we start with how you were horribly hurt and just want to be protected by the big strong rough n tough lady?

Wait can you even read old fashioned clocks?

Me neither.

I'm gonna be so real I'm still working on her rewrite just give me a few more months.

Buddy:

You're one of my besties. (cause as of posting this only they really know about him)

Either that or you're one of the random folks who saw his ref/the teaser comic on the ask blog and thought he seemed interesting.

You're in *that* VN community to some degree aren't you? :/ (it's fine but i prefer he not be roped in with the yanderes)

You like cottagecore and softboys.

If you simp for him you're sad and want a warm little ray of sunshine caretaker type who would make sure you ate 3 meals a day, or you have a savior complex and want to make him eat 3 meals a day. No inbetween.

[a-shrieking-cloud-of-bats]

DF Posting: KingChannels - Year 3

Here we are again. Much belated on account of me having an awful head cold for most of the past two weeks.

The beginning of the defensive layer, which, as time has gone on, has only gotten less solid. Regardless I think having room to retreat behind corners when archers come a knocking will be helpful.

We left last year with the trade depot Almost complete, and the defensive layer, starting up. Happy to say we made a lot of progress on both, but a lot happened so we'll start from the top.

Early on the elven caravan arrived; I personally have no abnormal distaste for the elves (even if selecting everything in a bin except the bin is obnoxious), but we didn't have any trade goods because I'd not decided to, you know, make any, on account of sheets being wanted next year. So we didn't really get anything, not that they brought much. Not even very many animals. Very dissapointing honestly. Didn't even get a screenshot.

Our starter library. We probably won't need it anymore after we start getting the tower constructed but that could be a while. I set a scholar to work here after I made it as well, and installed a table later on.

In the meantime we made a starter library for our scholarly pursuits to begin in earnest, rather then waiting for the tower to start construction. It's small, but it'll work. We assigned Ingish Arzesidan as scholar, our old woodcutter. She honestly loves it and is constantly getting good thoughts from debating and pondering, though these are somewhat offset by her bad thoughts from not practicing a craft. Thems the breaks. Around this time I also started making clothes from our pig tail fiber, to ensure our in fort child would have clothing. Also so anyone whose clothes rot off can get a new set.

Our first scholar.

After all that hubbub we almost immediately got a migrant wave; 9 dwarves, 2 melee dwarves for the military, and a High Master Surgeon, very nice. This reminded me we needed to make a hospital. My idea is to build it on the ground floor, likely near the cistern, hopefully out of the way of any trouble in the event anyone needs to be brought to it during combat. It'll also make getting the water from the cistern to the nearly required hospital well less of a pain in the butt.

The first two are our melee dwarves and the last is the surgeon.

Around the time of the migrant wave we got another Child Strange Mood; it finished around the time we finished sorting otu the migrant wave as Ablel Regezar only grabbed two apple wood logs. He made, adorably, a toy axe, Desiszisang. During the course of this year I caught several dwarf children playing with it so at least it's getting use!

The fort's most popular toy. And... only toy, now that I'm thinking about it.

Of note; all this happened in Early Spring. This was a very rapid fire series of events, but things slow down a bit henceforth. Not before finding a mysterious vomit trail from the trade depot to the first floor of the fortress entrance. Probably a dwarf that'd been underground long enough to get cave adapted. I didn't see any sign of combat, anyway, so it's not an injury at least. Regardless the fort now has its first streak of green mess. There will be many more.

Every fort, by the end of the run, is usually just covered in blood and puke. This is small potatoes.

Taking up the next large swathe of time was mostly me digging to find ores, rather then for fortress construction, with the completion of a stockpile I was digging near the metal processing area to store ore and coal. During this time I'd noticed unhappy dwarves were looking pretty intimidating, I think it hit a high of 16 which is more then a third of our fort. You've gotta nip this in the bud so in a mostly ineffectual attempt to do that I made some meals. Mostly quarry bush leaves, but higher food quality = happier dwarf. Unfortunately we don't really have a lot of edible wildlife, I've only seen ravens and they're too small to butcher and a pain to catch besides. Maybe one day we'll be eating raven eggs, but it seems like a bit too much trouble for now.

all of my mining floors start like this. I want people to be able to move through them well in the event I use them for something more important then burial site.

We hit Lignite and Iron shortly below where I started digging exploratorily. Very good sign; if we can find flux we've got steel, which is fantastic. That'll handily take care of most of our fortress defense needs, at least as far as we can hope for. We also found kaolinite which will make us some high quality ceramic stuff when I set it up. I also intend to use the exploratory digging tunnels for most of our burial slabs; it just feels appropriate to me.

During all this, the work on the defensive layer was moving along. The windows on the left are Gem windows, and we'll be layering some fortifications over hte front of them to ensure noone just breaks in through those windows. Eventually patrols or watch animals will keep an eye out through there to let us know when goblins or kobolds are skulking around. Hopefully, anyway.

It was around this time I realized my military squads had Never Stopped Training. I looked into a bit of stuff regarding the new UI and it turns out they've been on manual training, never stop mode, for like a year now. That's probably why everyone's so pissed off. I fix that and indeed the bad moods at the fort start dropping, thankfully. THe summer migrant wave also hit, 8 dwarves. A high master metalcrafter, a high master furnace operator, and a middling papermaker. Normally the papermaker would be on hauling duty, but given we're making a library... hmm. Two randos from the wave got drafted into our military squad making an even 10. Training can Really start now. Especially now that they're doing advanced training and teaching and sparring and such. They don't do that on manual evidently.

Once more, oru new Local Celebrities. I also assigned another dwarf to scholarship around this time I believe; Kadol Usenvabok. We'll probably worry more about the scholars when the tower goes up because if I keep posting dwarf thoughts we're gonna hit the image cap.

Seconds after this migrant wave the high master metalcrafter enters a secretive mood. Looks like we're getting a legendary metalcrafter. Honestly sort've stinks; he was allmost there anyway. Regardless, he goes to work. After some livestock butchery, he makes an Artifact Silver Chain out of Horse Leather, Chert Blocks, a Silver Bar, and cut bloodstones. Pretty nice sounding, and we can definitely find a use for it somewhere. Probably put it in a well, but maybe we can find some sort've novel use for it in the tower. It Is silver after all.

Pretty Good.

As we moved into autumn, I realized we were running out of food for some reason. Had the realization we weren't growing any plump helmets in autumn for some reason, so I fixed that. Also set about to making another still, as the population was getting quite hefty and a single still probably wouldn't be cutting it for much longer. As time went on it stabilized, and later in the year restocked itself so we're good again. Crisis Averted.

Shortly before the caravan arrived there were officially enough farmers in the fort to qualify for a farmer's guild. I immediately set about making one of the rooms I Dug out for specifically this purpose into a farmer's guild, and everyone was happy about it. Farmer dwarves will talk about farming in there, along with just generally socializing. It'll slowly increase their skills in various farming aptitudes. It's great.

The Dwarven caravan arrives annnnnd I forgot to make trade goods. God damn. I quickly hammer out some rock rings and buy some iron bars, using them to make a weapon for the militia. Need stuff sooner then later, and we're not exactly short on iron. The liason requested Amulets, which is great for us and I Immediately set on that to avoid this problem next year. I make our standard selection of military grade metals and silver.

Around this time enough work on the cistern got done for me to be comfortable draining the pond, finally. I wanted to get constructed stuff in there sooner rather then later because... I like constructed stuff. No dirty hole water here.

the top floor hadn't been walled in yet but I did take care of that over the rest of the year.

I love a bit of fluid mechanics in DF so this excited me. I've actually not done a lot of it, but I love the concept. We'll probably need another pool or two before it'll have enough loaded in to make its way to the hospital well, but it rains all the time here, so it shouldn't be too long. Since we've got enough standing water in the cistern too (about a full z level), we can just dump in whatever we can get and it'll be stored too, so that's nice.

Anyway the autumn migrant wave hits annnnnnd we got two dwarves. I forgot I had the migrant cap lowered to a pitiful 50 due to a previous fort I ran, so that's my bad, Yet Again. I raise it to 100. The two dwarves were not notable in any way. I also assign a scribe to our library to copy the books we do have.

As we trundle on towards winter, a child is posessed, which has become a commonplace enough occurrence that I honestly wasn't particularly interested. More livestock died to feed the leather requirement, and he got wood, bones and leather.

Before he finished his artifact, however, a werehare broke into the depot. He immediately bites down on Logem Urvaddatan, our freshly recruited high master surgeon, and shakes him to bits.

So much for that hospital. KingChannelses first fatality. Brutal.

There were two militadwarves nearby at the time so they immediately set to attacking the werehare (with picks?? why do you people have picks equipped you're not miners), and he goes down pretty unceremoniously, being an unarmored, roughly human size, enemy.

During the scuffle however, a militadwarf was bitten. This means they are now a werehare, and they Will be hostile to their fellow dwarves when they turn.

The bitten militiadwarf on the left, Iden Eshtanmubun and more competent combat on the right.

Me, not willing to create isolation chambers for bitten dwarves, and not wanting to have to deal with this guy popping off every quarter of a year, elect to banish him. Iden Eshtanmubun has no family in the fort, so nobody is going with him. He's upset, but what's he gonna do, come back as a werehare to take revenge? Hopefully not. He was actually also a aprt of the wave the surgeon came in on, so I guess the wave was just cursed. We'll have to keep an eye on Ablel Dumatdeleth, I Suppose.

After all of the drama and our first death, the child finishes his artifact, a horse bone pick. Maybe someone will actually use it. I kind've don't care right now kid I'm sorry.

I am normally quite happy about equippable artifacts, even if they're shit, but a pick is pretty hard to equip on purpose and they all behave the same regardless of material.

After processing all this I realized our defensive layer is pretty much done, our wall is done, our trade depot is done, it's time to build that overhang. I don't think the werehare climbed in over the wall but better safe then sorry. Unfortunaetly, while trying to do this, I realize my wall is too close to the edge of the map to build an overhang. So we have to rebuild half of it. Ugh.

In the shadow of death we find.... more menial labor. As usual, I guess.

I immediately stat making another layer of the wall on the relevant sides inside the fort. We'll worry about tearing down the outside layer later. I'd rather have a wall people can climb over then no wall at all. This in and of itself takes about til the end of the season, so we'll carry on with other stuff, though the death was the last major event of the year.

Other then some boring logistical stuff (we ran out of chert I can't color coordinate until I mine more rarrrr), the rest of the year was pretty quiet. We found some Green Jade, a 20 value gem, which is Very nice, we found more iron on the living floor, while expanding it for future waves, which I mined out, and our scribe made a copy of our one book, The Way of the Path of the Moon. Or whatever. It was something like that.

As the year drew to a close, the baby born in fort grew to a child and learned to walk on his own. He is no longer at risk of being used as a shield by his mother, and they ran out into the snow and immediately got pissed off about being snowed on. Thanks kid. She can now harvest and haul stuff, so she'll be a minor help for the next.... 15 years. Frankly if we see her grow to be an adult that alone is a fantastic run.

Baby Lolor Rimtarilir, like all dwarves, immediately knows where the clothes are upon gaining locomotion. She's also pissed off because of the snow. Get in line Lolor.

Along with the baby becoming independent, our initial Scholar, Ingish, became an astronomor. He's officially studied the book about the moon's path enough to gain a title. Our mental pursuits are looking up.

A monumentous occasion given the goal of our fort. We need more eggheads. They're chopping a tree right now but rest assured they are very intelligent.

And that's that. A death, a lot of construction and a working cistern; that will continue, but we are pulling up on the end of Surface construction not involving the tower, at least, maybe another couple of years? Hopefully we'll have sterling silver production in hand by then.

Next years goals are finally get that cistern loaded up with water and giving our dwarves an indoor well, Finish The Damn Wall, and hopefully find flux and start steel production. Also hopefully we find silver. I guess if we can't find any silver on site a ceramic tower might be good. And very silly. Same color anyway. We'll see.

Until Next Year. Our fortunes rise and fall together.

[yams-here]

So I like thinking about franchises that disappointed me in some way

and after watching too many reviews I redesigned the High guardian spice characters (and thought of how the plot could work way too much)

Rose in this version isn't a complete idiot, and may not be so book smart, but she is very good in combat because she's kind of a fangirl. Like, "she studies attacks and can probably name pretty much every guardian" fangirling. While she is still kind of a dumbass, she's the one that always brings Sage down to earth whenever she gets too stressed. Although she is mostly the source of that stress. Her mom was taken by the rot, but she isn't really sure what it is, so when Thyme mentions it devastating her home she's like "!" so they can actually have something that might bring them together. She decides to take on forging and weapon enchantments so she can have a moment where she steps out of her mom's shadow to do her own thing teehee Sage here is still kind of an ass (her sexist discourse to snap was NOT a Girlboss Moment) but here I think it would be interesting if it was something that other characters think its weird too. Like its a belief ingrained into her together with the more traditional upbringing by her family (thus her only knowing old magic) so it can be part of her character development learning how those thoughts should be changed and that not everyone thinks like that, But she still tries her best to be respectful and kind. (also, her parents sent her to the academy because new magic is VERY new, so the fact that it was being implemented in the curriculum was not widespread, specially in a small town like where she was raised in.) she's an overthinker to the core, so sometimes she needs her friends to calm her down, although sometimes that anxiety is what prepares them for something they weren't even expecting.

Parsley is honestly well written enough in the original show, so the only things I would change is that the progress with the conflict with her parents is stretched a little through episodes, and the conflict is that while her parents want her to be a blacksmith and take on the family business (and help take care of her three thousand simblings) she wishes to go out and do something for herself as a warrior, because she wanting to go to school to become a blacksmith and her parents fighting her on it because they want her to become a blacksmith is kinda dumb. also her short ass hammer feels so weird to watch in the series, so I think that a longer handle would make it a little better. also tiny irony of her weapon being taller than her. Thyme feels like she should be written better because shes the only one that actually has any correlation to the plot, but she kind of... isn't?? I like her backstory of being ran out of the woods she lived in because the rot was devastating it and her dad staying behind to try to solve it, but I think it would be more dramatic if her dad was killed in the conflict but she doesn't know so dramatic moment when she finds something that belonged to him (maybe a little charm she made? for protection? in the way children do that stuff for their parents) and she connects the dots. Also the rot here is because the overuse of the power new magic is able to draw out without the control of old magic is taking too much energy from the earth, and woodsy areas thrive on it, thus the root like structures of the rot. The trees are basically oysters for the magic energy of the world. When its bad, they turn bad too. Also make her more of a "expresses affection through favors and actions, not words" person. She, Rose and Sage took wayy too long to become friends. Amaryllis stays the same because she is perfect and I love her and if you disagree to talk to the wall I personally think Snapdragon is good too but I would make him genderfluid instead. I think that the idea of Caraway THINKING he might be a trans girl but that ending up not the correct answer would reinforce his "there's always more options than you think" speech. And someone needs to point out how he's drawn to women that scream at him. Also we need a better arc with his dad instead of the raw carrot that was the canonical "his dad reinforces toxic masculinity hurr durr" thing we got (that wasn't even well made btw) NOW TO THE SIDIES

Slime boy is now named Slime boy because of an accident he had in potions class the previous year (he's one year older than the main cast) which caused him to continuously produce a slime like substance instead of stuff like spit and sweat. It doesn't inconvenience him a lot other than him making bubbles when he speaks every now and then. He's just an assistant in the terrasphere shop, and the owners are Alloe and Anise (wow they actually do something else in the story!!) but he's mainly just a more experienced student that sometimes knows things the main cast doesn't like secret entrances and cool rooms and stuff. He's a full on bard because that was barely explored in canon and music based attacks are cool. He has the tiniest little crush on parnelle cuz I thought that would be fun Parnelle is ENBY because I SAID SO (and cuz cal is stablished as transphobic and I like payoffs) and since whatever they're doing at the academy is never really clarified, I made them kind of an animal whisperer, like they call on animals to assist them in battle and other stuff. (Maybe then we actually get to see the trixies again after their prolongued mating dance that lead to literally nothing in episode 1) being an animal whisperer is a very rare "old magic" hability thus why they entered the academy one year earlier than expected. They sew their own clothes and are still the generally weird little guy they are in canon, except this time its explained as them preferring to communicate with animals ever since they were a child. They are still very polite and friendly tho, always happy to help. Cal is (his full name is calamagrostis and like if I was named that I'd be an asshole too) still parnelle's cousin, but he doesn't outright bullies them. in fact, he isn't an outright bully, he just tends to look down on other people that don't follow what he believes in, which is a more traditional view on the world, kind of like sage, so I thought of him maybe being a catalyst to her being like "wow I can see why my way of thinking may be bad now, I don't want to be like him" which pushes her to grow and stuff. And I want him to grow as well, so I thought, maybe he and Snapdragon used to be friends, but recently they drifted apart and he started to kind of resent him after he came out as genderfluid, but deep down he still misses his friend, so maybe that pushes his character development. And other people saying that hes kind of a prick. idk I just really hate the trope of a bully character just being there to be the mc's punching bag instead of getting development.

In general, the lore would be (I think, I'm not the best at lore) that Guardians are generally like soldiers, but in a more captain america type of way. they're more like beacons of hope and symbols or power and peace than soldiers are, (thus rosemary knowing a bunch of them as they're usually famous) but they are still required to know combat. High Guardian Academy is known as a guarantee to become a good soldier, and a high chance to become a guardian. They VERY recently implemented new magic in the curriculum, but are experimenting with mixing its high power output with old magic's control of it, (thus why caraway knows how but why none of the students are being thaught it. It's a fairly new tecnique they'd rather get a good grasp on before teaching a bunch of children how to use it) because since they're expertly trained guardians they can tell that a terrasphere takes too much energy above what would be considered okay. They just aren't aware of how much tho, the extent of the rot is a secret held close to their chests by witch country, which is where the terraspheres come from, which has brought them tons of profit and advancements. So when someone knows about the extent, or tries to stop it, they are eliminated, (thus why thyme's dad died. People that stayed in the fairy woods and knew how bad new magic could be were all "silenced" so they could keep profiting out of it.) (Any letters or research about the rot, or from the people that knew, were burned and interfered with, thats why no one else knew about it.) idk what else to talk about cuz this show had such little things to explore but there's so much filler that almost none of it got explored but I think it had potential, even if I prefer to focus on character interactions and how they change eachother. Again, I'm not very good with lore. and plot.

[bluegalaxygirl]

Ghost ship (Zosan X reader)

Plot: One day while out at sea a strange fog rolls in form out of nowhere almost making them crash into a torn up ship.

warning: Violence, strong language, blood and skeleton's.

Zoro x Sanji X Reader, poly relationship, established relationship, reader is GN

"Guy's hurry" Nami's voice yells out as every member of the crew rushed around the deck of the sunny hoisting the sails, tying ropes and forcing the ship in different directions. You could hardly see a hand in front of your face form the sudden fog that rolled in covering the sunny in a matter of seconds. The warm air turned into a cold wind and the only light you could see came from the lights on the ship "TURN Left" Nami yelled out spotting another ship that was floating in the water, It wasn't moving, most of its masts broken and fabric torn to shreds. Franky turned the wheel of the ship as fast and as hard as he could to avoid the stationary vessel Luffy and Robin using their devil fruit powers to stop the sunny form getting damaged. Finally, getting the Sail fabric tied up your ship slowed down coming to a stop alongside the beaten up vessel which in your opinion shouldn't even be above water, the wood was rotting away and there were so many holes that it amazed you how water wasn't taking over the ship. The fog seemed to clear a bit now that you were all next to it but it felt a lot colder.

"Hay is anyone alive over there?" Luffy yelled Nami jumping on him and covering his mouth "Shut up. we don't know who did this" she whispers angry at her captain for being so reckless. "Its very old... i dont think anyone would be alive" Robin steps closer to Nami and Luffy looking over the ship. Your captain manages to pry Nami's hand off his mouth and giver her a pout. "It shouldn't be floating. oh! no what if it's a ghost ship" Usopp yells freezing up along with chopper. "Calm down" you sigh patting usopp's back "So Nami, what do we do?" you ask turning your attention to the navigator who lets go of Luffy and crosses her arms over her chest "We can't keep going until this fog lets up, so we'll have to stay put for now... also if this ship is old maybe there's something valuable on it" Her eyes glimmer in anticipation making you and Robin giggle at her "You want to go on there?" The sniper yells pointing at the ship "Well you can leave me out of it" he huffs earning a laugh from Luffy "I'd like to look around too" Robin nods placing her finger on her chin thinking about all the history she could find on an old ship. "Yea lets go" Luffy yells out hopping off the sunny and landing on the damaged ship.

It was easy to pick out who went and who didn't you, Nami and Robin wanted to go really bad while Usopp, Chopper, Brook and Franky refused for their own reasons. "I'll come with you, here love take my coat" Sanji smiles giving you one of his warm coats helping you put it on placing a small kiss on your cheek "Don't get into too much trouble" Zoro smiles walking over to you two "Your not coming?" You ask surprised but the sword mans yawn told you all you needed to know, he was woken up form his nap to deal with all of this. "Don't catch a cold" Sanji smiles walking with you, Nami and Robin to the broken ship. Since the ship was on the same level as the sunny Franky set up a small bridge so you could all easily cross Giving you and Robin a lantern before you cross. The waves were smooth so there wasn't much shakiness "Luffy, where are you?" Nami calls out looking along the deck not seeing her captain "Great" she sighs not getting an answer "Im sure he's fine" Robin smiles starting to look around the ship being careful where she stepped as the wood planks bellow her creaked.

Sanji helped you down form the bridge, it till amazed you how this ship was still standing "Im going to head into the captains room" Robin nods walking off "You shouldn't go alone" Nami yells wanting to follow but doesn't "Sanji, why don't you go with her and I'll go with Nami. i'm interested in what's bellow deck" You suggest making the cook look down at you with concern, he didn't want to leave you but he also didn't want Robin to go off on her own. Placing a hand on his shoulder and kiss on his cheek you gave him a reassuring smile telling him without words that you would be fine. Sanji nods kissing your lips before following after Robin yelling at her to wait up. "So bellow deck?" Nami asks looking a little more scared now that she's on the ghost ship "Don't worry I'll protect you" you laugh starting to walk to the steps leading down under the deck "I-I don't need your protection" The navigator yells running behind you and grabbing your coat belt to stay close hoping you don't notice.

Bellow deck was very dark and even with the lantern in your hand it was hard to see. Nami stayed close looking around as you both walked holding the lantern as far out in front of you as you could. The sight before you surprised you, at first you thought this was a cargo ship but under the deck was a large stage and dance floor with tables and chairs all over the place, damaged paintings lined the walls and several doors were either blocked by tables or where torn apart. Walking further in you spotted candles lining the room so you walked over a lite one only for all the other candles in the room to light up as well, Nami jumped at the sigh wrapping her arms around your waist. You let out a giggle as Nami glares at you "Im not scared" she whispers mainly to herself before pulling away form you "These paintings aren't worth anything" she sighs looking around the beaten and broken room trying to find anything of value, you join her in scanning the room spotting something shiny in one of the rooms "What's that?" you ask catching Nami's attention turning to see what your looking at, her eyes light up and a smile appears on her face making her way over with you following behind.

The broken wooden door swung open raveling a long hallway with several corpses lining the hall way, both you and nami froze at the sight, these body's were fresh unlike the ship that they were standing on, the shiny metal came form one of the men's coats, a very old silver medal that looks like it came form one of the great wars but how is that possible. Nami bent down and placed her hand on the medal only for the man to gasp wide-eyed and grab her hand causing both of you to scream out in terror. The man gasps for air looking up at Nami and you try to speak, Nami pulls away her hand slipping away from the old injured man. You take the coat off of you and place it on the man's chest thats bleeding badly "Nami, Get chopper now" you yell trying to snap the navigator out of her fear "W-What? oh! ok" Nami nods running off almost bumping into Sanji and Robin who came running down the stairs "Nami-swan what's wrong?" Sanji asks seeing her running past them "we need chopper" Her voice calls out heading up to the deck and over to the bridge.

"It's ok. we're here to help" you sooth the man the fear in his eyes fading away to hope "Y/n" Sanji's voice appears behind you spotting you on the floor holding his coat to the mans chest "oh no" Robin gasps looking down the hallway "Check for survivors" you order, the two nodding and going past you down the hall checking the people. "P-Pirate's" the man bellow you croaks out. "Is that who did this to you?" you ask earning a nod from him, giving him a sad look you took his hand in yours as a sign of comfort. Chopper comes running up, medical bag in hand to help. Seeing the man against the wall doctor Chopper gets to work helping you stop the bleeding and giving the man some pain killers. "Chopper" Luffy's voice yells out form behind you running down form one of the other hallways carrying a guy who's bleeding. "Luffy, there you are" you yell back as Luffy stops in the door way looking over the guy you and chopper is helping out "What happened here?" he asks a spike of anger seeps through his words. "Other Pirate's" at your words the captains grip tightens on the man in his arms.

An hour later your crew only managed to find two more survivors taking them all onto the sunny and into Chopper's medical room fixing them up and letting them rest while the rest of you joins Luffy on the deck who was sulking on the ground as Robin explained what she had found out. The damaged ship was attacked by pirates centuries ago, It was taking solders and their families back home after one of the great wars but pirates attacked and killed everyone before the navy showed up and blew up both ships. "So how did those people end up in there?" Zoro asks confused his arm around your shoulder holding you close. Robin to shrugs as Usopp and brook cower "S-so it really is a g-ghost ship" they both stutter clinging to each other "Will you two stops that and Brook why are you scared your a skeleton" Nami yells pointing at the two of them making them cling to each other more making the rest of the crew laugh. A strong cold breeze blows thru catching you all off guard the thick fog from around both ships closing in, Zoro pulls you closer his warm body stopping you form feeling too much of the chill while Sanji takes a step behind Zoro feeling a large chill run down his body." What?" you asks only to hear a loud bang as the door to the doctor's office slams open and a man fly's out hitting his back against the railing. In shock, you watch as the man Luffy saved looking worse than before stand up ripped cloth and almost gray skin, he didn't look like a man anymore more like a corpse.

"Chopper" Zoro yells leaving you with sanji and runs up the stairs as chopper comes out in arm point form kicking the guy again as he lunges at him. Luffy runs after Zoro ready to fight only to get kicked back by a large man who lands on the ship's deck with a thud. A very disheveled looking corpse stood there in old pirate attire one arm and one leg complacently bone the joints being held together by fog. Around the ship other's smaller but of the same look jumped onto the ship bearing their weapons "All must die" The corpse you assume to be the captain spoke in a very deep but brittle voice. Starting to fight alongside your crew, Zoro and Chopper kept the wounded people inside the doctor's office safe stopping the corpse's form trying to get in but no matter how much Zoro cut the limbs came back and attacked themselves back. Sanji joined you to help fight as the large captain went after Luffy the two throwing punches at each other. Luffy managed to kick the captains head off only for it to fly back to the body being carried by the mist and reattach itself. You didn't know what was going on and how this was happening but asking questions at a time like this wasn't a good idea.

One of the corpse's got a good hit on you sending you flying onto the ground. Sanji growled under his breath and kicked the corpse off the ship hearing a splash as it hit the water. "Are you ok love?" The cook asks running over and helping you to your feet looking you over for any injuries "Im fine don't worry" you nod before going back to fighting the undead corpse's. Everyone could see Luffy getting frustrated and his yells of anger weren't helping the situation "Anyone have any ideas?" Usopp yells out trying to avoid a sword being swung at him "Nami could you do something about the fog?" Robin asks using her devil fruit powers to restrain some corpse while Franky watches her back. The navigator sends a corpse flying off the ship with her staff before thinking "Maybe but i'm going to see your help usopp" she yells finally getting an idea. "Everyone protect Nami and Usopp" Luffy yells out running at the captain and punching him into the wall. "But what about the injured?" Chopper yells not wanting to leave the people in the medical bay alone. Luffy thinks for a moment before jumping up to join Zoro and Chopper "Go and protect Nami and Robin, I'll take care of these guys" The captain smiles the two nodding and running down to the main areas.

Getting distracted by the corpse in front of you, you didn't realize there was one coming up behind you raising its blade and slashing down, the sound of metal hitting metal made you jump at little but kicked the corpse in front of you away before turning to see Zoro blocking the corpses bad with his own sword before cutting the thing in half "Watch yourself" The swords man yells at you making you smile but focuses on the thing in front of you "I know you've got my back babe" you giggle as he angrily grumbles at you. It didn't take too long for Nami and Usopp to set up Nami's staff and some devices as the rest of the crew made sure nothing got to them. "Firing in 3" Usopp yells warning everyone, in the corner of your eye you see the corpse captain getting back up standing to his feet "He's up" you yell out as the captain runs at Nami and Usopp who have begun counting down.

You run at the captain practically body slamming it away from your two friends and sending it crashing into the railing of the ship. It tries to get back up only for Zoro to cut its legs off and Sanji to light his leg on fire jumping over Zoro to kick the captain off the ship and into the water. A large bolt of lightning shoots out form Nami's staff as the two hold it down stopping it from moving with the force of the lighting. Hitting the thick fog light crackles around and into the fog making it grow thinner and thinner, the corpse screaming out in pain dropping their weapons as they turn to dust, the light wind blowing their ashes into the sea. "YEA" Franky, Nami, Usopp and Luffy yell out cheering at the victory. You laugh feeling relief that its all finally over as arms pull you in for a hug "That was amazing my love. You protected Nami so well" Sanji smiles holding you close "Hay what about me?" Usopp yells feeling left out but ended up being pulled away by Luffy who wants to talk about the fight. "Are you two ok?" Zoro asks walking overlooking you two up and down for injuries "Yea. were fine" You smile pulling him in to join you two in a hug "You guys were amazing. i love watching you fight" with one arm around each boy you lean up and share a kiss them. Its rare when you three do this sharking a kiss at the same time, all three lips meeting at once but thats what makes it special.

"Excuse us. i'm so sorry to interrupt" A male voice speaks out everyone turning to see three people at the top of the steps. The once injured people with old torn blood covered cloths now looked completely fine. No wounds, perfect outfits and a dull light surrounding them "Your all better. How?" Chopper runs over watching as the three make their way down the stairs "We've been trapped in a loop for so long, reliving our last moments over and over again but thanks to you all were finally free" The man you now recognize as the guy you helped spoke, In army cloths and the medal hanging form his jacket. "Thank you all" the three bow leaving the crew stunned as they slowly disappear the ship next to the sunny fading alongside them and soon there was nothing left "Wait at least give us something as a thanks" Nami yelled being held back by Usopp. Letting out a giggle your glad its finally over "Well now i can have my nap" Zoro yawned catching your attention "I think i might need one too. Mind if i join?" you ask feeling his hand grip your hip as he leans in "Always" your lips connect with his as your hand runs up into his hair "Want to join us, Cook?" Zoro asks braking away form the kiss to look up at Sanji, the poor cook didn't even get to answer as your Captain yelled out for food. "I wish i could" Sanji sighs kissing you both before going off to the kitchen being followed by Luffy.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

If you've ever wanted a castle-like house, I found one that's a real bargain. The original structure was built in 1880 in Charleston, West Virginia. It has 4bds, 3ba, and lots of levels, kind of a DIY castle. But, it's only $289,900. How often do you find a castle house for under $300K? Let's take a look and see if has potential.

So, let's see what we have here. There're train tracks right next to it, but that doesn't bother me, I grew up next to train tracks, too. It does have stone, turrets and towers, but it also has some modern construction added with vinyl siding.

In this newer addition to the home, they made a very spacious living room. Disappointed that they didn't include a fireplace, but they did put up a stone feature wall. Could make a nice mini Great Hall.

Off to the left of the living room is an elevator, so you can travel to each floor of your castle in style.

Also in the newer addition is a dining room. There's no wainscoting, it's just paint and I can't tell if there's chair rail molding around it, but there's a stone feature in the corner. That's tile-look vinyl flooring. You could always do wainscoting or wallpaper. Get a nice chandelier.

Not a kitchen befitting a castle. Although it does have that little railing on top of the uppers. That's cute. Needs at least some decor.

I looks like they not only added a new addition, but updated the rest of the house, too.

Here's a narrow shower room.

Looks like this room is used as an office, b/c it's got that weird cabinet on the wall.

What's with all the old TVs all over the house. (Don't think you're leaving those here.)

This must be the main bd. b/c it has an en-suite bath.

Not bad. That tub looks high, it must be a soaker tub.

Very nice- it has a bidet.

See, this is a room in the old section of the house. Very dated.

This is an older bath. The laminate panels on the walls date back to about the 60s.

Now, above the garage, there's a large patio. I wonder if this old rug is rotting the roof.

The house is set on a hill, so from the front porch and yard, there's a view of the city.

On the roof above one of the newer additions, there's a wood deck.

From this deck there's a view of the Kanawha River.

Looks like a nice mountainous area, yet close to a main highway. I don't see any railroad crossing safety to get to the highway.