#ulcer fic

[dappledpaintbrush]

Dimentio gets an ulcer: the fanfic. alternate title: King Boo’s inevitable return (more content for A Jester’s Lament) (don’t take my writing seriously here this is just for fun and kinda a shitpost) (also not necessarily canon) (not at the moment anyways) (I haven’t decided) (also spoilers for the entire fic)

also ignore my recent posts with my second dimentio design. for simplicity’s sake, his original AJL design is what we’re working with

(Part one btw)

—————

Dimentio scanned his writings as his eyes narrowed to a squint. “No, no,” he mumbled under his breath as he erased a word, replacing it with its more dignified counterpart. He paused once more, wondering if the extravagant word choice made him sound pretentious. He decided to keep it as it was.

It had been close to a year since King Boo fell to the Pure Hearts, and Dimentio still had yet to finish his collection of tales and spells. He wasn’t even done interviewing the Pixls, and he still had his own thousands of years worth of experience to put into words. If he wasn’t babysitting the Koopalings or visiting friends, he was writing. Writing, writing, writing, from when he saluted the sun till when he bowed to the moon. Sometimes he would even forget to eat or drink. At least, that’s what he told himself to keep things simple. He was keenly aware of his conscious ignorance of his body’s cries for help, just so he could get a few more paragraphs down on the pages.

“Dimentio!”

Despite himself, Dimentio was brought out of his hypnosis. Suddenly becoming aware of the pain in his hands, he lifted his head as Carrie was now fluttering over him. Boomer, who had been sleeping on the Ancient’s shoulder, suddenly buzzed and spun in circles in a frightened daze. Dimentio’s attention shifted to him for a moment, then back to Carrie. “What are you…” He peered at what the Pixl was holding above his head. Dimentio stood, stirring up the other Pixls resting nearby as if they were fireflies in a twilight field. “Is that my mail?”

“Uh, yes. I wasn’t snooping in your mailbox or anything!” Carrie quickly defended himself as Dimentio took the envelope in hand. “The mailman was dropping it off, and I was like, ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll take it,’ and-“

Dimentio raised a hand, silencing the Pixl’s anxious rambles as he mumbled, “It’s fine, Carrie.” His focus drifted back onto the letter. He pinched the corner, ripping it along the top not as delicately as he would have preferred.

“Ooo, the Princess!” Thudley announced, having immediately noticed the, Sincerely, Princess Peach, near the bottom of the letter. “It must be important!”

Dimentio looked around him, having been obvious to the Pixls crowding together by his head. “Weird. Usually they just text me. Ah, I must be climbing up in the ranks,” he half-joked under his breath. “Dear Dimentio, blah blah blah, blah blah blah… Mario Kart?”

“Oh, wow!” Carrie sprung up again. “Did they invite you to race?”

“Good Grambi, I hope not.” He held the note closer to his eyes. “Nope.” A strange disappointment fell upon him. I must not be as special as I previously assumed.

“Well, then what’s it for?”

“I’m getting there,” he assured Carrie, beginning to pace around his Flopside home. “Nothing-nothing-nothing, whole bunch of nothing, blah blah blah.” He recalled his eager Pixl audience, clarifying, “It’s a sort of annual race, and, uh…” He looked at the letter one more time before folding it back up and tossing it onto his bed. “I have received some sort of VIP invitation to come watch.”

“That’s so cool!” Carrie bounced up and down.

“Aren’t you excited?” Dimentio heard Piccolo ask as he opened his closet, the door creating a barrier between him and the Pixls.

“Frankly? Yes, I am.” He chuckled a little bit at the thought of it as he slipped his more formal attire off the hanger to change into. “Damnit,” he began to laugh a few moments later as he began to button up his long-sleeved black shirt.

“What’s so funny?” he recognized Slim’s voice.

“I’m just”—he snickered once more—“imagining it. All of them on their stupid little Go-Karts. Bowser, too, hah! I mean, I get it,” he clarified as he tied the strings of his pants. “I get why it’s such a huge event, but still.” He walked back into view, boots in his hand as he sat on his bed. “They have to be at least a little self aware at how… silly it all looks. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too old for this kind of stuff.”

“Sheesh, maybe you are.”

“Hey now.” He eyed Carrie. Dimentio finished lacing his dark boots and lifted himself off the bed, staring at himself in the mirror. Long gone was his flashy purple and yellow cape and his diamond-tipped cap. Over his shirt draped a dark cloak that fell down to his thighs, and a hood obscured his face with a similar darkness. Even then, Dimentio still raised his hands to tie a dark cloth around the lower half of his face, sparing only his eyes, and even they were half-blind. He knew there was nothing he could do to hide himself while he remained on the mortal plane. Everywhere he went, there was a shiver up one’s spine that followed. He was an ominous sin, an uncanny evil. Blending in with the shadow he brought with him was the least he figured he could do. But they still knew. They all did. As if it were instinct. Everyone, dead and alive, always knew when Dimentio was near.

And now, he was torn between disappointing his friends by dismissing their invitation and disappointing the world with his presence. I should be used to not ever being able to win. Dimentio shook his head at the sinister thought, disrupting the mask. Thoughts come and go. Let them come and go. Let them come and go.

“Is the race today?” Thoreau flew next to his head as Dimentio adjusted his cloth-mask.

“Tomorrow, but Peach invited us to the Castle. I assume it’s an ‘us’ at least,” he referred to Mimi, O’Chunks, and Nastasia. It had been over a month since he had seen any of them in person. He found himself more eager at that aspect than the race itself. Dimentio peered closer at the dark circles beneath his eyes, their existence unknown to him before that moment. Like the fool that he was, he proceeded to smudge them like that was going to help. “As always, you all can come with me, stay, or go.” He adjusted his collar in the mirror one final time. “I’ll return in a few days. Ciao.” Without another word, Dimentio snapped his fingers, a black box forming and closing in on him as quickly as it appeared.

A toad screeched in fright when Dimentio abruptly appeared. Whether it was due to Dimentio himself or his unexpected arrival, it was anyone’s best guess. “Sorry!” The guard cleared his throat as he stood up tall. Well, as tall as he could. “Welcome to the Mushroom Castle, Dimentio. Not…” Dimentio looked at him, and the toad fearfully shrunk down. “Not that you haven’t been here before.”

Dimentio averted his gaze. He could live for another millennia, and his damage could never truly be undone. “Who is all here?”

“Oh, uh, let me think. Her Majesty, for sure. Mario, Luigi,-“

“Dimentio! Hey!”

He peeked behind his shoulder to see Mimi entering the corridor, her arm stretched high above her head. She vanished within a heartbeat, appearing directly in front of him. Dimentio gasped out of fright, then gasped for air as she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed as tight as she could. She acted as if it had been years since they had seen each other, but it was charming in a way. “It’s so good to see you!” she greeted, hugging him every tighter.

“Is that so?” He wiggled an arm free to pull his cloth-mask down.

She pulled back, gawking at him. “You bitch, you’re supposed to say you missed me too!” Dimentio laughed in response to the playful shove on his shoulder. Before he could respond, Mimi took his chance, “Hey, come out to the cloisters with me.” She took his hand, teleporting the pair to a lounge area just before the Castle's garden. “Fuck,” she expressed to them all. “I should’ve sent a warning first.”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, Dimentio, you came!” Princess Peach interrupted him, her hands folded on her chest. “I’m so happy you could make it. I think you’re going to love it. Mario Kart, that is.”

“Haha, ‘ere he is!” O’Chunks chuckled, gesturing towards Dimentio with his finger.

“Hey, Dim,” Luigi simply said with a smile and a wave of his gloved hand.

Dimentio smiled at them both. “Hello, O’Chunks. Luigi.” He then directed his attention back to Peach. “I appreciate the invite, Princess.” His body moved forwards ever so slightly in an instinctive bow. A breeze then hit him, and he shuddered ever so slightly. He still felt so vulnerable going out in public without his cloak. Not the cloak he currently had on, his cloak. Nothing could ever replace his cloak. He pushed his thoughts aside, or at least tried to, then succeeded to actually push his wind-disrupted hair out of his eyes as he sat down in an unoccupied chair. “Who’s all racing?”

“Everybody, I think. Oh, wait, I forgot, you’re new to this. Heh, sorry.” A smile formed under Luigi’s mustache. “Well, there’s the Princess, Mario.” He gestured a gloved hand to them both. “Anyone who’s on the usual roster. Oh yeah, me too. And Mimi wanted to race, but it’s so hard to get new people onto the track.”

“Isn’t it literally called Mario Kart?” Dimentio crossed one leg over the other. “Why is it difficult?”

Mario chimed in, “It’s more so just simply named after me. I don’t really run it. Those who do, the higher-ups, they’re very strict. Something about getting new karts, altering schedules, training new racers, so on, so forth. You have to tell them months in advance for them to even acknowledge your request. Did you want to race?”

Dimentio scoffed. “Hell no.”

“How can you not?” Mimi gawked at him. “It looks super fun!”

“‘Looks,’ Mimi. It ‘looks’ fun. You try racing over a hundred miles per hour inside a volcano or something of the sort while getting pelted by shells, lightning, bombs,-“

“That’s the fun part! Geez, when did you get so uptight?”

Dimentio raised his eyebrows. “Do you not know me at all?”

“Gosh, see? This is what happens when you stop all the evil stuff cold turkey. Oh no, Mimi, I don’t want to race inside a volcano, that sounds boring! I’m going to go drink some tea and stare whimsically at the sunset for a few hours. Ooo! Maybe tomorrow I’ll drink a different flavor of tea. My, isn’t that scandalous? Wake up a little!” She reached over and shook him by the shoulders, interrupting Dimentio’s humiliated rubbing of his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at anybody. “You’re as bad as Aldus was.”

“Aldus had a few sins under his belt, don’t underestimate that.” Dimentio resumed rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, yeah, races!” When Mimi abruptly changed the subject, Dimentio lifted his head, spying Luigi quickly pretend like wasn’t staring. “What are the tracks this year?”

Peach, Luigi, nor Mario would know the answer to her question. The “higher-ups” had yet to release the roster and track list. The group conversed some more, all while Dimentio couldn’t fully cower away from the spotlight that had been put on him. He knew he had no right to feel the way he did. He wasn’t the victim of his own hand. And yet, there he was: feeling. Were they still afraid of him? The more he pondered it, the more he felt like it would be strange if they weren’t. Foolish, too. Not because he was ever going to do anything of his former nature again, but because they couldn’t prove he wasn’t.

Dimentio trekked the halls of the Mushroom Castle, not relishing in the days where he was being chased by a deranged, unstoppable feline down the chasms of blood and broken glass. He passed multiple other rooms before getting to his, a place he hadn’t been to since he was first introduced to it over a year ago. As he opened the door, the golden light spilled from the slivers in his curtains to his boots. He narrowed his eyes as something on the desk caught his attention. Letting gravity pull the door close, he stepped towards the unknown book, picking it up and blowing the dust off.

“It’s a spell book.”

Dimentio gasped and twisted his head over his shoulder, spying a door that had not closed after all and a familiar plumber standing in the entrance.

Luigi’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Dimentio quickly reassured. “No, don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He glanced at the book once more, then lifted his eyes back to Luigi. “Did you get this for me?”

“Yes. No. I mean,” Luigi cleared his throat. “I borrowed it from Merlon, and I got done reading it a while back, and I asked him if I could let you borrow it, so… Yeah, I didn’t necessarily get it for you, since it still belongs to Merlon, b-but whatever. You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Dimentio smiled slightly to ease Luigi’s clear anxiety. He stared at the title, written in the dead language of the Ancients. ‘Ancient Magic for Dummies.”

“Does it actually say that?”

“No, Monsieur, no, it doesn’t,” Dimentio chuckled quietly, and Luigi soon followed. He stepped into the room as Dimentio peered back at the cover. “I’m not too fluent. This language was practically extinct by the time I was born, surprisingly enough. See this?” He held the book out to Luigi and pointed to a word. “I know what that word means, but it doesn’t have a true English translation.”

Luigi nodded, interested. “What is your best guess?”

Dimentio’s eyes rose to the ceiling. “I believe… I am being humbled.” Luigi laughed lightheartedly as Dimentio scrambled for a word. “Enchiridion, perhaps.”

“Is this still English, my friend?”

“Guide. Manual. Instructions.”

Luigi thought for a moment. “So, my best guess is that it technically says, ‘A Guide to Ancient Magic.’”

“No.”

“But technically?”

Dimentio’s one working pupil flicked from the book to Luigi, who had a smug smile and was clearly trying not to laugh. “Sure.”

“Mhm.” He teasingly nodded with a quiet chuckle.

“Sure, I guess it technically says that.”

“And you say you aren’t fluent.”

“My relationship with language is complicated!” he spoke above Luigi’s increasing laughter. Dimentio couldn’t help but crack a smile as he flipped through the book, eventually landing on a preserved passage written in the dead script. “Ah! I know this one.” He garnered Luigi’s attention, who watched him point his finger to a word on the page and translate aloud, “The.” Silence filled the room. Dimentio dipped his head. “Je t’en prie.”

They shared hushed laughter once more. “How long has it been sitting there?” Dimentio finally asked.

“Oh, not long. Couple of months.” When Dimentio eyed him, Luigi muttered, “A year.”

Dimentio looked back at the book, flipping through the pages. While powerful in his spells, Dimentio was likely the dumbest, most pathetic Ancient to ever exist. While there was his dimension-creating spell, Dimentio never finished his apprenticeship, and it was rare he indulged in self-taught lessons throughout his centuries of life. This book was likely the answer to learning all he never got to learn. But even then, he was sure most spells would be lost to time.

‘Year,’ echoed in his head. “This is my fault. I’m sorry.”

“Dimentio-“

“Mimi was right. I do spend most of my time doing nothing. I haven’t spent as much time as I should’ve with any of you since the Odyssey trip. Especially you.” Silence took his place, then Dimentio interrupted it, “It’s not that I don’t care. I do, it’s just… I’m afraid I don’t know.” You do.

“Dimentio.” He took note of the plumber’s hand on his shoulder. In that second, dozens of battles flashed before Dimentio’s eyes. “It’s okay. It really is. I know you care, we all do. I… I get it.”

Neither of them had to explain it. Even if they wanted to say it aloud, they likely couldn’t.

“But hey, you’re here now. I am. They are.” Luigi pointed to the open door. “We’ll be here for about fifty more years on top of that. If we don’t fix it now, we have more than enough time to do so.”

“Fifty years is a second for me, Monsieur, you know that right?” Dimentio instantly regretted his negative words. Luigi was just trying to help him, like always. He was well aware of Dimentio’s statement, too. “Hell, who knows.” He popped his neck as he interrupted himself, as if it could cut off the statement already processed in Luigi’s mind. “You all just might outlive me.”

“God, I hope so,” Luigi smirked, and they both laughed again. Luigi took his phone out of his pocket after feeling its buzz. “Hey, look, they announced everything!” He rotated his phone screen to Dimentio, who caught glimpse of a message from her highness. “The tracks, who’s racing. Everyone’s in the living room. Let’s go check this shit out.” When Dimentio raised his hand to teleport them, Luigi motioned his head towards the door. “Come on, walk with me.” In protest, Dimentio levitated a few inches off the ground, then felt bad and lowered himself back down again. After being extra careful walking down the stairs, Dimentio was met with a turn of heads and a blaring television above them on the wall.

“Boooo,” Mimi called out, her thumb pointed upside down. Nevertheless, Dimentio sat down on the couch next to her.

“Have we missed anything?” Luigi asked as he sat next to Dimentio.

“Nope, nothing.” Mario shook his head.

“I am Lakitu, your host as always!” Dimentio finally paid attention to the yellow Koopa-like creature that was speaking on the television. “And oh boy, do we have some exciti news to share with you all! First, the tracks. What’s a race without its tracks, am I right? Hah! This year, we will be taking a trip down memory lane and return to our 2009 cups! That’s right! It’s all back! From Mushroom Gorge to Moonview Highway,-“

“Woohoo! Hell yeah!” Luigi jumped out of his seat, the applause from the three racers temporarily drowning out Lakitu’s announcements. Lakitu continued to list off the featured tracks from the 2009 cup, alongside bonus courses such as Berlin Byways, Dragon Driftway, and Electrodome.

“We can’t possibly do this all in one day,” Dimentio mumbled under his breath, unsure if his statement would make him sound like a complete idiot or not. He was only slightly confident in his understanding of kart racing.

“You fucking fat-headed orangutan,” Mimi began, and Dimentio sighed upon knowing it was all over for him. “It’s over several days.”

“Without further ado, let’s list off this year's selected racers!” Lakitu cleared his throat, then the green screen stationed behind him began to change. He listed the names off Luigi, Mario, Princess Peach, a randomly selected Toad, all you could expect, featured with their picture and their name written in big, bold letters. “Now, folks, we are onto the big, bad villains. But fret not! As you are all very well aware of, they have taken a solemn vow to keep their antics out of this race.” He adjusted the papers in his talons. “First off, we have Bowser! The evil, menacing King of the Koopas, you all know him! Next up, Kamek! The sly, magical, blue-clothed advisor of the Koopa King. Bowser Junior and the Koopalings are set to join us as well! Don’t let their size or age fool you, they are merciless on the karts.”

“What are they doing here?” Dimentio narrowed his eyes, his enthusiasm slipping. “This is far too treacherous for children!”

“Calm down, dude, they’re gonna be fine.”

“And how do you know that?” Dimentio turned his head to Mimi, who continued to face forwards without acknowledging him, a smug smirk on her face. He sighed, dragging his hand down his face. “I will have to initiate an intervention with their father.” Somewhere in the background, Mimi mocked him. “Right now.”

“Dimentio!” echoed around him, but he turned his attention to Luigi, who was adding, “You’re gonna miss the announcements!”

Dimentio stood and began to make his way to the back of the room. “Don’t pause it. It’s fine,” were his last words before he whisked into the hall, furiously teleporting a scarcely-used phone in his hands. “Bowser,” Dimentio briskly hissed when the ringing ceased.

“Hi!” Dimentio was immediately greeted by giggles and shrieks of laughter. His face fell. This was not Bowser.

“Junior.” Dimentio began to pace, clutching the arm that hoisted his phone with his free hand. “Where is your father?” Dimentio recognized Roy hooting in the background of the call.

“What’s the pth-password?!” Junior could barely get out the sentence before choking on his laughter. The silence that followed from Dimentio only made them erupt even more.

“There is no password.” The defeat in his voice was already present and impossible to ignore.

“Yes there is!”

”Come on, Dimentio, what’s the password?” Dimentio could practically see Wendy’s mischievous glare through the phone.

”Say it, say it, say it!” many began to chant unsynchronized.

Dimentio was a lot of things, a lot of nasty things, but he was no fool. There was only one thing they could be talking about. Dimentio glanced behind him at the corridor’s entrance, then, when no watchful eyes greeted him, breathed a deep and weary sigh. He took a double-take, then gritted his teeth together. “Balls.”

Dimentio ripped the phone from his ear as the detonated cackling threatened to deafen him. “He said it! He said it!” Larry yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Larry! Junior! All of you! Where is Bowser?! Why are you racing?! You should be in school! Lemmy, what’s nine times four?” As he expected, Dimentio’s queries were thoroughly and wholeheartedly ignored, unless the chorus of cackles was a language he didn’t know how to decipher.

After more screeches so loud that Dimentio’s phone speakers were moments away from being placed on life support, a singular thunder rose above the splattering rain. “Hey, hey! Give me that sh- Give me that!” a familiar rumble grew louder with each stomp. Junior’s cry of protest was audibly cut short as Bowser snatched the phone from his claws. “Who is this?”

“Dimentio!” Junior answered for him.

“He said balls!” Iggy screamed from below.

“Oh, y’all got him to say the password? Haha, nice. Hey, Dimentio. What’s up?”

“Bowser, I need to have a word with you about Mario Kart.”

“What about it? Roy, let go of my leg!”

“What is going through your thick skull to even ponder the possibility of letting the Koopalings race? They are children! I assumed it was common sense to not let young kids behind the wheel, especially with such dangerous speeds and unforgiving competitors-“

Bowser let out a loud, exaggerated, drawn-out snore that, for a moment, was loud enough to drown out the ramblings of the Koopalings. “Boring!” he bellowed into the phone. “Untwist your panties, Dimentio! Nothing is going to happen to them. They have their daddy’s genes!”

“That is precisely what I am worried about.”

“Geez, take a step back, won’t you? Dimentio, I’m grateful you babysit and all, but at the end of the day, I am their dad, and I know what’s best for them more than you do. Listen, if you’re gonna cry about it this much, I can at least promise you that nothing bad’s gonna happen. They’ve done this thousands of times! Ain’t that right, kids?!”

“Thousands?!”

“Dimentio.”

The voice caught him off guard, and he nearly hurt himself jerking his head back towards the entrance. There, Luigi stood, stiff, quiet, and hollow, yet so heavy. Casted in shadows, the whites of his eyes were almost like lanterns. He appeared to be unnaturally still, until the shaking of his hands became evident.

The call had become background noise. “I’ll be back,” he hastily murmured, then, with a snap of his fingers, the phone vanished. His heart stammering, Dimentio rushed forwards to Luigi, who refused to even flinch. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Dimentio…” he repeated, his frail voice somehow so sharp. Dimentio opened his mouth, yet he found himself speechless as well. He stood there, waiting, the fear fatally contagious.

At last, Luigi heaved a breath, his chest falling with an uneven shiver, and he rasped out a name Dimentio thought he would never hear in the present tense ever again.

[creatrixanimi]

One of my art goals in this fandom is to show more appreciation for my fave fics and I’ve been slowly rereading @archersxartxblog “warden’s twins” so I thought I’d try to draw some stuff for it! For context it’s a fic where 10yo ingo and emmet get sent to hisui during their pokemon journey & everyone just assumes they’re ingo’s kids lmao. It’s really good and interesting I highly recommend it! Also I can’t help but think about how drayden must be in hell in this au like Jesus Christ I can’t imagine he’s doing too well considering everything asdgdfgh

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 03

PREVIOUS

In the Fluent Freshman AU I could see a moment where Andrew kind of misses having Renee around. She was a nice quiet support for him during her time at Palmetto and now she’s graduated. Bee suggests that Andrew try and make a new friend, he can try with someone on the team even.

Andrew, initially, thinks it’s a stupid idea. He real hates pretty much every sophomore (Jack’s group) and pretty much all of the new freshmen irritate him since they’re always trying to steal Neil’s attention with all their fucking problems. The only freshman that he has no opinion on (and therefore is miles and miles ahead of everyone else) is the quiet one that he glowered at pretty early on for staring at Neil’s scars.

Except now, with the knowledge that the kid is a foreign language major, he was probably just trying to figure out what language him and Neil were talking in since the kid isn’t phased at all when Neil absentmindedly used his shirt to wipe away sweat on his face. Everyone else had LOOKED but the kid had just continued on as if it were nothing.

Nicky likes him a fair bit and has assured both Andrew and Neil, after the fourth time the kid power walked away from them, that he’s not homophobic just due to circumstances public displays of affection make him deeply uncomfortable. The Foxes have pasts and if the kid isn’t going to make it their problem then Andrew isn’t about to get irritated over it.

(Nicky doesn’t elaborate that those circumstances being that he understands that Andrew is telling Neil all the places (geographical locations) that he wants to kiss Neil and where he’d do it. He’s really not a prude but how did watching Cars 2 result in this level of dirty talk?! He’s just trying to actually get to see these movies everyone keeps referencing so that he can join in on the conversation)

The kid’s quiet company the few times Andrew’s been in it and Neil has been making some slow progress on getting the kid to open up. Andrew knows that the kid has his own weekly meetings with Betsy and he’s not about to pry.

(It’s social anxiety and stress related. No he has not told Betsy about the whole Russian situation because she’d be mad at him right? Everyone keeps telling him that Betsy and Andrew Minyard are close and that Andrew is her favorite even if she can’t admit to having something like that. She’s nice but what if she gets mad about it and tells Wymack that he’s not fit mentally to be on the team? Then what? He can’t afford college without a sports scholarship. Oh god- Betsy spends a lot of time walking him through stress relief and not worst case scenario-ing every interaction)

Andrew figures that if nothing else this kid is fine with sitting in stony silence. If it doesn’t work then w/e he tried.

So, to Fluent Freshman’s absolute horror and dismay, Andrew Minyard starts to hang around him even when Captain Neil ISN’T AROUND. He becomes unbeatable at Poker and fluent in Japanese if not fully literate.

Once it’s just Andrew and Fluent Freshman sitting in absolute silence for an hour. This might be the nicest time Andrew’s had with someone not part of his family since Renee left. “You ever consider learning Russian?” Andrew asks.

Fluent Freshman’s award winning performance starts here.

“No, I have never considered taking Russian classes here.” He responds turning a page in his book on Esperanto (he thinks it’d be fun) because why take a class for a language he’s already fluent in. He’s bad at lying but he’s GREAT at just not saying the truth.

Andrew doesn’t say anything in response and they continue to sit in silence until Fluent Freshman has to get up and go quietly have a panic attack.

Everyone, except Nicky, all think that Fluent Freshman’s the second coming of Andrew’s general apathy. Bee is proud of Andrew for willingly sitting next to someone in almost complete silence. Andrew says it helps that there’s someone else like him (Bee is confused because Fluent Freshman is known to bring his own brown paper bag to hyper-ventilate into but she says nothing.)

Only Nicky knows the full extent. Fluent Freshman is doing breathing exercises, taking pepto bismol to help his stress related stomach ulcer, and considering using his art gen-ed for theater so that he can commit to this bit better.

Fluent Freshman kind of gets used to Andrew’s quiet company until one day they’re an hour and a half into their usual absolute silence when Fluent Freshman gets up to grab something Andrew looks at him and goes “Hey wanna learn how to use a knife?” And Fluent Freshman stiffens up and straight up faints.

NEXT

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday: Fragile Things

(This is the one where overuse of light eco at the point of death rewound Damas’s soul back three years. He still isn't sure whether he actually died and accidentally entered another timeline's body when that Damas would have died early, or if he just had an extremely detailed vision. Either way, he broke into Haven and kidnapped TPL Jak literally right in front of Errol and his patrol, and 100% forgot to explain this to his people. Including Jak.) This is long so I'm breaking it into two three posts because even with a read-more it'd be a lot of scrolling.

Two Months Before the Incident:

For the children of the North Quarter, the bridge was a popular place to play and congregate. Most people didn't mind their youngsters hanging around the area, as it was close enough to the tower to discourage general mischief. Footraces, dramatic games of make-believe, even impromptu Raids matches were held on the dusty landmark. It wasn't uncommon for a passing adult to stop and keep an eye on the children for a while, occasionally playing referee.

It was not common for that adult to be King Damas.

He leaned against the tower, and an entrance to the filtration levels that only a handful of Spargans had the code to. Nine children ranging from ten to fourteen in age were spread across the bridge in little groups. The smaller ones were playing a fairly unhinged version of Raids that had evolved to include someone's pet dogat. The older three were crouched closer to him, intent on learning a marble game Jak was trying to teach them. Kill-Grid, he called it, some fusion of checkers and an Arena trial. Damas hadn't quite gotten the hang of it yet, himself, but he enjoyed watching Jak play.

One of the water staff exited the entrance and was taken aback to find him there. For a moment, the balding man looked around as if expecting trouble. When he realized that the king was merely taking his turn looking after the collective of children, he relaxed.

"One of these days someone is going to go right over the side of this thing," he sighed.

"And that's why they're never up here unsupervised," Damas agreed. Never taking his eyes from the children, he asked, "How are the new saline filters working out?"

Jeriko made a face. "All good but one. There's a crack in the seal we didn't notice at installation. We're going to have to take it out and use the old filter until it's fixed."

"Ah. I'll have the Trade guild remind its members to examine imports from Kras more closely." Damas rubbed his nose and shrugged. "Still, three out of four isn't bad."

"No indeed.”

They were silent for a while, and Jeriko noticed something. While Damas’s eyes periodically flitted across every little Spargan on the bridge, they always came back to one in particular. The skinny little thing he'd brought back after dropping off Sig for his infiltration mission. Jak, right? Or Jag? Jeriko could never quite tell, but the boy was almost always in the tower. Far more than any of his playmates would have been. Jeriko could almost swear the boy lived there.

"You knew him already, didn't you?"

He couldn't say what had possessed him to ask what so many whispered about already. A death-wish?

But Damas wasn't offended. There was a faraway quality to his gaze as he murmured, "Yes."

He folded his arms and sighed.

"He's thirteen, now. Thirteen! It doesn't seem real."

This was not what Jeriko had expected to hear. He turned to face his king in shock.

"Did you know him...before? In Haven?"

Did he leave a kid behind? He wouldn't do that, right?

Damas’s mind was far from the bridge. He answered honestly, but he did not think then how his answers would be interpreted.

"He's changed so much-! And yet for me, it seems only days since we were first separated."

Oh. Jeriko blanched. The coup. Jak had probably been a hostage to ensure that Damas cooperated. He would have been a newborn then! The poor kid! Jeriko didn't want to think about what kind of life he'd led before Damas went back for him. And now Haven had his other child, too? It was unthinkable.

"Does...does he remember?" Jeriko asked cautiously.

Damas shook his head. "No. I was a stranger to him."

His voice caught on the words.

"But it is...better this way. Better he is spared the horrors I remember. If I must rebuild our relationship from the beginning, I will gladly do so as long as he's safe."

Jak looked up then, meeting Damas’s gaze. He blinked at the intensity of it, then beamed and waved.

Damas smiled and waved back, but his eyes were still troubled.

And now, so were Jeriko's.

Five Days Before the Incident:

(The snippet where Jak jumpscares Damas by asking "Hey are you secretly my dad or something")

The Incident:

On the mainland, autumn had arrived. The air was cooling, and leaves were beginning to change color. On the desert island colloquially known as The Wastelands, fall meant temperatures dropping from 100° to 75°, and the air drying out. A relief for everyone except the people who harvested humidity to sell water. The cooling of the air meant that the sandstorm season had ended, and the rainy season would be upon them soon.

In the city of Spargus, that meant children anxiously awaiting the first major storm of the year. Once it had rained for more than fifteen minutes in a single span, the council would choose a day within the week to celebrate the Rainfall holiday on. Rainfall meant a four day break from school, and distribution of carefully conserved fruits and sweets, and the annual plays and mock battles held in the Arena to entertain the youngest Wastelanders. (And some of the older ones, not that they'd admit it.)

Jak had never heard of the holiday before being brought to the desert city. But it reminded him of Aurora Night in Sandover -- or more specifically, Rock Village. Uncle Erasmus had brought the tradition down into the coastal village when he settled there, long before Jak arrived.

He wondered where in the world Erasmus had ended up -- or maybe when. The calendars were all messed up now.

The holiday sounded like a lot of fun. There had never been more than three children in their little neighborhood in Sandover, and celebrations were subsequently quite small. But here there were more kids than Jak had ever seen in one place before. And even the older ones were excited about Rainfall!

Jak sat under an awning with a few other twelve and thirteen year olds, sorting spent ammunition casings to be recycled. It was normally a chore for very young children, but someone in Jak’s class had gotten them all on punishment.

The actions of one affected the whole.

That's the lesson the teacher was trying to impress on them: that one person breaking rules and taking risks in the ruins could put a whole team in danger.

Half the kids understood the lesson behind the group punishment. The other half -- including Jak -- thought it was just grown-ups being mean.

"Y'know what's the worst about this?" complained a girl to Jak’s left -- one of his regular playmates these days, "It wasn't even me this time! For once, I didn't sneak off, and I'm still getting baby chores!"

Jak snorted. "Lose-lose," he signed.

"You said it," Flick agreed.

She tossed another empty Scatter cartridge into a basket and nudged Jak's foot with her own.

"Hey, you think the big boss will give you a Rain Bead this year?"

"Huh?"

Jak tilted his head quizzically.

Flick took a moment to wind her braided hair back up out of her way, only to undo her work again by shrugging.

"Y'know, since you live...somewhere in the tower. Does he take care of you? Or do you live on the first floor?"

"I live with Damas? You knew that already?"

He wasn't that surprised that she'd forgotten. There were a lot of floors in the tower, and three of them had people living in them. And since people didn't like to talk about Damas’s other kid, the baby his friend in Haven was searching for, they tended to assume that Damas wasn't the one looking after Jak.

The only exceptions were the guards and the filtration staff. They gossiped worse than old Mrs. Perch! Inside the tower, it was an open secret that Jak had either been adopted by the king, or was a biological child that had been taken from him when he was exiled.

Jak pretended not to hear them gossiping when they saw him. It just made his head hurt.

Forget figuring out how that could work. Damas said he wanted to be Jak's dad on purpose! That was even better, right? Because it meant he wasn't obligated to look after Jak, he did it because he wanted to.

Jak watched a strand of bone beads bounce against Flick's braid -- off-white against bright teal -- and counted them silently.

Thirteen, one for every Rainfall Flick had experienced. She was looking forward to her fourteenth bead. Some Wastelanders had as many as twenty hanging from belts or hair! But only those with parents living in the city.

It wasn't a gift friends could give. Apparently it was reserved only for parents and guardians.

Jak didn't know if Damas would give him a rain bead, but he was hoping he would. Ada

Lost in thought, he didn't notice the half filled blaster casing still contained until his hands tingled.

Oh, he hadn't meant to channel it out!

Jak pretended to light one of his fingers on fire and watched the eco hop from vein to fingertip like a perverse candle.

It wasn't enough for a full fireball, but that was for the best. The last time there was an eco imbalance, he'd nearly singed off Teacher Rustin's eyebrows.

"Aw cool!" Flick leaned over with a wide, crooked grin. "Man, I wish I could channel."

Feeling a bit whimsical, Jak used the fire to write words in the air before it ran out.

"That's what the shells are for, right? Even the playing field."

"Yeah," Flick sighed, "I guess that's true."

Then she started digging around for more blaster casings.

"Do it again."

"Guysss!" a younger boy whined from further down the line, "Quit! You're gonna get us in more trouble!"

Considering this was the youngster who had gotten them on group punishment in the first place, nobody paid him much attention.

"Here! How about this one?"

Flick tossed another shell to Jak.

"Nah. Empty."

The baskets were nearly full by the time they found more eco. Most of their classmates had finished their allotted baskets and been dismissed to carry on with their day by then. And according to Rustin, Jak could have left by now. But he hadn't channeled yellow eco in months! Now he wanted to find more!

"Ah-ha!"

Jak held up three shells triumphantly. Now this was enough for a fireball.

Rustin leapt to his feet.

"Noooooo you don't!" the young man shouted, "You get out of here with that eco!"

Cackling, Jak and Flick scooped up a handful of disorganized cartridges and shells and dashed out of the stall towards the beach.

Nobody minded if kids made a mess on the beach. Wasn't much to mess up. Flick turned a cartwheel -- showoff, Jak couldn't do that! -- and landed on her feet. Jak just did a somersault, as he always did back h- back in Sandover.

"Hey! I'll throw a sandball, and you blast it outta the air, okay?"

Flick ran to the surf and began packing wet sand into a sphere.

Jak drew the remnants of the yellow eco out of the spent casings. The stuff ran out quickly. You either channeled it out, or it got absorbed into your core.

The warmth gathered in his palm, sharpened his sight, and Jak waited.

Flick pulled back her arm and launched her projectile straight up.

Blam!

The fireball struck it dead-on. Sand rained down on them both.

Laughing, Jak brushed it out of his hair and shoved the fully empty casings into his pocket. Sorting through the random assortment they'd grabbed, he was disappointed to find no red residue in any of them. Oh well. There was a hint of blue, though.

Jak curved his right hand down into his left palm.

"Again!"

"You got it, partner!" Flick ran back to make another sandball, missing Jak's wince.

He didn't want to hurt her feelings, but he wasn't her partner. It was Jak and Daxter, not Jak and Flick. Damas’s friend would find Daxter, Damas said so! He was so sure of it! Damas was always telling him that he would see Daxter again, that he couldn't give up.

Flick was his friend -- she'd probably be Daxter's friend, too -- but Daxter was the one who'd been through enough with him to be a partner.

"Okay! Ready for launch?"

Flick waved an arm.

"Readyyyyy- go!"

This time, Jak didn't shoot a fireball. This time he'd gotten a fingerful of blue eco.

Just that little bit was enough to propel him four feet up in a single leap to slap a hand against the sandball, smashing it.

"Yoooo!" Flick crowed, "That was awesome!"

Then an idea struck her. Jak recognized that little shimmer. When the girl's brown eyes looked almost gold for a moment, that was cause for concern. That meant somebody's parents were going to get called by the end of this.

Unfortunately, it also meant something really fun was about to happen. Choices, choices.

"Wait here." Without waiting for an answer, Flick turned and pelted up the beach, sending up little sprays of sand in her wake.

Jak tucked the Vulcan cartridge into his pocket with the other casings and shrugged. The weather was nice, he didn't mind waiting. The water was just beginning to cool, the perfect temperature for swimming. Jak struggled with his boots -- laces, he *hated* laces! It took *weeks* for Damas to teach him to tie his own stupid shoes! -- and kicked them off with a grumble before diving in.

The salt stung his eyes, but Jak had grown accustomed to that years ago. He pushed past the cloudy grit of the shallows and down past the breakers, to where the water was clear, and clean, and blue.

There was coral here. Not as dense as the reef in Rock Village, but there were more fish around it. Parrotfish nibbling at odd ends, wrasse darting in and out and hiding in the sand, funny little things shaped like flat ribbons that bumbled along. Jak loved to watch them all.

Sometimes, if he looked hard enough, he could find pieces of orbs under the coral. There were some whole ones, too, but prying them out would require breaking the coral, and Jak still remembered Samos's hour long lecture about coral being an animal of some kind. Jak didn't want to hurt an animal that wasn't hurting him just for the sake of something shiny. The shards of orbs he dredged up were enough -- the adults certainly seemed to think so. Apparently there were so many broken orbs around the desert that shards had become the most common form of currency. Jak wondered what could be powerful enough to smash an orb.

It wasn't until he came up for air that he realized Flick had been calling him. He wasn't sure when she'd gotten back. Time seemed to disappear when he was underwater. In no particular hurry, Jak swam a leisurely circuit before making his way back to shore. Flick had a bag over her shoulder that she was clinging to with a clear impatience. What was she up to?

"C'mon! Hurry! Before my mom figures out I took these!"

Well that was both promising and ominous at the same time.

Jak shook off seawater like a crocadog. (He saw them swimming beyond the reef sometimes. He badly wanted to touch one, but it Wasn't Allowed, apparently.)

Flick squealed and jumped out of the way.

"Ja-aak! Quit!"

He did not.

Once he'd wrung out his scarf -- and flicked the water off his fingers and onto his friend -- Jak leaned over with a questioning grunt.

Flick's eyes sparkled with mischief.

When she pulled back the flap, shiny yellow and blue plastic caught the sunlight.

Bullets. Unspent bullets.

Flick was fourteen; she was allowed to have Scattergun cartridges -- Jak still had to wait a year to be allowed to hold a gun -- but Blaster and Vulcan rounds? Absolutely not. The lure of the forbidden pulled at Jak, and he only hesitated for a moment.

The last time he'd given in to that call, his best friend got turned into an ottsel. But, they'd also uncovered Gol and Maia's plot.

And it wasn't like there was any dark eco here. He definitely had no chance of turning Flick into an ottsel.

Jak took adventure's bait, hook line and sinker.

Prying open the bullets to get the eco out was difficult. It took several minutes, and the sun was beating down uncomfortably on their shoulders when they finally cracked the seal on a Vulcan round. But it was so worth it. The rush of blue eco, shooting through his body, made Jak feel almost like he was back on Sentinel Beach. He whooped and took off down the strand, laughing.

Go go go go go! cried the eco in his blood, Faster! Higher! Further!

He'd made it halfway up the side of the cliff before he felt the eco beginning to wear off. Making the most of every last spark, Jak kicked off the rock wall and into a backflip, landing on his feet.

The nice thing about blue eco was that he was never out of breath after using it.

Jak turned to find Flick, much further down the beach. He waved his arms with a theatrical, "TA-DA!"

Flick whooped and waved her own arms. She waited until Jak had jogged back to her before pulling out a Blaster bullet.

"Now let's do fire!"

They spent close to half an hour playing with the elements of motion and range and fire. It was so strange to Jak that this was such a foreign concept to children in Spargus. There were no open vents here, no clusters of raw eco oozing from the rocks and the sea and the earth itself. Was it because it was a desert?

"Hey Jak," Flick said when they had begun to wind down, "How come you can channel more than one eco?"

Jak looked away from the sun, which was beginning to sink, with a startled grunt.

Oh. Right. The sages only ever channeled just one. He supposed monks were like sages in training, so they probably only channeled one eco, too.

"I don't know. I just do." Jak shrugged. "I can't turn it off. It just happens."

Flick laid back on the sand with her hands behind her head. "Huh. Well, that's kind of cool though."

They were quiet for a few seconds, but the calm wouldn't last.

Flick abruptly sat up and shifted to look at Jak. He blinked back at her upside-down visage and wondered why he suddenly had a bad feeling.

Was this what it was like to be Daxter?

"Have you ever channeled more than one eco?" Flick asked, "*at the same time?"*

A year ago, Jak would have said that was impossible. Picking up green turned off the effects of blue. Yellow turned off red. He just couldn't hold onto two at once.

Or so he'd thought.

But then came the last battle against the Acherons.

"Actually..."

Now Jak sat up, frowning.

"Actually, yeah! Only once, but it was like-"

He made a few meaningless gestures, trying to convey a sensation he couldn't describe.

"It was all four! And- and they mixed or something into- to- white eco or something!" Jak's hands were exaggerated into a shout. "It was like mega powerful!"

"Nuh-uh!" Flick challenged, but she was smiling. "There's no way. You did not homebrew light eco."

"Wasn't me, it was four sages!" Jak explained. "Maybe that's why I could do it?"

"Well can you only do it with all four, or does it work with three? Or even just two?"

The wheels were turning in Flick's head.

"What if you wanted speed and firepower, but not super strength?"

"Blue and yellow! Maybe!"

Jak didn't know that it wouldn't work.

And even if it didn't, at worst one would just cancel out the other.

"Might not do anything, but who knows!"

"We'll know.”

Next>

[linka-from-captain-planet]

as someone who's pretty much exclusively interested in a) female characters, b) minor/background female characters, and c) F/F rareships/crackships usually also involving minor or background female characters, the fact that such a loud chunk of the fandom has the sheer audacity to demand that L*rian canonize their wish fulfillment fanfic about romancing male characters that have PLENTY of fan content already, relative to their role in the game, is just soooo

[galwithalibrarycard]

I’ve decided I’m writing a Hacks (HBO) fanfic where Ava Daniels is diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. Having a situationship with an older woman who has years of cancer-prevention colonoscopy experience and a long-standing doctor-patient relationship with one of the country’s best gastroenterologists turns out to be a huge asset in this situation.

[a-furious-frog]

what my heart was worth Chapter 2!

because the plug-in from Ao3 only links to the first chapter! GAH.

Once more!! With feeling!!

[cogcltrcorn]

unfortunately this no longer fits in my Vision of the wip but I feel like you all still need to see this bc. like I think we are not paying enough attention to the way stewy is like. Anti kendall quitting cocaine

[eggtrolls]

The lack of respect I have for people who think like this defies quantification. ‘writers are Not looking for criticism, constructive or otherwise’ what the actual fuck are you talking about. I have without exaggeration shaken people by the shoulders to get more specific and nuanced critiques from them, and yes that was about fic. Who the fuck do you think you’re speaking for because you are not speaking for me. I could not even imagine putting out this take online, because why?!! Because this is just you’re telling on yourself. Immediately. Could not be a bigger ‘this opinion is garbage, the thought process behind it is garbage, the cultural milieu and mindset that has supported and encouraged this is garbage, and so is the rest of your writing’ flag than to say ‘WRITERS DON’T WANT CRITIQUES’ with your whole chest. I am screaming I’m sweating I’m an animal I’m a worm I’m in agony from this level of head in the sand, lily-livered, anyone who says a single negative comment is attacking me and my entire sense of self chickenshittery! No! That is horseshit and just shows that you lack the requisite backbone, confidence, and strength of character to write anything, you know, good. Why would I listen to anything you say after this, let alone read it? It tells me everything I need to know about not only your writing (that I don’t want to read it) but you as a writer (that I am deeply uninterested in the rest of your uh output). Garbahge.

[lanternlightss]

I AM HAVING !!!! THOUGHTS !!!!!!! ABOUT THOSE SUN AND MOON ANIMATRONICS

[dappledpaintbrush]

dimentio gets an ulcer fanfic part two (part one)

same stuff as last time: spoilers for ajl, and don’t take my writing seriously this is more or less a shitpost LMAO.

Also this was originally going to be a lot longer. But y’all have been waiting for a long time, so I’ll make the series four parts now lol

————

“What the hell do you mean you knew?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The plumber’s calmness was nauseating. “I meant I knew it was inevitable. King Boo always comes back. Every villain we’ve ever fought has come back. I mean, unless we straight up killed them. I mean, hell, even then they’ve returned sometimes!” The look of realization on his face was almost funny. Almost. “I was talking about Bowser, and… the lava and stuff. Dimentio, I didn’t… I wasn’t talking about…”—his mustache twitched as he squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled a few words in Italian under his breath—“you.”

Thankfully for the flustered Luigi, Dimentio had already stopped listening and was close to forgetting everything that had occured in the past half hour. “Then why were you acting like you just witnessed a beheading?” He clutched the air with tense, trembling fingers.

”Did I ever say I wasn’t nervous?” His firmness dwindled. “I was more so terrified to tell you. At least I’m somewhat used to this. You, on the other hand-”

”Why keep doing it then? Why keep fighting this tyrant when you know all of it is going to be in vain?”

Luigi blinked his eyes wide. “That’s not fair, Dimentio.”

”I know!” Dimentio snapped towards him, but he immeditately noticed Luigi’s slight, yet heavy flinch. Dimentio’s expression was swallowed whole by guilt. “I… know. I know, I know, I know.” He offered his head into uneasy hands that slipped upwards from his face to his head, clutching his hair with no intent to let go. His eyes flashed open through the cracks of his forearms. “I’ll kill him.”

”No!”

Dimentio’s arms were ripped from his head. His vision focused to see his hands tightly compacted within large, gloved fists. “Can you release me?” Despite himself, he muttered a tease, “If you wanted to hold my hands this badly, you could’ve asked. I would have taken pity on you.”

”Shut up, Dimentio, I’m being serious.” He clutched Dimentio’s hands tighter. “You will not go after him.”

“I’m being serious, too. Let go of my hands.”

”If you promise you won’t teleport.”

“What do you take me for?” Dimentio cocked his head. “A fool? Do you genuinely believe I would teleport to his whereabouts without thinking and win?”

”I know you are capable of exactly that,” he hissed with a tone that, for some reason, almost sounded threatening.

Dimentio was no longer offended, but confusion took its place. “Then why aren’t you letting me go?”

Luigi looked down at their hands and back into Dimentio’s eyes, his breaths burdensome. “As much… faith, as I have in you, I don’t know what he is capable of, either.”

Dimentio was quiet, and he, too, looked at their hands before returning to Luigi’s blue eyes. “Let me go.”

Luigi took a deep breath, held it, and at last, allowed his grip to slip away. His strict gaze tracked Dimentio’s hands for a few moments until he finally decided to trust the Ancient again. “Do you understand? Please, understand me. I know you are capable of ending his game before he even realizes you’re there. But this is something we have to scope out. Do you understand? The fact he escaped the Purity Heart is alarming enough. We need to keep our distance, especially you. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he hates you more than he hates me. Dimentio, please. I need to know you are not going to do anything rash. Please, understand where I’m coming from.”

‘Understand’ didn’t sound like a word anymore. Dimentio resumed his pacing. “I understand where you are coming from, Luigi, and if it keeps you sane, I will do as you say. That does not mean I agree. You must still underestimate me in some capacity if you are keeping me tethered here.”

“Dimentio, if there is anybody who does not underestimate you, it is me.” The tips of Luigi’s fingers rested on his chest. “Believe that.”

Dimentio paused, quiet all but for a moment. “And that is precisely why I have to go.”

“What are you talking about?”

He swiveled around and stared Luigi down. “I know why you do not underestimate me! I owe you the risk of me taking him down. The longer we wait to think about doing something, the longer he has to actually do it!”

Luigi lifted his palms as if he was surrendering. “I don’t think like that, and you know that. You don’t owe me.”

Dimentio sunk into the expression on Luigi’s face as it flickered with a wretched reminiscence. He eased himself away, almost cowering, then responded despite the abyss in his chest, “I owe you everything.”

“If you want to owe me anything, owe me your safety. All I am asking is that you stay here and wait. You could make everything worse by going out there and provoking him. For God’s sake, he’s enrolled in Mario Kart! He’s been out for a long time, and clearly, his priorities are not me, or you, or anybody else. That’s another thing. I don’t want you attending.”

Dimentio raised his head and narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?” he immediately retorted.

“I do not want you going. There are civilians out there, and I do not believe it would be in their best interests if you two were in close proximity to each other. Frankly, I don’t trust either of you to not make a big scene.”

“You’re treating me like a tantrum-throwing toddler. I won’t make a scene.”

“Wow, thank you so much. Of course you will, that’s your whole bit! Making scenes! You’d probably bring out the similes again.”

And with a sentence as simple as that, the vision of the man in green standing him began to twist and contort to one of the past: terrified, pleading. Bleeding. A distant laughter traveled from Dimentio’s memory down his spine, and he shivered at himself. He attempted to dismiss the sick feeling in his stomach as he played around with Luigi’s words, “Were they… not amusing?”

“No.”

“Pardon?”

“Pardon? Shut up.” Dimentio and Luigi’s heads turned towards the door, where, beneath its threshold, Mimi was crossing her arms. “I’m gonna need you to put your big boy pants on, okay, Dimentio? I promise, not everything is about you. He’s not after you.”

“It is not I who my concerns surround,” Dimentio growled as she made her way between the two and began adjusting her hair. “It’s you, it’s Luigi, it’s-“

“And not everything is about us either.” She then pulled her lips to the side and shrugged. “Well, except me, of course, but King Boo is probably only thinking, ‘Wow, that Mimi girl, she was so hot, especially when she kicked my ass, I should call her.’ And then I’m gonna answer and think ‘Um, ew!’ but in reality I’m gonna pretend to like him so I can scam him of all his money before blocking him and putting him on my Twitter blacklist.”

“Thanks, Mimi. I knew I could count on you.”

“My pleasure. Anyways, Dimmy, it’s gonna be fine.” Her spider fangs glistened in the light as she grinned, but her optimism did not bring the Ancient any form of peace. “Everybody here can handle themselves just like you can.”

“Think about it, Dimentio,” Luigi resumed. “He probably doesn’t even want to come after us now that you’re here. He’s also very aware of how dangerous you are, especially now that you have complete access to your magic. There’s no current reason to hunt him down.”

“No current reason? After all he’s done?” It was then that Dimentio’s face fell. A brutal silence began to suffocate them. Slowly, Dimentio raised an arm towards Luigi. With his widened eyes and slightly parted lips, Dimentio knew Luigi was aware he had been found out. “I know what you’re doing.” Dimentio’s extended arm started to tremble as he crept ever closer. “That… thing. That thing you talked to me about back when I was in the hospital. ‘I don’t harm my enemies when they don’t harm me.’ Am I recalling that correctly? That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?” That same silence gripped them both before Dimento whispered through the slivers of his teeth, “You’re trying to show him mercy.”

Luigi didn’t attempt to speak, and his silence said more than words ever could.

Mimi shoved herself between the two. “You leave him alone, Dimentio! That mercy is what gave us the opportunity to change!”

“Mimi, do you sincerely think King Boo is capable of that?”

“Well nobody thought you were! And here you are, still acting like a bitch!”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Luigi reentered the debate. He grabbed his hat and let his arm flop down at his side while he ran his spare hand thrugh his hair. “Okay, okay. We need to talk about it later when our judgement is not so disturbed. Mimi.” She gave Dimentio one last glare, then teleported without a word. Luigi sighed softly and stared at his shoes. He closed his eyes and adjusted the cap back on his head. “I’ll leave you alone for now, Dimentio.” He looked at the Ancient one more time. “Please,-“

“I won’t leave. You have my word.”

Luigi’s mouth closed, and he nodded. He slowly walked towards the door and closed it without ever looking back. Dimentio stared at the door until he felt his joints begin to sway. With a sigh of his own, he ambled towards his bed and grazed it with a gloved hand before slowly easing himself down on its edge.

How could he do it? How could he be so kind that it was a flaw? Dimentio was already dumbfounded by the grace Luigi had extended and continued to extend to him, but viewing it through this perspective left him dazed. The worst of it all was that Dimentio knew his wrath had no justification. In fact, it was a disturbing insult. Dimentio had caused so much more harm than King Boo would ever be capable of. Yet, here I am. Sulking, like a toddler with her kite entangled in the oak. Dimentio scrunched up his face at his own thoughts. So the similes are back.

But despite his self-awareness, Dimentio could not ignore the constriction in his chest and stomach. How dare he? He was already the epitome of brutality, and somehow, he had managed to drag his soul further down. And for what? His worry lied not with himself, but with Luigi and the others, yet he continued to worry, the singular thing they had requested him not to do.

Request. Luigi requested Dimentio to not attend the race.

That was something else Dimentio could not do.

——————

Dimentio hovered a few feet above the crowd, looking down upon them like a guardian angel absolutely nobody wanted. Just because he was invisible did not mean he was non-existent. As long as nobody had the sudden urge to jump twelve feet in the air, he would not be found out. And at the moment, that was the second last thing he wanted.

For the first time time in centuries, Dimentio prayed. He prayed with his entire heart that King Boo would not show up, but not in the sense that the monarch simply decided not to attend. No, Dimentio wanted him dead. He prayed for spontaneous combustion, or perhaps a freak accident involving an active jet engine. But either Grambi did not care, or he was too busy trying to make Dimentio’s wishes come true, because nothing indicated either requests were fulfilled. Yet.

Familiar voices made their way to him, and he lifted his head and ears above all the noise. He caught sight of his friends amongst the crowd, laughing and talking amongst themselves. Dimentio drifted closer, but not too close, and their chatter became clear.

“This is so-so fun!” Mimi squealed, bouncing her legs up and down after sitting down on the bleachers. “Gosh, I don’t even know who to root for! So many of my friends are out there!”

“How about… all of them?” Nastasia commented.

“Well, too late, because I spent my last five dollars on this.” Mimi raised her giant foam hand with a poorly-drawn, disintegrating image of Luigi’s face on it. “I’m gonna have to cancel my water bill until my next paycheck comes in.”

With a sigh, Nastasia handed Mimi a crisp ten dollar bill, who lit up before teleporting with a quick snap of her fingers.

It was then that, without warning, Dimentio was whacked in the face with a flailing football that had been launched to the fullest possible force. Or perhaps it was lightly tossed, and Dimentio was just puny and frail. Either way, he screamed as he crashed into the grimy metal walkway, his invisibility spell fleeing from him as he lost control.

“Good god.”

“Dimentio?!” O’Chunks shouted over Nastasia. “Ain’t yeh suppose’ teh be back at the castle?”

Somewhere in the background, a security guard was chastising two boys and confiscating their football. Dimentio scrambled to his feet, slapping himself as if that would remove the forty seven diseases that were now running rampant on his face. “Do you really-? Blaugh.” He dragged his tongue across his sleeve. “Do you really believe I would adhere to such an order?”

“No. No, we didn’t,” Nastasia said blankly. “Dimentio, you need to leave. Luigi asked you not to be here for a reason, and-“

A teleportation sound made him lift his head. “Dimentio, what the fuck?!” Mimi nearly dropped her foam hands of Mario and Peach. “Come on, dude. You cannot be serious.”

“It has come to my attention that I am the only person who is serious! Where is Luigi?” he questioned. The event had yet to begin, but a handful of racers were mingling out by their karts. Luigi was not one of them.

“Uh, no. I am not telling you that.”

“I’m not going to do anything, I simply want to know…” Dimentio’s voice trailed off as yet another group of voices caught his attention. This time, it made his eyes widen in indescribable terror. There were babies on the racetrack.

Before he could inform the others of his departure, Dimentio snapped his fingers, and now he had seven pairs of eyes staring up at him.

Their shock immediately brightened into excitement. “Dimentio!” most shouted in unison.

Junior shoved himself in front, wagging his reptile tail (He had seen a dog do it on the television and insisted that it came natural to him). ”Have you come to watch us race?”

“Have you already forgotten? The answer is no!” His evident frustration only made the Koopalings throw a fit of giggles. “All of you, off of this track- Hey, hey!” He immediately swayed to the side with the sudden weight of Lemmy on his arm. “What was that talk we had?” Dimentio raised his voice above the shrieks and glared at the beaming smile from the young Koopa clinging onto his arm. “You can’t be climbing on me like you do your dad!”

With tears in his eyes, Lemmy sputtered, “Wh-What’s the password?”

“Absolutely not.” Dimentio waved his finger, prying Lemmy off of his arm with a spell. He set the Koopaling down on the grass, then jerked his arm out of the way of Larry, who was trying to copy his brother. “I need all of you to listen to me.”

Wendy groaned loudly with annoyance. ”Lighten up, Dimentio! Didn’t our dad already tell you? We’ve done this a trillion times. We’re fine.”

“Just because you’ve done it before doesn’t make it right.”

“What were you doing at our age, huh?” Junior raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure you weren’t living life with training wheels.”

“When I was the approximate equivalent to your age, we did not have vehicles to potentially crash and get hurt in.”

“Okay Grandpa, huh-huh,” Morton chuckled.

“Yeah, go back to your retirement home before your nurse gets angry,” Iggy added with a snort.

Dimentio kept his demeanor for a few more moments, then ran his hand down his face in defeat. “At least promise me none of you will do anything stupid.”

“Stupid is my middle name!”

“Roy, that’s not how that works.”

Dimentio shifted his attention from the dialogue between Roy and Ludwig to the rest of the track, scanning for any sign of Luigi. Still, the plumber was nowhere to be found. Neither was King Boo.

“Are you gonna race?”

“No, no,” Dimentio, distracted, answered Junior through a quiet murmur under his breath. The Ancient rubbed his temple before giving the track one more glance. “I have to go now. Have… fun,” he finally said begrudgingly.

A mixture of, “We will!” and, “You too!” were shouted at the same time as Dimentio put on the cloak of invisibility once more. He teleported himself away from the Koopalings and placed himself in the sky, peering down at the world below, waiting.

And at last, Dimentio caught sight of him. With the sudden roar of cheers from the crowd and his bright green attire, his arrival would’ve been impossible to miss. Luigi walked backwards towards his kart, smiling and waving to the crowd like a true performer. Dimentio thought it couldn’t get any louder, then Mario and Princess Peach waltzed onto the track, hand in hand. The Ancient had to cover his ears.

“We have ten minutes left, everyone! Just ten more minutes until the race begins!” the announcer’s voice echoed around the stadium, and the claps, whistles, and hollers erupted once more.

“Ten minutes…” Dimentio quietly hissed. His eyes rapidly flicked across the karts. Only three were still vacant. “Where are you…”

Birdo, then a Dry Bones. One last kart. Of course he would want to be the last one out. The final reveal; the grand announcement. What else did Dimentio expect? Any moment now, he would reveal himself, the audience will cheer, and Dimentio’s ears will bleed.

He heard it. The cackle. That cackle.

King Boo teleported onto the track, sporting his rows of canines with a grin so confident. A handful of Boos in the crowd cheered him on as he bowed. He soaked in the applause and laughter from the Boos for what felt like an agonizing length of time, and, at last, he floated down to his kart and gave the crowd one last wave.

Dimentio did not have time to react or even feel, because at his kart King Boo did not stay. King Boo had begun to drift forwards, and Dimentio’s breath caught in his throat as he realized where the ghoul was heading.

“Luigi!” King Boo boomed. The plumber flinched where he stood despite his evident knowledge of the ghost’s presence based off of the poorly-hidden panic that shrouded his face. It took everything for Dimentio to not kill the monarch where he hovered.

“King Boo…” Luigi turned around and gazed upwards. “I didn’t… see you.”

“Did you not hear them?” King Boo tilted closer in Luigi’s face, who shrunk down in response. “They were going crazy over me! Albeit not as bonkers as they went for you. But that’s to be expected, of course. You are the star of the show.”

“Well, uh, I wouldn’t say that, you know,” he forced an uneasy chuckle.

“So modest, aren’t you? Goodness, you’re so sweet, it’s nauseating. When will you ever allow yourself to feel?”

“King Boo.” Dimentio hadn’t even noticed Mario, who placed himself between the two. “The race is about to start. I advise you go back to your kart.”

King Boo’s grin widened. “I wouldn’t risk this race for anything. I just want to ask your brother… a question.”

Luigi glanced at his brother, and nodded. Mario hesitated before stepping away back to his kart, scowling at King Boo the entire way and after. Luigi stood up straighter, inquiring, “What do you want, King Boo?”

“It’s not something I want, because that implies I will actually do something about it. I just want to know.” King Boo crept closer, forcing Luigi to back up into his kart. “Where is that clown?” he interrogated, oblivious to the fact that the aforementioned clown was right beside him, just begging for an excuse.

Give me a reason. Any reason.

Luigi peeked through his tightly-shut eyes. “He died.”

King Boo and Dimentio both blinked a couple of times. “What?” the monarch spat out.

“Yes, he died.” When Luigi was met with silence, he added, “He was… too old.” More silence. Luigi swallowed. “Way too old.”

King Boo gawked at him for a little bit longer, then anger began to creep onto his pale complexion. “You are lying. Where is he?!” King Boo jerked forwards and Luigi threw his hands in front of his face. Dimentio snapped his fingers.

The king and the Ancient locked eyes. Unwavering. Silent.

“Dimentio…” King Boo uttered as quietly as one could speak.

“Oh my god. It’s like he’s still here with us.” Luigi grasped Dimentio’s arm and practically dragged him off of the course. He grabbed Dimentio’s shoulder and briskly spun him around. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Dimentio did not speak. He stared at Luigi, and Luigi stared at him. Luigi’s breaths were sharp and heavy, and Dimentio was completely still. At last, Luigi sighed and looked away, wiping the sweat from his forehead and flicking it onto the grass. He opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off.

“Attention, folks! The race is just about to begin! Drivers, in your seats, pronto!”

Luigi stared at the speaker just above their heads, and sighed once more. “Go home.” With a slight adjustment of his cap, Luigi began to make his way back to the course. He glanced over his shoulder once, then never again.

Dimentio casted the invisibility spell for what felt like the thousandth time as he took his place in the sky. King Boo was stationed in eighth place, hovering over his seat as he glared ahead with a snarl. Which trophy did he have his eyes on: a golden cup or Dimentio’s head?

As the announcer spewed his final words, Dimentio lowered himself back to the ground. He treaded the asphalt, silently weaving between the rumbling motors.

“Three!”

Dimentio’s boots stepped onto the hood of the kart, and the noise made King Boo tilt in bewilderment.

“Two!”

Standing before the wheel, Dimentio leaned forwards towards the unsuspecting monarch with hope that his dark, worn soles disturbed the shine.

“One!”

Admidst the echoing roar of the crowd and the exhausts that flared with heaves of smoke, Dimentio whispered, “I will kill you.”

“Start!”

Dimentio teleported as a burst of flames shot out of the exhausts and sent King Boo spiraling forwards. The Ancient allowed himself to fall a good distance before he caught himself moments before death. He set himself up straight and watched the karts fly off in the distance in the first lap of Mario Kart Stadium.

Nobody was answering Dimentio’s prayers but himself.

[mckiwi]

Whumptober 2022 Day 8: Stomach Pain

Characters: Stephen Strange, Christine Palmer, Wong

Summary: The toll of magic is different for everyone. Apparently for Stephen, it means a change of diet.

Ugh. He knew he shouldn't have gone back for a second helping. Stomach full and content, Stephen threw his breakfast bowl in the sink to wash later. He plopped into his favorite chair and took out the book he had been reading. He hadn't gotten through three paragraphs before the Sanctum rumbled in warning. Something was wrong. A light flickered in the hallway, then a little further. Trusting the Sanctum to lead him, Stephen followed the flickering lights to the relic room. He immediately saw the problem.

A vase was shattered on the floor with a black cloud surrounding it… demons… an amazing start to his day. The black cloud quickly formed snarling faces, all of them chanting we're free, we will reign yet again, we have escaped, and other victorious cries. "Oh no you don't," Stephen said and cast the Shield of the Seraphim around the unwanted guests. They, of course, didn't appreciate it as they immediately started clawing at the golden runes caging them. He then fastened the vase back together and trapped the demons back inside. Not a permanent fix, but long enough for him to find a better containment.

Stephen lightly clutched his stomach as a sudden wave of nausea rolled over him. That wasn't even a taxing spell? Why would he be feeling affects? Perhaps it's just because he recently ate. Yes, that had to be it. His stomach just hadn't digested the food yet.

Later that day, Stephen only took about five bites of his pizza before his heart started to burn and his gut twisted. What was going on? Two instances in one day? He was healthy, wasn't he? He felt the best he had in years. He wasn't diabetic or at risk for most medical emergencies. Maybe it was time he called in that favor with Christine.

————————

"Check again," Stephen demanded.

"I can check again all you want me to but the fact still remains you have a stomach ulcer," Christine explained, slightly sympathetic. "There's multiple reasons a stomach ulcer can appear, there's-"

Stephen raised a hand to stop her, "I know, Christine. Thank you, but I'm aware of the causes as well. I've still got a doctorate, not that anyone cares."

Christine sighed, "you know I didn't mean it like that. What do you think caused it, then?"

Stephen returned the sigh, "the only thing I can think of is-"

He opened the fridge and immediately gagged as he saw its contents, "Wong! Please tell me there's a perfectly good explanation for why there's eyeballs in the fridge!"

Wong meandered to where Stephen was and made a small noise of realization, "so that's where those went."

"Why are they in there?" Stephen asked. "That's gotta be at least twelve biohazards."

"Magic," Wong answered and opened the jar.

"Magic?" He repeated, watching as Wong snatched an eye from the jar, "for what? Potions? Spells?"

Wong popped the eyeball in his mouth like a grape, "for a snack." Stephen heaved.

"Crap," Stephen groaned.

"Crap? What's that mean? You need to take a crap?" Christine asked.

"What? No. Well… yes, but that's not what this is about," Stephen deflected. "Magic takes a toll. That's why we have relics to take the strain our bodies can't. That's not to say the body doesn't get away scot-free, though. The toll can take many forms as it changes your biology to be a better conduit for magic. It can affect the blood, brain, eyes, lungs, ears, and even the stomach."

"What's that mean for you then? You'll have stomach ulcers from now on?" Christine asked worriedly.

Stephen shrugged, "I don't know. I'll ask Wong about it. He should know. It's probably nothing serious."

————————

"I'm perfectly serious, Stephen. Your stomach can't tolerate human food anymore," Wong explained.

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose, "this can't be happening."

Wong laid a hand on his shoulder, "it's alright. You'll just have a slight change in diet. The other sorcerers who have a similar toll have adapted. So will you."

"I don't wanna eat eyeballs, Wong! I live in New York City! I want to eat pizza, french fries, and all the other greasy foods that'll shave at least twenty years off my life!" Stephen protested. "What if I ate human food anyway? I'm used to pain, I can deal with heartburn if that means no interdimensional… whatever is gonna enter my stomach."

Wong pressed his lips together, "I assure you the food isn't that bad. You can still eat salad, it'll just be lettuce from another dimension. As for eating human food, you still can, it'll upset your stomach and give you bad reactions. Similar to someone who's lactose intolerant. You're just human-food intolerant."

Stephen dropped his head on the table. A moment later, he heard a click beside him as Wong set down a bowl. It almost looked like spaghetti, but Stephen wasn't fooled. "What's in this? Alien intestines? Bug guts?"

"Pasta, meat, and sauce," Wong deadpanned. "From the Elysium dimension. Grains and fruits grown from the Elysian Fields. Meat straight from the Farm." Wong pushed the bowl to Stephen's elbow.

It did smell quite pleasing, far better than the sandwich he tried to choke down earlier. Stephen stared at the bowl incredulously, then at Wong. His stomach growled. "If this kills me, I guarantee you I will come back to haunt your every waking moment." Stephen twirled some noodles onto his fork, raised it to his mouth, and took a bite. The flavor exploded in his mouth so suddenly and-

Oh.

That actually wasn't half bad. A bit more of a herbal taste than spaghetti normally had, but not bad.

Wong smirked at Stephen's surprised face, "told you."

[teamhawkeye]

You write? Do you have an ao3?

yes, but i have not published anything on it since 2019 gahskdhasdlasdad

that'll change soon, i'm part of a fic exchange that i'll be sharing my piece in August!

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

There was supposed to be a Wednesday post, but then Wednesday got hectic lol. So they're both going into one long one: the "I isekai'd Damas into Stardew Valley simply for the sake of a few dreadful jokes and I refuse to take it back now" au

Spring, Year 1

Featuring an Incident that occurred the first time I found out what happens if you try to give an npc a flower but you aren't fully facing them

"It's a what hunt?"

Abigail looked up from the shelf and wrinkled her brow.

"An egg hunt? You know, for the Spring Festival?"

Damas blinked, bewildered.

"I...don't think we had those-"

in the desert

"-in the city."

The desert again. Why does that word keep coming back to me? They're only dreams. Dreams can't hurt you.

The young woman grimaced sympathetically. "Eesh. Probably is for the best your granddad left you the old Spargus place, huh? You barely know anything."

"Oh thanks a lot!" Damas huffed, with a bit of wounded pride.

"Well I didn't mean it like that!" Abigail elbowed him and finally got back to stocking the shelves for her father.

"I mean you got a lot to learn about Pelican Town!"

"So...egg hunt..." Damas pretended to be interested in a can of preserves. The way the light reflected off of Abigail's hair, that specific shade of violet, reminded him of something. A crystal he'd seen once. Somewhere.

"Eggs don't really move though. How do you hunt them?"

Abigail turned very slowly.

"You're...not joking."

"No? I'm not jo- why would I be joking?"

"Oh lord."

The girl raised her eyes skyward with a long-suffering sigh.

"Okay. You'd better come with me."

Be cool, Damas, be cool-

Like you were "cool" with that daffodi-

WE DO NOT SPEAK OF THE DAFFODIL

He didn't know Abigail well yet -- nor did she know him that well. Nevertheless, there was a nervous flutter in his chest as Damas dutifully trudged after her. At first, he thought she was leading them to the mines. An odd choice for explaining egg hunts-

Oh! Were the "eggs" actually slimes? Was that what was hunted?

No, it was not.

Abigail led him to Robin and Demetrius's house.

Demetrius had his clipboard on the table again, strained to the breaking point with notes and charts. Damas had only glimpsed them once and they'd given him a headache.

"Hey Demetrius," Abigail called, "Is Sebastian downstairs?"

"He usually is.”

The scientist glanced up.

"Oh! Abigail! Good morning! And-"

He blinked at Damas, then smiled.

"Young Damas! Good to see you, son."

He reached out a friendly hand to shake. Out of some strange impulse, Damas instead clasped his wrist and forearm. It felt stronger than a handshake, somehow. But when he withdrew his grip, he found blue ink formulas across his palm.

"What the-"

Demetrius blinked. "How did-?"

Then he craned his neck to look at his sleeves. He'd been leaning on the clipboard too long, pressing wet ink into his arms.

"Oh no," he groaned, "not my data!"

"Yeah we're just gonna...we're just gonna go downstairs."

Abigail smacked Damas’s arm and hastened around the corner.

"Hurry up before we have to hear him apologizing to "The Data"!"

Damas followed, squinting at the scribbles on his palm.

"He doesn't actually do that. Does he?"

Abigail shrugged. "Saw him do it once before Maru was born. He'll apologize to diagrams and not his own stepson. Weirdest thing I've ever seen, and I live next door to Pam."

"What is Pam's problem?"

"You wanna ask her? Be my guest," Abigail scoffed, "I'm not going to."

She paused at the basement door and smacked it once in lieu of a knock.

"Hey Seb, you decent?"

There was a clattering, and several painful sounding thumps, and then the door swung open.

"A- Abigail! Hi!"

The skinny boy pushed an absurd amount of hair out of his eyes. The instant he saw Damas, his smile became somewhat forced.

"Oh, uh- I...thought that was Sam."

Abigail sighed. "Ah dangit. You know what? Sam oughta be here too. Seb, this nerd doesn't know what an egg hunt is!"

Sebastian blinked slowly at Damas. "You're kidding, right?"

"Apparently they don't have that in the big city," Abigail said. "For real, he just asked me how people were supposed to hunt eggs if eggs can't move."

Sebastian squinted, jutting his chin forward in comical confusion.

"What? No- how does- what?"

He glanced at Damas.

"Come on man, there's no way you're that dense.”

"Well," Damas answered dryly, "I panicked when Abigail startled me last week and shoved an entire daffodil in my mouth. So the jury is out on that."

Sebastian snorted. "She has that effect on people."

"Okay, what's that supposed to mean?!"

Abigail shoved Sebastian playfully.

"Come on, at least let us in so we can educate this rube."

With Abigail's focus on him, Sebastian seemed to gain a bit more confidence. He stood to the side and waved them in.

"Hey Farmer, I don't think that's what "living off the land" is supposed to mean," he needled.

"Yeah yeah," Damas muttered under his breath.

"Did it at least taste okay?"

"It absolutely did not." Damas made a face, resisting the urge to scrape the phantom taste from his tongue.

"So. Egg hunts." Abigail dropped dramatically onto a small couch.

"If he doesn't even know that, what else doesn't he know about normal childhood stuff?"

"Probably everything," Damas volunteered, "I got my first part-time job with Joja when I was twelve."

The other two nineteen year olds stared at him as if he'd just announced that he slept hanging from the rafters like a bat every night.

"Mmmmmmmy gosh," Sebastian said in disgust, "That's the most depressing thing I've ever heard."

"Yep." Damas folded his arms and leaned against the wall.

He wondered if his blustering manager in the prison corporation ever found out he was the one who deleted an entire server's worth of files before running to Pelican Town.

That was probably going to catch up to him someday.

But that was a problem for Future Damas.

Winter: Year Six

“What took you so long? You have a death wish, babe?” Abigail glared at him.

“I wasn't talking to you!” Damas waved his hands frantically. “I was talking to Jak!”

“That's not better. You know that's not actually better, right? He's like forty minutes old, what was he gonna do, kick his way out when he still looked like a Muppet Show background character?”

"In my defense," the farmer said, "I don’t think it would've gone over any better if I'd said "I think the baby that just came out of you is a reincarnation of the past life's son I keep having dreams about. Because it sounds weird even when I say it."

Abigail glared at him and pulled their son a little closer to her chest.

"You've been visiting Rasmodius, haven't you."

"Have not!"

"That's exactly the kind of crap Rasmodius mutters about when he's on his "potions"! What'd he tell you it was this time?"

"That hasn't happened in years, okay?" Damas protested, "Guy freaks me out. I literally only go to pick up Marlon's stuff. I don't want that mushroom cooking menace around our baby."

"That's...a little harsh, but I'm on-board with it." Abigail carefully moved Jak to her shoulder to pat his tiny back.

"Eeeeehhhh oh I don't like this, how am I supposed to burp him?! He's so tiny, I'm gonna break him!"

"You're not gonna break him."

"Look at him!!! He's so fragile!"

Well, Damas couldn't argue there. The only familiar thing about his son were his eyes. Harvey was saying newborns couldn't see that far, that he couldn't make out their faces as much as their voices yet, but those little blue eyes had zeroed in on Damas’s instantly, like he knew where to look.

Were you this small the first time you were my son? I wish I could remember. But maybe it's better that I can't. You probably won't start having the dreams until you're thirteen, like I did. You can just be you and I can just be me. I'm not going to leave you alone this time.

"Abby can I-?"

Damas made the most pitiful face he could.

His wife narrowed her eyes.

"Are you going to wake him up?"

"No."

"Say weird stuff and make the nurses judge us more than usual?"

"No...?"

Abigail's voice took on a terrible mischief. "Are you going to try to put him in your mouth if someone startles you?"

"You're so mean." Damas carefully took the newborn from her. "That only happened twice, and I was a kid."

"That last incident was only four years ago, honey.”

"Mean!"

[cuppachar]

Perforated Ulcer Jamie idea: Once Ted gets Jamie to the hospital the rest of the team follow, everyone guilt ridden and scared, especially Roy. Much to their horror, Jamie has one more massive cough up of blood right in front of them before he's wheeled off, Beard and orderlies having to hold both Ted and Roy back from following after him. It's a hellish scene that will cause tons of nightmares, and it is especially seared into Roy's very soul.

*adding it to the prompt*

[allylikethecat]

Also can’t wait for your WIP Fictional!Matty sickfics! You are seriously the best at those.

!!! So Sick Fic Update:

I have a Tumblr Prompt Fill Sick Fic Drabble that's almost finished and I will probably post either this week or next week depending on how long Ducklings takes to finish. I also DO have a longer, proper one shot about the SATVB IV situation that I have outlined / have started that I will be finishing eventually as well! Don't worry fictional!Matty will continue to suffer! He has the WORST immune system...

Thank you so much for sending in this ask and for your kind words about my sick fics! I'm so happy that you're enjoying them and looking forward to new ones! I hope you have a great week!

❤️Ally