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estherruth-jonsatrash · 6 months

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Arya's Brother

Written for @jonsa-halloween event!

Oct. 30th: Costume Also on AO3

(Partially inspired by the song "Cate's Brother" by Maisie Peters)

Sansa knew she and Arya were unlikely friends. Truly, if they hadn’t been roomed together freshman year of college they likely wouldn’t have been more than passing acquaintances, at best. And in those first few weeks of dorm life, they were so different from each other both had secretly appealed to get a dorm-mate switch before being told they would have to adjust. Sansa and Arya had laughed together about it, and whatever differences they had, they found the other to be a good influence and shared a few important things. They had similar senses of humor, and Arya’s determination on her soccer team was much like Sansa’s commitment to her studies.

Arya helped Sansa learn how to stand up for herself and not allow being polite to make her a pushover. Sansa helped Arya rein in her temper and be a little more diplomatic at times.

By their sophomore year, the girls were thick as thieves. A fact Sansa was grateful for when she decided to throw a Halloween party and Arya had been the first to RSVP, even if Arya said she thought RSVPs as a concept were “fucking stupid.” Arya had appreciated Sansa’s handmade invitations with an orange and black color palette (obviously) and little cartoon witch and black cat.

Of course Gendry was a given plus-one, but Arya also mentioned off-handedly she was bringing along her brother Jon who had just moved to the city. Sansa knew Arya loved her older brother Jon a lot even if she’d never met him, and she’d told Arya to definitely bring him along.

Sansa was dressed up as Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, ruby red slippers, the dress and even the little basket, even though Lady couldn’t possibly fit in it and pass for Toto. She remembered she’d told Arya her costume when she spotted the short girl with the dark hair, a witch’s hat and green face paint, as she realized Arya had themed their costumes together. She smiled and when Arya’s face lit up, she rushed to hug Sansa.

“Sansa!” Arya excitedly said as they embraced. “You look great! I have to steal your slippers tonight!”

“It’s good to see you too, Arya,” Sansa said with a laugh. They hadn’t seen each other as often since they had graduated months ago. “And I don’t think the Wicked Witch ever gets the slippers in the story.”

Arya scrunched her nose and raised her voice to a shrill pitch. “I’ll get you, my pretty! And your big-ass dog, too!” she said, motioning to Lady in the corner, who raised her head slightly as Arya pointed at her.

Sansa giggled as Lady laid her head back down and Arya muttered some guard dog.

“Where’s Gendry?” Sansa asked as she got some punch for herself and Arya.

Arya rolled her eyes. “He’s talking with Hot Pie. You won’t believe this: he wouldn’t be my flying monkey!” she complained.

“And you didn’t break up with him on the spot?” Sansa asked incredulously.

Arya’s eyes gleamed as they fell back into their repartee easily. “No, but I did warn him he’s on thin ice.” Arya chuckled and took a look around the room before turning to Sansa once more. “Sansa, did you meet my brother?”

Sansa had nearly forgotten about the guest she’d never met. “No, I didn’t,” she said, eager to put a face to the name she’d heard so many times.

“Jon!” Arya yelled into the morass of the crowd, waving him over.

And Sansa saw what was quite possibly the most handsome man she had ever seen.

In what was quite possibly the silliest costume.

Jon’s perfect features were twisted with an adorable embarrassment as he ambled over, the little black wings jostled with each step. His curls were pulled back and a small blue hat rested on his head, with a matching blue miniature vest.

“I made him my flying monkey!” Arya said with delighted laughter as Jon blushed.

“Ha, ha, I’m glad you’re having so much fun Arya,” Jon said as he scowled at his sister.

It was for the best that his eyes hadn’t met Sansa’s yet—even in his absurd outfit Sansa’s heart seemed to flutter at the sight of him and the gravelly sound of his voice.

“I really am,” Arya confirmed wickedly. “This is my friend Sansa.”

Then Jon looked at her and if her heart had fluttered before, it seemed to take flight now. His stormy grey eyes lost the edge he’d had and softened into a kindness that made her feel weak. “Hi Sansa, it’s nice to finally meet you,” he said with a sincere smile, offering his hand for her to shake.

“Hi Jon,” Sansa returned and shook his hand. It might be a cliché to say that Sansa felt sparks, but she felt it from her head to her toes, the feel of his hand in hers electric. “And likewise.” Her eyes were looking in his, and he didn’t let go of her hand. They lingered until Arya coughed and Sansa and Jon shook themselves out of it.

“Um, can I get you something to drink?” Sansa asked, attempting to go back into hostess mode and tamp down the blush she was sure must be rising in her cheeks.

Jon looked at the table with punch and other snacks and gave her a smirk. “Actually, maybe water, so I can try and melt this one,” he said pointing to Arya.

“Hey!” Arya scolded as Jon and Sansa laughed together. Oh. She really liked the sound of his laughter, butterflies in her stomach now. “I’m not going to melt but I’ll be damned before I let you ruin this green makeup!” Arya barked.

Soon after, Arya left the two of them. She asked Jon how he was doing since his recent move and learned Jon taught literature at a nearby high school.

Sansa had known from Arya that Jon was a teacher, but not that he taught literature. Swoon.

“I guess you must have a problem with the ruby slippers, like the movie instead of the book,” Sansa said.

At her words, Jon looked her up and down with heated eyes that made her feel flush. “Well, normally I would. But those slippers go so well with the red hair,” he said, daringly reaching out to lightly brush a lock of her hair with his fingertips. Jon would normally never be so bold, but he had felt an immediate connection to the gorgeous redhead, had wanted to touch her, and something within him told him she’d be receptive.

Sansa swayed toward him and took a sip of her punch to keep her from jumping him then and there. Though from the looks of it, Jon wouldn’t mind.

She and Jon talked all night.

And okay, she didn’t set out to date Arya’s brother.

But when Jon asked her out, Sansa wasn’t about to say no.

She will later tell Arya the same. Also that she and Jon had simply tripped into her bed.

But Arya doesn’t really mind, in the end. Especially when Sansa becomes her sister-in-law.

#jonsa halloween 2023 #jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #jonsa halloween #jonsa modern au #jonsaff #my fic writing

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feybeasts · 9 months

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Waking up in a cold sweat: Lena’s technically a wizard, I could be giving her a big stupid hat

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lesboygamzee · 24 days

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i usually take off the mii hats bc they look a little stupid but rn im keeping roses and karkats . rsoes because she looks funny in a big ol wizard hat ( good way ) and karkat bc his stupid haircut i refuse to change is worse

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tumblhurgoyf · 1 year

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Feeling super negative for a multitude of reasons, some not Magic related at all, but the recent talk on Blogatog about “microset” products just feels so out of touch. I don’t want to bring that negativity on one of Mark’s posts as I’m not sure I could be polite about it and I’ve mostly just dismissed the product as not for me already anyway. But I do want to vent.

First it’s like $1 a card for random cards? That’s nuts. Boosters are already overpriced with all the commons included. They worked some really good PR speak by explaining away cutting the commons to give you more rares and uncommons, but the reality is you’re just paying more for less. It’s not like those rare slots are actually going to ever reach an EV that makes it a good gamble.

Second let’s talk about product fatigue. Like not only is this an additional release (or four) a year, but you’re doing normal and collector’s boosters for this as well? Holy fuck.

The fact that Mark’s openly work shopping what variation of this product players might actually shell out money for tells me it’s not received well. I haven’t seen a positive video about it at all.

It’s a shame though that they can’t give their golden goose a bit of breathing room though. I shared that post the other day about... let me find it for the term... trust thermocline. The basic idea is that people who like your product will stick with you through some missteps and bad ideas. And you won’t even notice how bad all of them are because sales keep increasing and people keep paying higher prices and buying new stuff and all that.

But at some point you hit that trust thermocline. Something pushes a lot of people over the edge. You walk it back but it’s too late. Because the thing is that was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. They didn’t leave because of one bad story, or because $5 a pack was too much but $4.50 wasn’t, or because two dozen products a year was ok but thirty went to far.

They left because of all of it. The last thing is just what made them finally say “enough.” And once they say enough and leave, you don’t get them back. It’s hard to see because things keep chugging along and all your numbers and metrics look fine. But I feel like Wizards has to be approaching this. I wonder about why they stopped including space at the end of surveys for additional comments. Too much negativity they don’t want to put any effort into handling?

On a different front, I’m also not enjoying the lore changes they’ve dropped with this same product. I am willing to admit that I’m somehow still too close to the story to really take a step back and appreciate this; that could change with time. But my reaction right now is that desparking a lot of planeswalkers while opening rifts so anyone and anything can now travel the multiverse is just stupid. You’ve just eviscerated the story conceit that made planeswalkers special.

idk, I wasn’t thrilled with how they handled the team up cards anyway, and to me this feels like the next step of that. We got to see unlikely allies on cards, now what if we got stories where Thalia was on Ravnica fighting the Obzedat? It feels (I keep intentionally using the word feels to describe this--it’s my emotional reaction detached from the idea that they’re going to be able to tell cool stories they couldn’t otherwise tell), anyway, it feels like they just tossed out a core story concept and don’t even realize it.

Like as much shit they get for the world of hats approach, I think that really works for what they do and is part of what I enjoy. I’m honestly in part concerned that the recent big events that effect the entire multiverse and set up this situation where planes can blend a lot more freely could impact the distinct feel of different worlds. And while I’m sure that’s something that’s on creative’s radar, they’ve also burned enough trust in recent years that I’m doubtful they will handle it well.

Though at the same time this feels kind of par for the course. There have been so many let downs in Magic story over the years that the amazing part is that I’m still invested at all. But the story’s a slave to corporate needs and is undoubtedly more story-by-committee than ever. A left-right punch to KO any creative work for sure.

But I shouldn’t be surprised. They are not and have never really tried to say they’re anything else. They make blockbuster sets and want blockbuster stories to go along with it. Anyone who wants a fantasy card game with DC/Marvel story sensibilities to produce artistic short fiction is a damned fool.

Anyway this is just me venting. Could all be wrong. Time will tell. If you want to vent here feel free.

#actually also kind of realizing #aside from not wanting to be mean and negative to mark #I recognize that my thoughts here are so far removed from what wizards is doing and has been doing #that I don't even think it would be useful to engage and offer these thoughts #like they stopped doing additional survey comments for a reason #they don't want to hear it #I think mark does #he is very genuine and real #but it feels like enough of the higher ups at hasbro are just there to milk the cash cow #that it's kind of pointless to do or say anything to them

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sorisooyaa · 2 years

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Body Swap - June 21st

Characters and Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield and Thranduil / Thorin x Wife!Reader

Movie: The Hobbit

Taglist: @fizzyxcustard @lathalea

AN: Ok, Thorin, Thrandy plz don’t come at me, this was just a joke!! Love you both!! 😂 @i-did-not-mean-to this is what I meant Angel! Also, I’m sorry no graphic for this, and I’m really busy for the next few days. Ok bye bye, Haldir is whining for my attention again! 😂 - Haldir: Shalini! Get off that thing and look at me chasing my tail or I will chew your slippers again!

“It suits you!” You winked mischievously at your husband. His eyes flashed at you, the icy colour sending chills down your spine.

“I feel very uncomfortable that the fact you like me in this wretched figure, dear wife,” Thorin grumbled. You had to admit, it was odd hearing your husband’s voice fall from the elven king’s lips.

“Who are you calling wretched figure, Oakenshield!” The shouting from the other side of the room made you almost throw your head back in laughter. It greatly amused you; the once tall regal elven king now standing in the body of a dwarf to assert dominance, “If anything you should be grateful, to be blessed for the chance to wear a body so gifted and crafted by the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar.”

“I feel disgusted to have the body of a traitor,” Your husband growled out as you rolled your eyes. You placed a hand gently on his shoulder- or well, Thranduil’s shoulder. As amusing as all this was, it was uncomfortable to suddenly address your king and husband within the body of King Thranduil. The touch of velvet silks underneath your fingertips was not welcoming, nor was it, loving as the leather your husband always wore.

You have heard the fairytales from your own world before, the enchantment of the glass slippers, the curse of a rose, the darkened taste of death from a red apple, to possess the body of an animal and many others, though this, here, was truly something you never thought you would have ever come across. But your husband was within a world where magic flowed with free will, and dangerous curses lurked on the horizon. To be honest, this really, shouldn’t surprise you too much, compared to the many other things you have seen and heard (thanks to that certain wizard with tall pointed grey hat).

“You both do realise this is your own fault?” You stressed out, now strengthening your voice to overthrow them both.

“Pray tell, strange little human, how so is this our fault?” The elven king mocked from within your husband’s body. ‘Strange little human,’ well it was a nickname that started from your initial meeting with his crazy, big, giant tallness!

It wasn’t your fault the humans from your world were in the height range of dwarves. The elven king couldn’t believe you were a human during that first meeting while on the quest to reclaim Erebor.

“Both of you, as per usual, argued non-stop!” Your eyes twitched ever so slightly with each word, every little fight between these two- you swear, sometimes you just wanted to suffocate the both of them.

“I sent you both for a bonding trip, and you come back with some odd curse?” You groaned out, wanting to facepalm yourself for ever thinking this was a good idea. Maybe you should have listened to Balin’s warning, then you wouldn’t have screeched at the sound of Thranduil’s voice from inside your bed chambers, the one you shared with Thorin.

You had however whipped yourself around to find the body of your husband, but he grunted his disapproval of anything and everything he found. You had to listen to a whole speech from Thranduil as you made your way over to Mirkwood about how offensive of a treatment this was.

At times you felt like pulling your own hair out in the middle of these two, but you accepted your fate.

“I don’t know why, I agreed to this stupid ordeal!” Thranduil’s grunted, his voice falling from Thorin’s lips.

“That’s because I promised to give back your precious necklace, you moron! Now, shut up, and think about what happened on your so-called walking trip!” You almost screamed at the elven king, now having enough of his attitude.

The glare you received was familiar, the features of Thorin’s beautiful face moulding together to wear the emotion, but the person was different. You saw it through the eyes... because even if your husband was ever mad at you, he would not let you receive the full heat of his anger, a simple gaze from you or the touch of your skin on his would be enough to melt it all away.

“I do not remember meeting anyone,” Thranduil hissed out, you knew his patience was running out faster than the current of the river just outside, “Except that odd-looking elderly lady on the road on whom that stupid dwarf made a rude remark about and it had angered her!”

You raised an eyebrow, that sounded more like a Thranduil thing, than a Thorin thing.

“You wretched fool! That was you!” Thorin barked at him. Sometimes you actually felt like you were stuck in a nursery, with two of the naughtiest kids known to mankind!

“Thorin, honey, just wait,” You tried to cool how the rising anger within your husband, “An odd-looking elderly lady?”

“Yes, why does it matter?” Honestly, at times like these, you understood why Thorin would often speak out wanting to meet his fist to the elven king’s jaw until it was out of place. But you rather whack him in the head with his own berry-filled crown, though you couldn’t, even though you desperately wanted to, because it was your husband’s body that would receive the damage.

“You idiotic king of these stupid trees!” You whined, running a hand over your face, “For all, we know, that elderly old lady whose appearance you mocked about could have been a wicked witch!”

When a look of realisation passed over the faces of both kings, you rolled your eyes and let out a laugh.

“Then... what do we do now?” Your husband spoke, with a frown Thranduil’s features. For a second, you thought, if Thranduil wasn’t an ellon but a human, like yourself from your world, he would have been probably been concerned over the wrinkles frowns and smiles caused. You covered your mouth trying to keep in a laugh as you imagined Thranduil as a version of Victoria Beckham.

“Amrâlimê?” Thorin questioned at your sudden giddiness.

“I will tell you later, husband,” You promised him with a wink.

“For now we must find a cure for... all this,” You gestured vaguely at them in whole.

“How do we break this curse?” Thranduil made himself known again, of course, he couldn’t stay quiet for too long.

“You both kiss!”

The snap of their alarmed shocked faces towards you made you throw your head back in laughter until you were holding onto your stomach in stitches and tears dwelled in your eyes.

“Y/N!” Thorin grunted at you.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” You said, still laughing, “Let us find this elderly lady then. Unless... you two are actually willing to kiss!”

“Absolutely not!”

“I would rather die!”

You giggled as they answered you quickly with strong disapproval.

“Alright then, let us go find this witch. Maybe she’s the wicked witch of the west in middle earth?” You hummed, nostalgically, remembering the fairytale of Dorothy and her ruby red slippers.

You laughed at the confused expression on their faces, “I will tell you the story on the way!”

#armitage summer splash #richard armitage #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin and thranduil #thorin and thranduil fights #thranduil #thranduil oropherion #thranduil of mirkwood #the hobbit #body swap #thorin and thranduil fight like kids #from shalinizhara's temp acc

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kelp-my-beloved · 2 years

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In spite of the what his actions might lead you to believe, fWhip is not an idiot.

Or maybe he is, but a different kind. The point is, he is not the kind of idiot that was surprised by how things turned out, and he cant say he didn’t see it coming for months. What he is guilty of is forcing himself to believe he had been wrong while things started to hit the fan, and hurting as if he couldn’t have done anything to prepare himself for the inevitable blow.

Truth be told, any piece of slime with at least an eye and half an ear could have told you his sister was going to run away from the Grimmlands. You could see it in her eyes whenever their father reminded her of her duty to her birthplace.

fWhip had seen it in the way she looked at him every time magic was mentioned the year before she left, like she felt guilty for something she hadnt even done yet. Which was funny, because it would mean that Gem only had ninety-nine years left of the hundred the recently crowned Count had told her she needed to ask for forgiveness before the possibility even crossed his mind.

She had looked hurt when he told her that. The memory makes fWhip chuckle as he serves himself another drink. Hes too used to that face to feel anything.

So yeah, fWhip had seen it coming a chunk away.

Sometimes he thinks he knew it even before she did. Whenever she talked about the two of them staying together no matter what, of their future twingled to the other. She hadnt looked like she had been lying, nor did she had that bittersweet expression that fWhip always had to hide when they talked about dreams that were too good to become true. When the pretending was shattered by a random thought that reminded him that it was just that, pretending.

Pretending that he had ever believed it could become real.

He remembers the exact moment he realized it was a lie. There had been a wizard, a trial, and a party to celebrate his exile. His sister had kept to herself, like always, and like always fWhip had followed suit. He had made a stupid comment he cant recall exactly, but he knows it was something against the man and his magic, about how dumb he had been to loose everything he had for a few dumb cristals.

It couldn’t have been more than a second or two of silence, but within those, fWhip felt like somebody had thrown a bucket of ice on top of him. He understood then that his sister did not agree with him, that there was something on her similar to what had made the wizard risk it all for a few party tricks. That the cristal she kept hidden under her matress wasn’t a phase, but the things that would break whatever promises they had made one another to stay together through it all.

Okey. So maybe it hadnt been such a clear-cut moment, and maybe it had more to do with fWhip’s paranoia than it ever had about destiny and a mysterious twin bond, but in the end he had been right, so it had to count for something.

It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, and it’s not about his abandonement issues if his sister did end up leaving him.

And now she’s back, with her fancy stick and stupid hat trying to get back in his life.

But the thing that really pisses fWhip off is not that she dares to show her face after so long, because were other the circumstances he has no doubts that he would run to her too to hug her half way. No, it’s that the big reason why she’s back? The great thing that knocked some sense into her?

Magic.

Good for nothing, unreliable, dangerous magic.

Not their home needing her after the war, not their father’s funeral, and definitely not her brother’s crowning ceremony, the most important moment of his life.

No, it had been stupid magic, and her stupid, flashy Academy, where anybody from anywhere could come and learn! Doesn’t that sound promising? The only thing she needs to make it reality was the support, both political and economical of other empires, and she would feel honored to have the Grimlands and Mythland as her closest allies.

The first time fWhip saw her in years and it was in some meeting room with his friends and advisors as she tried to convince them to give her money.

She hadnt even bothered to let him know it would be her there. All the papers were signed as The Great Wizard, after all.

“I think that’s enough for now,” someone says next to him as they take the bottle from the Count’s hand.

fWhip looks up, surprised, though not so much. He had been drowning his sorrows in a public tavern, after all.

“What are you doing here?” he asks Sausage, and tries to ignore the way his words slur a bit.

His friend smiles in a way that he knows means he is not happy at all and fWhip would be receiving an earful as soon as he is sober enough to fully appreciate it. “I had a feeling I would find you here,” he answers, and counts a few coins from his pocket. “Come on, I’ll take you to your room”

The red-headed protest in the only way he feels he can, grabbing a handful of coins from somewhere and throwing them at the table. “I can pay for my own alcohol,” he sneers, doing his best to appear intimidating.

At least Sausage’s chuckle sounds more sincere than his smile. “Of course, silly me”

fWhip stares at Sausage for a few seconds, as if challenging him to say otherwise, before standing up and heading out. He doesn’t say goodbye, but he doubts anyone had expected him to do otherwise. That’s why he preferred taverns to councils.

His friend follows close behind, making polite comments and teasing jokes as he closes the door behind him, because of course he does.

The air is cold, and it makes his eyes hurt, and he cant help but think about that stupid wizard from years ago and how he had given it all up and how it was all his fault.

“What wizard?” Sausage asks on his side, and fWhip is only half surprised that he had been talking out loud.

“From years ago, before the war stopped” he makes a vague effort to explain as they walk. “He was found being a wizard back when magic was still illegal. He told me Gem was going to leave me before she knew it”

By Sausage’s expression he guesses he didn’t make a good job of that, but he doesn’t really care. All he can think about is how he shouldn’t have risked it all for some dumb rocks, and how if he had been more careful he would have never been so paranoid about his sister leaving him, and then it would have been a real surprise when she did. And maybe then he would have been able to forgive her when she came back and be a family again instead of hurting her and getting drunk in the lowest tavern he could find.

But she would have still left. She would have still abandoned him, and he doesn’t know if there’s anything he could have done differently that could have prevented that.

“I wish you were my brother instead of her,” he finds himself saying. fWhip has no idea where the thought came from, or where he was going with it, but the words are already out of his mouth before he can even think of stopping. “Or that you would have been me and Gem’s brother. Gem’s and I. You could have prevented her from leaving”. Gods knew he couldn’t.

It’s then than he realizes that Sausage is frozen in place a few steps back, lips pressed and expression unreadable. fWhip turns around, not understanding what was wrong, but Sausage speaks before he can ask.

“You’re drunk,” he says, like it’s some sort of grim mantra instead of something any rat in the street could tell you about his current state.

If fWhip were a bit more sober he would have probably prodded a bit more. Would have done the good friend thing and asked him whats wrong. But fWhip is definitely not sobber, and refuses abeemily to do anything right now that wasn’t drown in his own misery, so he keps walking when Sausage pushes him to.

So, I know I havent been very active here for a while, but I'm halfway through the first fic of a series of five (which i of course started from the end, the other four are already done), and I wanted post this part because i liked how it turned out.

Also, none of this has been through editing, its two am

#Im not dead! and the fics are going to get finished! I refuse to leave the fandom without doing so #but lifes been... happening #drunk fwhip my beloved #fwhip #mythicalsausage #empires smp #empiressmp #empires 1 #empires fic

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vriskazone · 6 months

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Homestuck, Act 1, pages 1-47

This section spans from the introduction of John Egbert to John leaving his room for the first time in the comic. I don't really know what to say about a lot of the dicking around with the sylladex other than I read and enjoyed Problem Sleuth. Honestly, if you haven't read Problem Sleuth at this point you really should, if you want to boost your enjoyment of the first few acts of Homestuck.

The one really interesting thing I found about this section is in the last couple of pages, where John assembles a disguise to fool his dad before leaving his room. To me, this reads as a first hint towards John's transgender identity (June Egbert), as the story here is framing this encounter between John and his masculine, paternal figure as an antagonistic one John needs to prepare for, and this preparation comes through an act of deception. John is hiding his true self under a disguise (which does include a moustache as one of its elements!).

The first objection towards this is obviously that Hussie was not planning June Egbert all along, to which I would respond that that doesn't matter. In the author commentary on the page where John pins up his Little Monsters poster, we get a couple sentences from Hussie that read: His appearance foreshadows the existence of trolls in Homestuck, though to be honest at this point I hadn't conceived of them yet. "Foreshadows" is often interchangeable with "inspires." If the Little Monsters poster can retroactively serve as foreshadowing for the trolls, why can't John's disguise do the same for June Egbert?

The second objection is that this is just a dumb, silly moment. Hell, the disguise is composed of a beagle puss and a wizard hat! I would counter with this section from an author commentary also in this section discussing the sylladex system: The logic unfolds and deepens the further you get into the story, kind of like everything. Even the dumb things. Especially the dumb things. Homestuck is constantly balancing between being incredibly profound and incredibly stupid. One of the most important objects in the entire run of the comic is fucking Lil Cal. So one must take the profound and the stupid together in thinking about and analyzing the comic.

Anyways that's all I really have for this section. I don't know why I ended up starting to structure this like an essay, I don't know if I really want to keep doing that, but a big part of this reading for me is looking at various ways June manifests throughout the comic so I wanted to justify why I think it's worth looking for her in pre-Toblerone Homestuck, even when the evidence I find might just also be something incredibly dumb.

#homestuck #homestuck reread

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cosmic-navel-gazin · 8 months

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How about MacReady for the blorbo bingo?

" Stupid sexy 1980's Kurt Russell !!! "

🤠❄️🥶🥃♞🧨🔥 🩸

The FREE SPACE is for his stupid comically large cowboy hat (affectionate)!

He has it all:

I love his floofy hair, the beard, I love his drunk ass, I love the weary tired eyes! I understand The Thing's gender envy, I wanna be him too! would assimilate if given the chance

I love his beloved J&B bottle, it's what keeping him from going mad

I love that he's kinda an unusual hero, he's a bit of a cold bastard and how ironically that's great for the situation they're all in! If they need someone to quickly, no hesitations, just burn a former friend and colleague for everyone's safety, he's the guy for it^^ (Look at his exchange with Gary about Bennings, Gary is struck with horror and grief for the loss of a good friend and MacReady is like: "brb Gary, gotta go burn the rest of him"). I wish I could make rapid tough decisions like him, if it were me in Antarctica I would've been a complete utter nervous wreck of a person like, a mix between Gary, Blair and Fuchs, even if I miraculously survived the whole ordeal I would've never been able to sleep again

he look great in freezing temperatures and bi lighting

I love you "Then Clark was human, huh? Which makes you a murderer"

The way Mac grabs Windows by the scruff like a cat

I love you "First goddamn week of winter." can't get shit in Antarctica, he's just so done and tired you really get the sense that shit was bad enough without an alien life form to deal with

I love you "Nobody trusts anybody now. And we're all very tired" - UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE FUCKING CENTURY, he's such a sad dog here

I love you "Windows! Blast him!"-face

I love the way he clutches his lil dynamite sticks

I love his plastic left hand responsible for the blood test jumpscare (I wonder if it's the same plastic hand in John Carpenter's Starman (1984) ). *rant on jumpscares ensues* The Thing has a couple of jumpscares that are well used, scarce and spread throughout (another thing that makes them great is that they're not cheap, they're not just there to shake you up for no reason and then movies continues as normal (maybe not the one with Fuchs but I forgive the movie this one because it's a good fucking movie)). But almost all of them are the beginning of something horrible about to happen, they signal that SHIT'S ABOUT TO HIT THE FAN SON! The Blood Test jumpscare is an example:

I love how he's responsible for the first kill in the movie and not the titular Thing? Love it. RIP Chess Wizard, gone but never forgotten.

Actually that moment is great not only as early characterization for him (a bit of a bastard who does not take well to losing), but also as great foreshadowing. MacReady thinks he has everything figured out and is going to win against the Chess Wizard, only to just say basically fuck it and destroy it when the computer calls checkmate... it's the exact same response he has during his big showdown with Thing at the end, he thinks he's got the upper hand, Thing pulls a fast one on him, he says : "Yeah fuck you too!" and blows everything up. Things didn't go my way? I'm blowing it up then, I love it. And I just love how the Thing and MacReady are playing this little chess game with each other, both willing to discard pieces (the lads of outpost 31) to get the other.

Love how in spite of MacReady being "THE FLAMETHROWER GUY" of the group he's not just that, under all that amazing hair there's a huge beautiful brain! He's actually the one who comes up with the incredible Blood Test and I love him for that it's and incredible scene!

I'm sure I could go on and on, I just love him

#TWO THE THING BLORBO ASKS LET'SSSS GOOOOO!!!#thank you <3 #asks/replies #the thing 1982 #MacReady #ask game #portalthief

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aancunin · 7 months

Note

thoughts on Gale wearing a wizard hat? one of the big stupid looking ones.

“He already wears what I assume is his nightclothes all day so maybe the hat will add sophistication. Or not- I well..” he ponders for a moment to imagine it. “I never realized how ridiculous wizards attire looks until now. He does like purple though.”

#anonymous #‘whats this?’ ask

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southparkgang · 1 year

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☆CHAPTER 2 MEET THE GIANTS☆

"Aa-" at that moment kyle was about to scream but was stopped my a large finger pressed against his lips. "shhh calm down! Im friendly!!!" the gaint boy said giving kyle a deep and kind look. Kyle pushed with all his might to pry the fingers off him, but it only resulted with him tripping over his own feet whilst getting up and almost falling.

The giant grabbed kyle by his feet catching him. Kyles old green hat falling off into the giants hand , showing kyles big head of hair. Red like fire. Many people told him he shares a personality with his hair. Hot and short tempered, He took it as a complement. "woa i didnt realise humans were this easy to scare! Sorry" the giant let out a giggle and but kyle in a more comfortable possion by holding him but letting his hands free.

"Who are you????" "are you real?!?!" "is this a dream!!?" kyle screamed fear spred across his face. "umm lets me explain.." the giant sighed. "my name is stanley but call me stan for short. Im 15 Im a giant! And it seems you opened a portal to this relm turning you into a elf it seems!" stan said then smiling! ":)" (wtf am not an elf!?! Is this dude drunk ) "but im not an elf!! Im human and need to go home! My brother ike will be home soon"

"well it looks like your not getting out of here anytime soon lil-elf... Dont mean to alarm you but the portals gone and ur an elf so if you went back youd be taken and killed" "heh.." stan looked away kinda nervous for two reasons. (what will he say when he realises hes stuck here and i called him lil-elf!?! Urg stan your so stupid!!!!" stan then blushes looking back to find the tiny 2foot boy pulling back his hair and finding his pinky human ears were now most certainly pointy and big! "Oh god!! What the heck!?!" kyle cried out, his big ears flopping to show saddness.

Kyle was now looking around franticly for other elf like features. Finding a cute pink nose and red cheeks like apples. "hey! Its not all bad! Can you image what its like to be like 50+ ft tall!! It sucks!. And look i have ears like you so its not all bad! " stan give kyle hope he'd be ok.

Kyle slumped feeling weak. (Im so stupid.. Trying to open a portal becuase i was bored?! Now im stuck here and am a freaky elf!!!? Your useless kyle, now your family will worry about you... Happy birthday me..) stan saw kyle slump and finally let go. Holding him in the clasp of his hands. Kyle was now so overwhelmed with all this he cried. For first time in 6 years. It all came out like a fountain. Once it started it cant be stopped.. "hey! No no no it will be ok ! I promise!"

There is one way out... We must go though the dark ash forest on the other side of this kindom to find tolkien black. The great wizarding wizard! He can get you back to normal and sent you home in not time!. " " but it will take months... Are you sur-" "YES! I WANNA GO! ANYTHING IT TAKES !!!" kyle screamed tears falling of his cheeks and onto stans warm hands. Stan smiled putting his head close to kyles. Kyle leaned his head on stans nose. A little noise boop and it brough a smile to kyles face again. "(*´ ˘ `*)" stan cant help but blush.... "so we can go to my house for now and when its later we can start! Its that ok lil-elf?" "kyle." "what?" "my name is kyle btw, i forgot to tell you. Im kyle am also 15". Kyle said. "you can call me lil-elf if u like idm :)" "oh ok!" stan was to flusterd to talk, he gently took kyle and put him in his shirt pocket.

It was so warm. The perfect place to sleep. Dark,warm and kyle could only hear stans heart beat and his foot stepts. "you ready to go?" stan said. "mmmmph s-stan giant... B-bi-big man~" kyle was so tried from walking home in the human relm he could only murmer words and blush. Stan smiles and his pupils widened.

(my little elf and im his big giant <3)

☆(part 3 mabye laterrrr. If you cant tell i ship style >_<)☆

#south park #g/t #tiny south park #style south park

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summersareknives · 1 year

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dramione + weaving

----

( note – I may have confused weaving with knitting , and I am so sorry about that - basically what I describe as weaving is basically knitting because I got very muddled )

It happens , first , a few months after the war.

They’re all back for Eighth Year , Harry and Ron - and her , of course. She feels the need to do something with herself.

All the seven years they’ve been at Hogwarts , Hermione has been busy. She’s been protecting her best friends – Harry , especially , and saving the wizarding world.

Her head has been somewhere else completely. It’s not her fault , not really , it’s the fault of that great big wizard bastard that went around calling himself ‘Voldemort’.

Or the ‘Dark Lord’ , rather.

But she came back to school , because she needs this year of peace. Of silence. Of worrying about normal teenager things like her homework (which she’s done the very same day she gets it , as Harry keeps reminding her) .

But she’s done all her homework , and she’s become restless.

So she goes to the library – to do a bit of light reading , and when in the Muggle Section , she sees her mother’s favourite book – ‘Pride & Prejudice’ , she is reminded of all the wonderful things she used to do with her mother before the war.

Saturday baking sessions in the kitchen.

Sunday trips to the town centre.

And all throughout the week , from Monday through to Friday , her mum would take an hour out of each day to teach Hermione the wonderful skill of weaving.

She learnt it , at first , on the loom. It was cathartic to her , watching her movements with the yarn turn into something resembling clothing worth wearing.

Then , of course , in fourth year , she learnt how to do it with magic.

She wishes , perhaps , that she’d kept that little bit of home with her. But when she learnt an easier way to do it – because she had to make so many of them , for SPEW - she decided to take that way , leave the loom behind , and make those socks and hats and scarves all on her own , with a little bit of magic.

Then the war hit , and she had no time for things like weaving , or knitting , and she had barely enough time to save herself.

War , now , has become a part of her. Before she felt clean . She felt like the world was at her behest , and she could do anything , be anything.

But now , it feels like she’s somewhat lost that part of herself that was pure , and neat and clean.

If she ever was a Mudblood , it was now.

And after seeing that earmarked copy of Pride and Prejudice , the one that looks like it’s holding onto life , she is reminded of her mother , and the purity with which she was loved by her.

Unconditional. Unfiltered.

So , in memory of her , she decides to do the things they used to do.

But alone.

The first thing she tried was going to the town centre. But it was then , that she realised half of the fun that came with being there were all the comments her mum would make , or maybe it was all the times she used to pose like a mannequin.

She can’t do that alone. Maybe , she’ll go with Harry or Ron one day , and she just knows they’ll do something stupid to make her laugh.

But it wouldn’t be the same.

Nothing ever would be.

The next thing she tries is cooking. But she’s kicked out of the kitchens in such a hurry , she doesn’t dare to go back. She thinks about nabbing Harry’s invisibility cloak , but she doesn’t think she’s that desperate for brownies.

So , weaving is left as her last resort.

Every single Thursday , Hermione sits in the armchair , next to the Muggle books , the little hearth of fire warming her up . She weaves , and she weaves , and she does everything to keep the memory of her mother alive.

The memory of her mother , the lady who was behind her in everything she did.

She’s lost her touch , she realises. It takes her two weeks to be able to knit a little woolly hat , and with a pang in her chest , she thinks of Dobby.

She’s back , on her Thursday , to sit in her armchair , and weave her pitiful little hats or socks , or whatever shape it’s closest to – the trick would be to ask Harry what it is. He’d tell her , something or the other , and she’d act like that’s what she meant to make.

But when she’s reached , her bag sagging off of her shoulder , she spots the top of a very blonde head sitting up in her chair , holding the very copy of Pride and Prejudice that reminded her of her mother.

She thinks about the fact that he’s sat in her seat.

She thinks she could skin him alive for having the sheer audacity.

But she thinks she can see that he’s taking a step forward. Miniscule , but it is visible , nonetheless.

So she leaves his skin on his body , and decides to sit there – because , well , she wasn’t just going to leave , now was she ?

She sits on a little stool , with a soft green pillow on the back of it , and she takes out her yarn , and she starts it.

By the time the library closes , she’s only made about two inches of a scarf.

---

She comes back , the next Thursday , expecting the fluke of Draco Malfoy sitting in her seat to have disappeared.

But he’s still there. And Hermione is still determined not to be rude.

So she huffs , and sits down on the same chair as last time , taking out her materials , and beginning her little weaving journey all over again.

By the closing time , she has something resembling half a scarf. She is very proud of herself, especially considering the fact that she has not used magic.

She skips off , completely ignoring the fact that Draco Malfoy had his book upside down the entire time.

---

The next Thursday , Draco Malfoy does not have a book in his hand , but he’s still there , in the chair.

He almost looks like he’s waiting for something , and Hermione momentarily considers asking him to swap seats , because she really wants her comfy armchair back – but she knows that if it their roles were reversed , she’d start a whole argument about how the seat doesn’t have his name on it.

And right now , she really , really doesn’t want a squabble. She comes here for peace.

So once again , Hermione acquiesces . She follows the well-imprinted routine of taking out her needles , her yarn , and that’s when she watches Draco Malfoy doing the exact same thing.

Well , not the exact same.

Unlike her , who has only three balls of yarn , he seems to have an entire factory of yarn , in all the colours she can possibly think of , some she wasn’t even sure existed.

He’s staring at the ceiling , avoiding her eyes completely , his hand clicking the silver needles together , her eyes staring at the little monogram at the top of the needles.

D.M.

Because he can never do anything without marking his name on it , can he ?

But he’s not doing anything bad , she reminds herself , he’s just – well , he’s doing Muggle things.

This realisation makes her sit up straight.

She shuffles a little closer , just a little , and immediately , she starts her routine , occasionally looking over at Malfoy , trying to see if he’s doing alright.

And if , out of the corner of her mouth , she slips out a couple of instructions , no one can prove it.

When they have to leave , she’s added a little bit more onto her scarf. A month more , she thinks.

She gathers up all her things , and when she leaves , she does not miss the small ‘Thank you’ that leaves Malfoy’s mouth.

It means a lot more than just showing gratitude.

---

She’s back again , and this time , her chair is just a couple of centimetres away from Malfoy’s chair .

She’s close , so close , she can smell him.

He smells like apples , and faith , and redemption.

She thinks he smells good. Quite nice , actually.

She gets straight to it , this time not even bothering to conceal her voice when the instructions begin to leave her mouth – ‘Stitch up , not down.’ , ‘Tsk , Tsk , Tsk.’

This time , by the end , she’s finished with a whole ball of yarn.

Draco lets out a strangled gasp , looking like he’s cursing everything in the whole room , because he’s made around two layers of stitches.

This , this is exactly what makes her laugh. She ugly laughs , she knows that , her entire body joins in with her , and all the grief that sits on her shoulder leaves for just a second.

Draco wait until she’s done laughing to say something.

“Same time , next week ?” he asks , tentatively

“Yes, yes.” She replies , wiping the tears from her eyes.

And she does come.

The next Thursday , there’s a box of macaroons sitting on the coffee table – all the colours and flavours there ever were , and the next one , there’s two cups of tea , and hers is just the way she likes it.

Milk , no sugar.

His , she can see it sugar , no milk.

They start talking eventually , because she’s teaching him how to weave – or knit , rather , because she’s not using a loom , and he surprises her.

It seems like he’s taken a turn for the better . He’s not the same person he used to be , and there’s a sense of camaraderie that’s been instilled amongst the two of them , one such that Hermione feels a little less guilty about looking at his face , and thinking about just how sharp his jawline is.

They talk about books – and he gives her something that Harry and Ron have not ( though she doesn’t begrudge them for it. To the contrary , because if they liked reading , they would not be Harry and Ron ) . He gives her intellectual stimulation.

It’s over cups of teas and balls of yarn and macaroons that he apologises to her for the first time.

It’s with a small smile on her face she forgives him.

They talk even more in the coming weeks – sometimes , he comes into the library not on Thursday , and he finds her , in the Muggle Section , and he’ll start a debate of how she’s sitting in his chair – because they can do that now . They can argue like kids , without the weight of war on their backs.

( It weighs still . But it weighs on her heart more than anything else. )

And it’s over a cup of coffee and blue yarn that she realises that her scarf is nearly finished – and that he might in fact notice if she keeps coming for a chat.

It is then that she decides she doesn’t care.

(she also decides that his eyes are a little too silver to be real. )

It takes another week , for her to decide that she likes his eyes.

( he likes hers too. She does not know this yet.)

It takes her till the next Thursday , and a minute of him staring at her fingers , then at her face , to decide that she’s going to ask him out.

But it takes her another month to work up the courage to do it.

Over cinnamon cookies this time , hot and fresh – she does just that.

She watches his face split into a winning smile – one that she graced his face with , and she is proud to be the reason for it.

Very proud.

“Finally ,” he says , “Knew you wanted to say something. You’ve got that look about your face , y’know?”

( she did not know this. but then again , she did not know she was being obvious. She thought she was being rather subtle , in fact.)

On their first date , he gives her a rose , or at least that’s what she thinks it is.

She gives him the scarf she was weaving , on that very first night .

( he wears it all the time. Sometimes , even when he’s not cold )

10 years later , the rose is sitting in a vase on a mantelpiece in their house.

The ghosts are still there.

But she’s got a hand to hold now.

#dramione #ess writes #ess waters a plant #marauder fans look away you may not like this #thank you very much for this throw back !!!#(the ask for this is in the comments of my post !!!)#draco malfoy #hermione granger #harry potter #dhr

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thecosmicsailor · 10 months

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Haiii I’m posting my cowboy writing bc I have the overwhelming need to make other people look at them. Enjoy :}

———

Out in the wastelands, everybody you meet is an enemy. Resources are scarce, and good hiding places are even more so. Any potential threat to your supplies is a potential threat to your life.

So when Sidney finds another teenager sleeping in the ravine wall he had been camping out in, his first thought is to kill him.

But… he managed to get a pretty big kill on his last hunt, and he had just found a pretty good amount of wild fruits, and the kid doesn’t seem like he touched too much. All that’s missing is some roots and a few pieces of jerky. He scowls and grumbles, but puts his bag down and nudges the kid’s side until he moves. “C’mon dickhead, get up.”

He squirms on the floor for a moment, but groggily rubs the sleep out of his eyes. They’re bright orange, and nearly entirely hidden under his hair and giant stupid wizard hat, but they’re filled with a kind of fear that Sidney is very familiar with as they look up at him. The kid tries to scramble away from him, but he’s already backed up against the wall so he ends up just banging his head on the stone.

Sidney just sighs as he stands on shaky legs and backs further into the cavern. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, “Please don’t kill me, I’ll leave, I-I can give you, um… s-something! I—”

“Shut up, squirt, I’m not gonna kill ya,” Sidney snaps. “Just, fuckin’...” He scoops up a coyote skin and ties it around a part of his last hunt, along with a few of the berries he just gathered. He stomps over to the kid, who has now backed up as far as possible, and shoves the package into his arms. “There. Now get out,” he growls, punctuating it by flinging his own arm up to point to the exit.

The kid just stands there, mouth open. Sidney’s eye twitches. “Git!” he snaps, and the kid is off like a rocket.

He huffs. Hopefully he won’t just end up getting himself killed by freezing like that again, or he’d’ve just wasted a good bit of food for no reason.

—

A week or so later, Sidney finds a bundle of roots shakily tied with snake skin in his cavern, along with a note.

Thank you

-Alex

—

The next time Sidney sees Alex, he’s moved to the side of a mountain, and he’s out on a hunt.

It’s been a good day. He’s got a fox in his sights- a big one, and after he’s already bagged a few rabbits in his traps earlier. He lines up his revolver, and-

ZZACK

The hair on the back of his neck stands up as the fox leaps out of the way of a thin, orange spear and sprints into the brush. A few more spears get shot at it, but they’re sloppy and go wide. He hears a soft “Nooo…” and who steps out from behind a boulder but the teen with the stupid hat. Gods, he doesn’t even have any goggles.

“Great job, asshole,” Sidney shouts as he rises from his spot. Alex looks like a deer in a god’s sights when he snaps his head towards him.

“S-sorry,” he mutters, and practically folds in on himself. “I, uh. Didn’t know you were around here.”

Sidney rolls his eyes and strides over. He claps a hand onto Alex’s shoulder and starts dragging him away from the clearing, ignoring his yelp. “Won’t matter if anyone steals yer kill if y’ can’t even hit anything. Let’s go see if we can’t find that fox again.”

—

They did end up finding the fox again, and Sidney ended up coaching Alex into aiming at it properly this time. They eat together later that day, and sleep in a small alcove with their backs to the walls.

When Sidney wakes up, Alex is still asleep, with his head buried in his hat. His first thought is how easy it would be to kill him, but he brushes it off. He’s put a stupid amount of effort into keeping the kid alive, it’d be counterproductive to just kill him himself. Instead, he brushes his bangs out of his face, cracks his sore joints and gets to work on packing his things up.

He’s gotten to cleaning his guns when Alex wakes up. Sidney’s left all his stuff alone, so he gets to packing his own things up after orienting himself.

Sidney stands and slips his goggles on, and moves to leave the alcove. “See ya, Alex. Keep yerself alive out there,” he says. He tosses a wave over his shoulder and doesn’t look back.

He’s only gone a minute or so away when he hears footsteps behind him. He turns, and Alex is running after him.

“Whaddaya want, squirt?” He grunts.

Alex takes a moment to catch his breath, and adjusts his hat. “D-Do you think, um, I could come with you? I mean, it’d be easier to, like, get more food with more people, and—”

Sidney cuts him off with a long groan. “Fine. C’mon squirt, we’re goin’ foraging.”

—

“Yer gonna hafta get some goggles if ya wanna keep yer eyes for much longer, squirt.”

“Why d’ya keep calling me that? I’m taller than you. Actually, how old are you anyways?”

“Yer gettin’ bold, squirt. Nineteen, you?”

“Eighteen. Seventeen, actually. I turn eighteen soon, I think.”

—

“I, um. I don’t think I ever actually learned your name.”

“Hm. Sidney Buckner.”

“I’m Alexander White. Nice to meet you, I s'pose.”

“Same t’ you.”

—

“Alex. You can do magic, right?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah, though I’m not great at it. Why?”

“Is it just, like, all kinds a’ magic, or… what?”

“Eh, I can do a bit of everything if I’ve got th’ right spells, but I’m best at animating things. Bringin’ stuff to life, makin’ it move. I’ve also been getting alright at attacking stuff, you’ve seen me do that.”

“Yeah, y’ sure got a knack for blowin’ things’ heads off, that’s for sure.”

“Wh— hey, that was one time!”

—

“Sid!”

Sidney looks up from his hiding spot, where he was counting his bullets, to see Alexander jogging towards him.

“I found a town pretty close by! Maybe we could, I dunno, find some extra supplies or somethin’.”

He perks up at that. Towns are few and far between, and not many of them survive for more than a couple years. If you come across one that’s still living, it can be invaluable.

“Good find, Alex. Which way?”

—

They have to duck out of the sight of a god that’s flying overhead and hunker down to shake off the nausea, but they manage to make it to the town mostly unscathed. It’s a small thing, but it’s got a motel, a blacksmith, and a general store, and that’s good enough for them. They don’t have any money, but they manage to haggle with the motel owner for a room in exchange for some of their food.

Alexander stays there to work on something, and Sidney goes out to see if the smith has anything useful.

There’s no bell, but the door creaks loud enough that the owner notices him come in anyways. “Howdy, stranger,” she says. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

“Y’got any bullets yer willin’ to get rid of?” He asks. She shifts, tense.

“Why’d y’ want ‘em?”

He hesitates for a beat, slightly nervous. “...I’m almost out. Hard t’ hunt anything if y’ can’t kill it.”

Some of the tension leaves her shoulders, and she pulls some trays of bullets from behind her counter. “Alright then. Sorry fer th’ hostility, stranger. Bandits’ve been settin’ up around here, and we’ve been gettin’ more n’ more of ‘em lately.”

Sidney hums, and picks out a set that fits his guns. “What’ve they been doin’?”

“Mostly just stealin’ shit, but our barkeep got shot when a couple a’ them picked a fight. They ran off with some booze n’ supplies.” She scowls. “Along with a lotta my bullets. Speakin’ of, those’ll be $1.75.”

Damn. These better be real good bullets. “Got no money on me, but I’ve got food if y’ need it.”

The smith grunts in exasperation. “Lucky for you, I do, but yer on thin ice. Whatcha got?”

Sidney leaves the blacksmith with a hundred new bullets and without two birds and a bundle of roots.

—

Bandits are a menace in the wasteland. They’re ruthless, steal everything they can carry, and are almost inevitable, so Sidney really shot himself in the foot by being so unprepared for an attack.

A bullet whizzes above him, almost knocking his hat off his head. He and Alexander are huddled behind a rocky outcrop, but he can hear the footsteps of the bandits approaching. One of his guns is knocked away, and the other is out of bullets. He can feel his heart racing. We’re gonna die here. We survived this long, and we’re gonna die here.

“Wait, wait-” Alexander fiddles with a small pouch on his belt with shaky hands. From it, he pulls a small crystal the same color of his eyes. His brows scrunch up in concentration, and orange streaks swirl around it as it starts to glow.

“Whatever yer doin, y’ better do it fast,” Sidney hisses.

“I know, I know, just- there!”

Alexander shoots to his feet and launches the crystal over their hiding spot. A gunshot rings out, but it never hits.

B O O M

Gales of wind soar over the top of the outcrop, knocking Sidney’s hat off and toppling Alexander over onto his back. It dies down quickly, but he’s frozen in place.

Alexander’s bangs are slightly singed, and his face is scratched from debris. But then he starts laughing— it’s shocked, and happy, and ever-so-slightly manic, but at least it’s not blood-filled. Sidney sweeps his flyaway hairs back, and cautiously peeks over the top of the rocks.

There’s nothing. No more bandits, no footprints, no evidence of them ever existing except for a large, sparking scorch mark where they used to be. Alexander comes up beside him, shaking slightly and holding his hat out to him. Sidney takes it with a trembling hand, and stands up next to him. “...Mind tellin’ me what that was, squirt?”

Alexander laughs a bit. “W-Well, it’s, uh, it’s like a bunch of magic all packed into a really small form, and then I kinda… y’know when you blow a balloon up real big, and then you pop it, and all the air comes out all at once and makes it explode? ‘S like that.”

Sidney takes a moment to process that, staring at the scorch mark where two men used to be. “...You made a bomb!?”

Alexander looks very tentatively proud of himself. “I mean— yeah, I guess. Saved our lives though, didn’t it?”

He’s not wrong.

“Th— you— holy shit, Alex.” Sidney puts a hand to his forehead, and cracks a slightly hysterical smile. “Y’ got a real talent fer blowin’ things up, huh?”

—

Their first crime is a simple theft— with the promise of extra firepower backing them up, it’s easy to find the confidence to break into a general store at night and steal some supplies. They fix their cloaks up, and Sidney makes some metal linings for their clothes for extra protection. The town would live without it, the two of them might not.

They steal a few horses next— Sidney calls his Sally, and Alexander calls his Swift. Swift and Alexander get along well enough, but Sally is tough and moody. A horse is a horse though, and faster travel is a serious advantage in a place without a lot of cover from the sky.

They have a few more encounters with bandits. Most of them get taken by surprise and don’t come out alive, but a few get away. One of them they steal the gun of, and so Alexander gets a non-magic alternative. In one town they pass through at night, Alexander finds a bounty on the message board with a rough approximation of their faces on it.

His gut twists uncomfortably, but a spark of pride bubbles in his chest.

—

“Hey, Sid.”

Sidney looks up from the food shelves he’s currently ransacking to see Alexander standing in the doorway, holding two bottles of bourbon.

“Happy 21st, yeah?”

—

“Alex.”

Alexander hums and turns away from the campfire to face Sidney, who is holding a stack of something leather.

“Here— little tabs, so you can keep yer crystals all around you fer easier access. Made ‘em m’self. Happy 20th.”

—

Sally is a moody horse, and Sidney is a snappy person, so it’s no surprise that the very big and tough animal doesn’t obey him sometimes. She doesn’t take too kindly to being stolen and having a new owner.

Sidney grips her reigns tight as she thrashes around, almost knocking his hat off if it wasn’t for the string tied under his chin. “Shit, shit— Sally!” With a final buck, he’s flung off her back and faceplants into the dirt.

“Snrk-” Alexander stands by Swift, stifling his laughter.

“Yeah, laugh it up, asshole,” Sidney grumbles.

“Sorry, sorry, just—” he snickers. “—heh, what’s the ground taste like, Sid?”

“Tastes like your face when I kick it in.”

“Just like Sally just did t’ you?”

Alexander leans on Swift with a stupid grin on his face, only for his own horse to give a rough shake and send him stumbling into the sand as well.

“How’s the ground taste, Alex?”

—

Enoch is a seedy town with a bad reputation. It’s popular among bandits because everyone will turn a blind eye— they know who you are and why you’re there. Sidney and Alexander have gotten notorious enough to get a couple stares among the few people on the streets, though they’re certainly not the biggest fish around.

No, the biggest fish would be Ezekiel Sutton, who Sidney has the misfortune of meeting alone.

An hour later, Alexander finds him with a scar on his cheek, a bloodied arm, and a newfound fear in his heart.

—

Sidney doesn’t tell Alexander about where the stinging in his arm came from, but it’s obvious just by looking at him that something happened. He eyes everybody with a new kind of wariness and sticks close to his friend, gets more hostile towards strangers. Alexander mirrors him, stands taller to be more intimidating. He wears his magic crystals on every surface, always with reach. Sidney starts collecting knives, and makes sure Alexander always has a few on him too.

Alexander doesn’t press, but it’s obvious that he’s concerned.

—

Sidney starts resenting the gods more than people at some point.

In idle moments, he starts thinking. The region is a wasteland because the gods rove over everything in their paths, and resources are scarce because everything gets destroyed one way or another. And because resources are scarce, people compete for everything. The only way to guarantee that you can live another day is to take it from somebody else.

There’s a lot of gods. Too many.

He wonders if they bleed.

—

They find a town that’s been destroyed. It’s unsettling, but a lucky find nonetheless. There are canned goods that are still mostly edible, and supplies and ammunition that haven’t been scavenged by anyone else yet. The stables are intact too, so Sally gets a good place to sleep for however long they stay here.

Swift ran off a few months earlier after giving Alexander a broken nose, and they hadn’t been able to find another horse for him yet. He got over it fairly quickly, but now Sally was getting testy, carrying them both and their bags.

They stay for a few days, longer than they tend to stay in one spot. Alexander presses to stay a few more days though, for another one of his projects. Sidney grumbles and gripes, but relents. He passes the time by patrolling around over and over while Alexander stays cooped up in the stables, and he tries to ignore the anxiety that twists in his chest that comes from leaving him alone.

Two days later, Alexander comes out of the stables with dark eyebags and an enthusiastic grin. “Sidney! C’mere, I gotta show ya somethin’!”

With a slightly relieved “fuckin’ finally,” Sidney follows his friend in while absently brushing some stray hay out of his curly hair. Sally is in the back, where Alexander is leading him, sniffing at…

“Alexander, is that a damn horse?”

Sure enough, a horse-shaped figure is nudging Sally, but it’s segmented and wooden, and its eyes are dark and beady. Its mane sheds sorghum when it shakes its head slightly.

“Yep!” Alexander looks proud of himself, even covered in hay and wood chips and swaying from exhaustion. “I kinda used Sally as a model, n’ I built him outta a buncha brooms n’ wood that I found n’ broke down, n’ then I put a buncha magic in him. I’m namin’ him Broom.”

Broom walks over, a bit stiff, and bonks Alexander with his snout. The man staggers back into Sidney and would’ve fallen over if he hadn’t caught him.

“... How long’ve you been awake, Alex?”

“Eh, maybe like… what time is it?”

Sidney checks his watch. “Five PM.”

Alexander zones out for a moment. “Oh. Uh… ttthree? Days?”

“... Go to sleep, Alex.”

“Yeah, that’s… I’ll do that.”

They spend the night in the stable, and Sally and Broom join them.

—

Sidney knows he’s paranoid, but he also knows that paranoia is a good trait to have if you want to survive. Especially when people who could kill him in a hundred different ways were one unfortunate coincidence away. He’s still reeling from his encounter with Sutton, even two years later, and he’s always eyed everybody with a little (a lot) more consideration since then. He tries to avoid thinking about him.

Enoch is hushed when they next visit it— Sidney would’ve avoided it if he could, but a prominent bandit group they needed information from was stationed there. The bounty board is the most prominent thing in the square, and a good group of people is gathered around it, whispering. Alexander looks at him nervously, but they move towards the people together.

Sidney puts a hand on the shoulder of a woman— Posie Red, he thinks she’s called. “Mind fillin’ me in on what’s goin’ on here?” He asks in a hushed tone. Alexander hovers behind him, scowling.

“Y’ haven’t heard?” Red says. “There’s a real big bounty missin’ from the board.”

He looks back at it, closer this time.

“Sutton’s gone. Why?” Alexander mutters. “He didn’t get locked up, did he?”

“Rumor has it that he went into Haventown n’ got caught by their sheriff,” Red replies.

Sidney shudders. Haventown. They’ve got a history of ruthless sheriffs. Werewolves, too. It and Salvation Town were famous for being both the longest-lasting towns around and the most dangerous to get caught in if you’ve got any kind of blood on your hands.

He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He grabs Alexander by the arm and stalks off to find the gang they’re here for.

—

Alexander gets a rifle into his hands and takes to it like a duck to water. He’s in his element perched on the top of a plateau, waiting for the perfect shot. It ends a week with him streaked with magic, and he experiments with shooting his crystals instead of regular bullets. The craggy clearing they camp out in is filled with pockmarks from laser-focused explosions.

The wizard takes up woodcarving to pass the time, and the rifle’s hilt is the victim of many amateur engravings. Alexander is proud of them though, and fills each of the marks with a bit of orange glow.

It’s not only good as a gun either, as he demonstrates a few days later. He slams its hilt into the back of a bandit’s head when she gets too close, and it sets her hair on fire.

—

“Y’know what, Alex?”

“Hm?”

“…I wanna kill a god.”

Alexander chokes on his water. He coughs for a moment, before asking “N’ why’s that?”

Sidney glowers at the black and red sky outside the mouth of the cave they’re in, looks as close as he can to that damned eye at the top of the sky before his head starts hurting. “I’m tired a’ this. I’m tired a’ fearin’ for my life every time I look up a little too much, or if some god just up n’ decides we’re too in its path to let live. We’re like worms to ‘em, and I’m tired of it.”

“Well… how’re y’ gonna do that?” Alexander adopts a thoughtful look. “You’d need a pretty specialized plan, I think… maybe if we wanna go after one a’ the flying ones, we could make some kinda wing-trap.”

Sidney hums in consideration. “Maybe.”

He glares at the fringes of the sun, and a blazing anger takes the place of the resentment at the bottom of his heart.

—

It’s been a while since Sidney cut his hair. His bangs are long enough to sweep back with the rest of it, and he’s had to start tying it up with a strap of leather to keep it from flying in his face. Alexander’s is only being kept short by how much he singes it with his magic.

He’s also started growing out his sideburns, now that he’s moved on from the annoying young-adult-patchy-stubble that he’s had for the last few years. He thinks it’s a good look. Alexander makes fun of him for it.

—

“Hey… Sidney?”

“Yeah?”

“D’you think that we could be brothers?”

“...Brothers. That sounds nice.”

—

They start celebrating their birthdays together, just because they’re so close— Sidney’s is July 27th, Alexander’s is August 4th. Sidney makes Alexander new boots with metal heels and toes for his 25th birthday, and Alexander carves Sidney a few sigils that can combust if he shakes them for his 26th.

Sidney nearly burns his eyebrow off when he uses one, and Alexander lectures him about magic safety afterwards. Sidney calls him a hypocrite for all the times he’s set off bombs right next to himself.

—

One night, in Enoch’s biggest bar, Sidney gets to talking about the gods again. His anger has aged like whiskey, and he finds company with people who share his sentiment.

The gods are destroyers. The gods never deserved their worship. The gods shouldn’t keep the land in fear anymore.

It’s cathartic knowing that he’s not the only one thinking like this. Even surrounded by enemies, he feels for a moment like the gods couldn’t take all of them.

—

At 27 years old, Sidney dies.

There’s a chill in the air that day, and clouds. Winter is moving in, and with it will come storms. But that day it’s quiet.

Sally is agitated, and even Broom seems a bit tense. There’s static in the air, making the hair on the back of Sidney’s neck stand up.

Around the edge of a cliff face, right in their path, he sees it- a god. It doesn’t fit, like it’s a newspaper clipping that got pasted onto the sky. It’s surrounded by a halo of something— a shifting, buzzing feeling that his eyes can’t really process while he’s looking at it in his peripheral vision.

He hops off Sally’s back, as quiet as he can. He feels that anger in his heart flare up, filling his bones and screaming in his mind. Do it. Now. NOW!

He takes one of his guns in his hand, and he hears Alexander coming up behind him and worriedly saying something, but he’s sprinting forward before he gets it out. The sands spray out from under his feet as he scales the hill underneath it, and he raises his gun and his eyes to the sky.

Time freezes, it feels like.

S ta ti c roars in his ears—

— th e r e ‘s a scre a m beh ind him

W H I T E fl ood s hi s visi on — -

and only for a moment, he feels his mind start to unravel, before a wave of force crashes into him and everything goes black.

—

Lightning slams into where Sidney stands, and Alexander screams. In an instant it’s gone, but he hardly notices behind the bright sparking of orange coating everything, and suddenly he’s kneeling next to a skeleton covered in ashes.

His vision blurs with tears, and the crackling in the air is no longer god-static but his own. His arm and face and blood burn with magic, like they’re being ripped apart, but he can’t bring himself to care while he’s busy channeling the bright flames, so seamlessly that it doesn’t feel real, into the skeleton below him. It shifts from orange to a bright, bright yellow. A maelstrom of sand swirls around them, but leaves them pristine in the eye of the storm.

Then, like a coin, it drops. The white sand drops to the ground and settles. Magic crackles and fizzes, but doesn’t react. The clouds begin to move normally again. The god is nowhere in sight, already moved on with no attention given to his outburst. Deep, deep exhaustion hits Alexander like a bullet. He collapses, then and there.

He lands on top of his brother, cold and sharp, whose pinprick eyes glow yellow.

#my writing :}#also featuring off-screen cameo of spinch’s guy Ezekiel #hope y’all enjoy these traumatized fuckers #oc tag: sidney #oc tag: alexander #blorbos from my brain

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