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sambadecomboscribbles · 2 years

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Captain college au Oneshot

((Ft, Melvin and Harold.))

Mentions of alcohol, Terrible decisions, mentions of puking/nausea.

There was a calm, hazy atmosphere in the small city known as Piqua, Ohio. The air smelled of dew and various city smells one only experiences in the dawn of morning. It had rained the night before, leaving the roads slick with water. Cars drove by, kicking up puddles of murky, dirty rainwater and drive into various fast food places to get breakfast. Like ants, they scrambled to get first in line in the queue.

One such car, a white hybrid, pulls into the queue, the pavement cracking underneath the tires, almost sounding like fire and parked just a few feet away from the speaker. The occupants laid in wait, the heating turned on to keep them warm in such a chilly, Wednesday morning. For a while it is quiet, the morning air smothering the car in a gentle hold.

Calm.

…

“You know I heard their pancakes suck.” A low, raspy voice spoke, still slurred and drowsy from the alcohol mischief the night before with merry times of grilled cheese and burnt fingers. “Do you think I could get pancakes but like… with extra syrup? I want to drink it like a shot.” He snickered, leaning forwards and gazed into the others field of vision. This man, Was Harold Hutchins. Local illustrator and certified dumbass of the highest degree.

Known for his pranks against the college, Hutchins is anything but predictable. Asking for a syrup shot is the LEAST of one’s worries when it comes to the blonde sitting next to the resident genius.

“Scoff!”

“I would say given your only recent awakening from that idiotic stunt you pulled yesterday, No. but I’m not sure I can stop you so I suppose go for it.” Melvin, the cars second occupant and local Dumbass wrangler with his own track record for pulling a slight goof or two, replied, leaning back on the car with a look one can describe as pure pain and agony. “Just don’t come crying to me when you get heart problems at 40, Hutchins.” He closed his eyes, a knowing smirk on his pale face only slightly concealing his worry.

Yeah, he knows Harold’s shenanigans by now. If he was still a small, socially awkward and closed off boy, he’d no doubt be concerned and disgusted by Harold’s creations against the world and his stomach which he’s very certain is made of pure iron at this point. The man has the tolerance for road kill at this point.

Sometimes it still icks him out.

Sometimes.

But given the last 14 years with said blonde and flat top in a row? Melvin has since adapted to their odd food choices and choices in general. He knows and trusts Harold not to legitimately kill himself with stupid decisions.

“Oh please, I have Billy to cry to, its fine don’t worry!” Harold beamed, oblivious to the others concern.

Billy, oh man Billy. That man was like a decorated war veteran, dealing with his recently appointed boyfriend’s antics and his friends antics. Right now though, he was in Japan on a family trip, visiting his folks for a week or so.

Harold leaned back in his seat, hands curled into his hoodie pocket, fingers running over various fast food wrappers and a leather wallet. The wallet containing various photos of Billy and himself, a few dollars and one credit card, very much used constantly. He held the wallet with a tentative hold, careful to not crush the delicate cargo inside the worn leather.

He didn’t expect to get reeled in so soon by someone but he’s glad it was Billy. “Heh, Bills would’ve had a fit if he heard me say that. You know? He loves pancakes! Especially syrup!” Harold replied, a grin on his face and a happy tone in his voice, full of mirth. Usually how he looks talking about his boyfriend.

Melvin scoffed, looking ahead at the queue, a agitated expression on his face. “Hah! So that’s why you own so many bottles of syrup! I have been wondering that for WEEKS!” The other groaned, exasperated. He had seen the others rather… interesting grocery choices for their dorm. Though both had agreed to not nark on the other for their food choices given each’s odd diet.

Soy protein and potato chips. Sugar free and 60 grams of sugar. Apple juice and energy drinks. A weird combination.

“Wait really?! Dude, you could’ve just asked!!” Harold replied, giggling at The others such dramatic display of despair. He was very familiar with Melvin’s ‘oh my god what are you doing with that garbage food Hutchins? Are you trying to kill yourself at age 24?’ Face.

The car slowly rolled forwards, each occupant inside swaying as the car suddenly halted behind a blue caravan, littered with various stickers and those silly car decorations single moms have on their vans and jeeps. You know, the eyelashes?

They were about the fourth in the queue so they had a moment. Melvin was all in all a fantastic driver! Harold? Not so much. Usually Melvin held reigns over their shared hybrid car, with the exception of Harold driving to the Piqua Pick up and Go super market for their annual monthly grocery trip and various gas station trips to gather food like a bear heading for hibernation or his office in their dorm.

It’s the motion sickness that makes him unable to drive. He usually takes a antiacid before setting a single, dirty sneaker into any moving vehicular vessel, but right now he’s still suffering a hangover and stomach attempting to digest the mass of cheese sitting in his gut. So an antiacid is a no go.

“Man I feel sick…” Harold lamented, hiding his face in his yellow stained hoodie sleeves, groaning. He could feel last nights terrible decisions coming up to haunt him. About a bottle or two of wine and 5 grilled cheeses later brought about a sleepy Harold Hutchins, cared for by one Melvin Sneedly who had just returned to the dorm after a lovely night of working on his mid semester’s project and found his roommate in the midst of creating an abomination of melted cheese and soggy, butter coated bread.

Truly, the peak of college student cuisine.

“Do NOT puke in this car I swear to god!” Melvin snapped, hissing at Harold with a intensity that could rival Benjamin Krupp’s. He had JUST made the last down payment on it!

He loved this car, he will be dammed before Harold ruins the seats with his bodily spewage! Melvin leans over, grabbing a plastic bag left over from various gas station stops and held it out to Harold, “here, puke in this you walking disaster!”

Harold graciously accepted the All-Nite-Day-Rite bag, holding it like a lifeline as the car slowly moved once more and the drive-through radio was now in field of view. “Awhhh, you do care…! There is a heart under all that rock!” Harold mused, teasing the ginger. He knew Melvin did truly care about him and vice versa.

It was still funny to tease him about it though.

“Ah ah! Hutchins! I will kick you out of this car I swear!” Melvin huffed, grabbing hold of his coffee mug from the dashboard, taking a sip of the warm bean brew.

One dash of milk.

No sugar or sweetener.

Just how he liked it.

As the car moved once more, the first occupant, Hutchins, slowly sat up, rubbing his head with a hiss as a wave of pain shot through his head. Yeah, getting wine drunk does that to ya. “Hey Melvin? I didn’t actually apologize for making ya freak out last night… thanks for taking care of me, heh, like always.” He spoke, turning to look at Melvin with a rather clear look in his mix matched eyes. “I’m sorry I give ya trouble all the time.”

“…..” Melvin frowned.

Ah.

Feelings.

“It’s… alright Harold. You and George are the stupid ones of the group and as always I am the one to make sure you both don’t die or something.” He answered, turning to gaze at the blonde with a… relieved look, “but, I appreciate the apology, thank you.”

Harold smiled, leaning over and placing a hand on the others shoulder, comforting. “Heh, what would I do without ya, Sneedly?”

“I dread to imagine the chaos, Hutchins, now Cmon what do you want to order? And no syrup! I swear I will not have you get this car messy with syrup!”

“AWWHH! You’re no FUN! Melvin!!”

#Captain college au #captain underpants #the epic adventures of captain underpants #harold hutchins #melvin sneedly #media.warning.nausea #media.warning.puke mention #first fic ever #yyaaayyy #i wanted to officially write something for this au and I definitely plan on writing more in the future #leave me some feedback in the comments!#i’d love to hear your thoughts

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the-kipsabian · 5 months

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wrestling fic writers!!

i have decided to be the change i wanna see, so lets do a nice little thing for each other, as a community full of incredible and talented writers. yes this is writer specific only, but thats cause thats where the main problem of people not interacting with creative works lies in this fandom as far as i can tell and have seen people talking about it especially in the last couple of months

if you read this, please add links to your written works. it can be just a single fic youre really proud of, your writing blog, your writing tag, your ao3 account, anything where your works can be found

and if you leave your link here, PLEASE check out someone else that has left their works, and interact with them. leave them a comment, even just a kudos, REBLOG their fic, etc. interacting is the keyword i want to emphasize here, along with building a sort of a masterpost of where to find people writing in this fandom

and if you are not a writer, youre still highly encouraged to interact with this post and share it and show love to the writers in this fandom, obviously!! i think that should go without saying, but adding it in anyways

a bit more about my vision and resources and such under the read more, but thats the gist of it. happy linking and please be kind and supportive to each other!! 💜

nobody is too big or too small to add their things on this list. if you write and post anything in this fandom whatsoever, be it fics or drabbles or headcanons, any companies or any kind of ships or reader inserts or any content whatsoever no matter how 'dead dove dont eat' or hell even if its just meta, we welcome all here and nobody can say that one thing is less valid than another. just please tag your content accordingly, especially if theres content warnings, and feel free to mention what you write, who you write, any info you wish to leave that would help people before they click on your links. but even so, that should not and hopefully will not deter people from interacting, no matter what it is. someones trash is another ones treasure, i promise you

and unless the amount gets really overwhelming, im personally going to be checking out everyone that leaves something here. unless it squeaks me out, but even then, i'll spread the word. and i just wish as many people as possible will do the same, and not just use this as a potential board to only get eyes on their stuff. ofc thats also the point, but you should give as much, if not more, than you get. we need to be kind and supportive of one another (besides, from personal experience, if you show love to someone else, they are more likely to do it back than without you taking the first step, so... pay it forward)

as for resources, heres a few links that should be helpful in leaving comments and feedback. of course everyone does their own thing and no comment is too big or too small to leave, but for those who need them. if you have anything you'd like added to this list, dont hesitate to get in touch or drop it in the post yourself!!

101 comment starters

ao3 floating comment box

kudos html

dont know how to comment? easy solutions

a quick hot guide to commenting (by yours truly)

an overall guide to appreciating fanfic writers

and just in general.. leave people comments. leave them asks about their projects. just go over and gush about their work. i know it sounds embarrassing but writers love nothing more than to hear that someone likes what they are doing. if you find a fic that hasnt been updated in forever, comment on it. it might just be the spark the author needs to continue. while kudos and likes are nice, and just as valuable to some, its definitely in the words the people leave for them that matter the most. im not saying this to put pressure on anyone, its just how it is, and i feel like unless people are writers themselves, and even then sometimes, thats just hard to grasp, especially if the writer is a smaller and less popular one who doesnt get a lot of traffic in the first place

i think thats all. just be nice and considered to everyone, reblog peoples works, this post with others add ons and so forth. and if i find anyone talking shit here or at other writers for something they share, you'll be blocked and im probably taking your kneecaps. be fucking nice. we are all struggling here and we need to stick together

happy sharing and commenting 💜💜

#wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fic #aew fanfic #aew fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #i hope this make some sort of coherent sense #despite being a writer im really bad at words lmao #i also dont know what to tag this with without clogging main tags so im going to trust moots to get this going first #just. this is a topic im passionate about. i love writing i love writers and having seen the wrestling fandom as of late really struggling #with this. we need to do something. even a little bit helps. actually get people leaving feedback and commenting again #supporting each other. we can do this together #dont let dreams be dreams lets fucking do this #just be nice and help each other out #im gonna stop now before i get overly emotional. if theres any questions let me know tho i think i got the main parts pretty clear here #again moots. im trusting you to get this started. im not gonna add my own shit here immediately this isnt about me #this is about the community as a whole #i also hope nobody is afraid of adding themselves here. you are all valid and worth the attention no matter what #just remember to also give if you leave something here. look at the previous links. look in the notes to find more people #okay thats it i need to make dinner now #lets just be kind and support one another. promise me that 💜#night is an absolute mess on main

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triangle-strategy-notes · 8 months

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Quahaug Concept Art

Quahaug's concept/reference art! Translation notes and image id under the cut.

Translation notes:

"OP sort of powerset" was literally translated as something like "cheat-like." I feel like OP is the more common English term for that sort of thing, so that's what I used, but some of the meaning was probably lost there.

"Older-tween-ish" was specifically a reference to a particular middle school year for children who are about 12-13 years old. Since grades and names of grades vary a lot from country to country, I just went with "older tween."

ID:

[Image id: Several images displaying different parts of 2 pages of the Triangle Strategy artbook, with both the original Japanese as well as versions with English translations. There are several disclaimers noting that the translator doesn't speak Japanese, and that there are likely many mistakes.

On one page, there is a large colored version of Quahaug's canon portrait, along with a smaller, uncolored version. There is an illustrator's note at the bottom that translates to read, "'Manipulating time' is an OP sort of powerset, so though he looks like a child, I aimed to create a look for him that conveyed a sense of unknowable power. (Tatsuaki Urushibara)".

On the second page, there are many drawings of Quahaug, including a closer bust-up portrait in which he's compared to Lyla, with an arrow and label reading, "Mother." There's also several notes that explain the construction of his costume. The costume is labeled as a Greek "phelonion" (a priest's outfit with no real sleeves, just draping fabric). There is a small drawing of this version, with an arrow leading to another drawing that does have sleeves, with the note, "If you can't display this in pixels, use this one." There are several notes that explain how this draping cloth should be considered his everyday clothes, while the ceremonial decoration that goes around his neck is placed over it. There is a close up of the ceremonial dressing's fastenings underneath the metal decoration. Some more notes highlight details on his staff, emphasizing the hourglass on top and the small wheel to the side that can be turned to flip the hourglass. A larger piece of text underneath one fullbody drawing reads, "Character Who Manipulates Time."

On the second half of the second page, there are drawings of some beta designs for Quahaug. He looks much more punk-ish. On one bust-up portrait, there are the captions, "The burden of the time demon caused some of his hair to go gray…." and "All-natural highlighted tips." On the same portrait, he is snapping his fingers, and there's a note that reads, "Manipulating time is as easy as snapping your fingers. You just have to want it or whatever." A speech bubble near his head reads, "I don't think of Anna as a mother." A caption pointing to some green markings on his arm reads, "Demonic time seal on body." In a fullbody drawing of his beta design (which is made up mostly of chains that barely cover him as well as a long roughed-up cloak, there is the note, "Almost naked cloak."

At the bottom of the second page, there is another note that reads, "Initially when we hadn't quite figured out the setting, we had an idea for a more older-tween-ish character as displayed here, but after discussing it with the producers and Mr. Ikushima, we went with his current form. As a boy who manipulates time, I placed an hourglass at the tip of his staff, and his face resembles that of his mother, Lyla. (Tatsuaki Irushibara)". /end id]

#triangle strategy #quahaug #lyla viscraft #triangle strategy artbook #ts artbook character ref sheets #at long last. emo quahuag #despite the WTF factor I really love the page. HE'S SO LITTLE. SO SO LITTLE. like in his canon portrait he could arguably be like 14-15 #but in those drawings on the second page he is indisputably a baby. look at that little face. HE'S SO CUTE #and that note about Anna really cracks me up. can't believe we missed out on having Anna try to wrestle with an angsty 12-year-old #also! trying out a slightly different format from last time! I will at some point probably throw up another poll about it #as always feel free to leave a comment/tag/anything else with feedback if you have any #at some point in the distant future I will probably go through and try to make all of the translation posts more consistent #but I probably won't go back and do that sort of thing until I get all of them done #oh and also also! as a note I actually messed up my order a bit; I meant to do lyla's first before this one #but she and the other saints will be up next #edit: one of the images had an old version of a translation (used 'something' instead of 'whatever' in the note about snapping fingers)#just reuploaded it

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mewnia · 2 days

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I hope all those who have been tuning in for my Tales Sundays know that a lot of these (not all) images are done on the same file and I will absolutely be creating a Timelapse of all of them once I hit my 1 year goal

(and that yes I’m only doing this for a year haha! Going until September babyyy)

#Tales of Sunday!#mewnia murps #it’s a fun time I’m really enjoying it #And I’m surprised how long I’ve been able to actually stick with it #I think me just leaving a lot of mistakes as-is and only giving like a 1-2 hour attention to the piece (unless I think it deserves more)..#really helps me continue to do these (although I do fix GLARING mistakes)#and the positive feedback ofc!!!!!!!!!#I love getting comments in the notes and asks in my ask box saying how much people love these <3 #Although it’s definitely taken up some energy to work on illustrations I’ve noticed haha #so yeah only doing this for a year #it’s helping me figure out my style though!! So hopefully by the time I’m done I have a better idea of how to go about when—#—working on said new illustrations :3

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bedlamsbard · 1 year

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thinking about that one comment I got on Gambit about how it was, DIRECT QUOTE, “painfully obvious the characters do what you want rather than what they want.”

do you. do you uh. do you know how writing stories works. they’re not real, bro.

(this is from back in 2018 so not recent. this is also not actually the worst part of that comment.)

#yes it was someone who hated the ot3 of course it was someone who hated the ot3 #actually I shouldn't say 'of course' given some of the other comments I've gotten on gambit #unsure if the winner for 'most unhinged' is the person who chased me across three platforms to order me what to do in the next story #the 'I insist that you have anakin cheat on padme' lady #or the person who kept reading and leaving increasingly upset comments about obi-wan cheating on satine #because even though satine was dead in the wake base verse she was still alive in the gambitverse so that's basically the same thing #'I'm getting nervous that this isn't going to be an obitine story' this story has been clearly tagged since 2015 #(as long time readers know it was not tagged while it was in progress but that was eight years ago and I would NEVER do that today)#for my marvel readers: this is the equivalent of someone leaving increasingly upset comments on home about natasha cheating on bruce #talking about feedback in public

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thetomorrowshow · 1 year

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every hand’s a winner

trust au masterlist - previous

I COME BEARING FLUFF.

also a little note: due to personal reasons, i will be stepping away from social media for an unforeseeable amount of time. because of this, fics/updates will be posted once a month on the second tuesday either until i get back or until they run out. for january expect some esh au, and the next part of hubris in february :) additionally, my queue will be posting every other day either until i get back or until my queue runs dry (unlikely, as there are close to 300 posts in it lol).

forget all that, though!!! bc i have some people being happy for you!

cw: blood and injuries

Scott goes home that very evening, like most of the other emperors—bar Jimmy, who is slated to stay overnight in the infirmary. They’d tried to keep Scott as well, fussing over his bloody nose and torn skin, but he’d promised to check in with the Rivendell healers at home to make sure time in the Void of the End won’t seriously affect him.

For once in his life, Scott willingly goes to the Rivendell infirmary, leaving with a couple of bandages and instructions to write down any strange symptoms.

The thing is, nobody has ever fallen into the Void before—let alone the one in the End—so there’s no way of knowing what might happen further down the road. Scott’s an anomaly of sorts, and it looks like he’s now the subject of a medical study.

He hasn’t noticed anything apart from a slight lingering dizziness, so he writes that down, feeling somewhat stupid about it being the only symptom he has to report, especially when that could be caused by a myriad of other things. It’s not like he’s never been dizzy before. He practically didn’t stop being dizzy back before he figured out how to sleep.

That night, he luckily doesn’t have to deal with his insomnia—he’s up until the sun rises meeting with various advisory groups: working out the best way to lock down Rivendell whilst still keeping trade routes open, mobilizing the layman army, and deciding how to go forward with various declarations of support for other empires. Within the night, four different ambassadors turn up to arrange an alliance, and Scott knows that his fellow emperors are awake dealing with the same things.

He doesn’t get a moment alone until well into the next day, after he has to send out a formal announcement that his and the Codfather’s betrothal is postponed until after the war (if Jimmy still wants such a relationship, of course). He can tell that many of his advisors don’t necessarily agree with this decision, but they recognize the direness of the situation (and Ilphas, Aeor bless them, defends Scott’s choice with a fervor), and allow the postponement to occur.

It’s past four in the afternoon before he finally has a moment to relax, kicking off his boots and bathing before changing from the travel clothes that he’s been wearing for almost two days straight into something clean. The sight of Jimmy’s robes in the closet next to his almost makes him cry for some reason, but he pushes past them to the back to dig out a pair of hose and a skirt, tucking an embroidered but comfortable tunic into them.

He can’t sleep.

Several months have passed since the torture of fWhip’s basement, his wounds entirely healed, but he can’t quite convince himself he’s safe to sleep alone. He really thought he’d be over it by now.

It’s no use trying, of course—after so many long hours, he doesn’t want to risk a panic attack. Instead, Scott lies in bed and just breathes, trying not to think about all the war preparations that he’s just spent hours making.

He also tries not to think about Jimmy.

That’s a whole other issue to deal with.

For a couple of minutes, he’s able to lie there in peace, shutting down any thought as soon as it breaches his mind.

Then his bedroom door opens.

Scott sits up, ready to reprimand whatever servant is entering—he’s in his private quarters, he could be without his veil—but he’s not meant to have a veil anymore, is he—

It doesn’t matter anyways, because it isn’t a servant at the door.

It’s Jimmy.

“Hey,” Jimmy waves awkwardly, slipping in and shutting the door behind him. “How—how’re you?”

Jimmy looks terrible.

Well, he looks beautiful, as per usual, but his fall through the Void has certainly taken its toll. There are bags under his eyes, his hair greasy and limp, and he walks with an unsteadiness that tells Scott he’s been experiencing the same dizziness. Most notably, his face isn’t bandaged anymore.

It had been hard to see in the End, when Jimmy’s face was pretty fairly just a mess of blood, and impossible to see when there had been bandages plastered on half his face, but it’s clear now that Jimmy’s lost almost all of the scales on his face.

They had run in patches up from his throat to the line of his jaw on both sides, some speckling across his cheeks and a handful clustered around both his mouth and eyes. Scott had always found them gorgeous, little sparkling jewels on his face that truly brought out the flecks of green in his eyes. Now there’s maybe three around his eyes, ten total over the entirety of his face. In place of all the missing scales is torn skin and scabs, blood shining on his jaw from where the scabs have split.

Scott feels a little sick looking at it. Jimmy’s throat is still wrapped in bandages, and he can see some tied around his hands, so he can only guess at how many are missing across the entirety of his body.

He’s not sure why the dressings are gone from his face, but those wounds look ripe for infection. They shouldn’t just be out in the open.

“Jimmy, where have your bandages gone?” he asks instead of replying, swinging out of bed. “You need new ones, come here.”

Jimmy follows him into the washroom that leads off from what was once their joint sitting room, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his sleeves. “They made me take them off at the door,” he explains. “To make sure it’s me, and all. It looks pretty gross, I know.”

“No, it’s not—it’s—I don’t want them getting infected, is all it is,” Scott says absentmindedly, digging through his healing chest for the proper materials. He finds a basket of bandages and a roll of gauze, which he removes and sets to the side. His hands pauses over a regen potion, glancing uncertainly at Jimmy.

Jimmy shakes his head. “No potions, doctor’s orders,” he says. “They’re afraid it won’t . . . grow back right. It’s a wait-and-see thing at the minute.”

Scott passes over the regen and the health potions, landing instead on some disinfectant ointment. He closes the chest and gestures for Jimmy to sit on it, turns away to wash his hands before twisting open the ointment.

Jimmy doesn’t sit still as he applies it, jiggling his knee and wincing and pulling back every time Scott touches him. His injuries must really hurt, then—Scott’s being as gentle as he can, barely touching his cheeks as he rubs the ointment in.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when he cleans a particularly ugly patch and Jimmy actually cries out a bit. Jimmy shakes his head, face twisted into a lopsided grimace.

“It’s fine,” he grits out. “Thanks.”

Well, it’s not as if Scott was going to let Jimmy patch himself up. He’s not sure what he’s getting thanked for.

He finishes up quickly and efficiently, hesitating at his mouth and eyes. The bandages are too blocky to work with the curves there, so he tears one up and uses the pieces to line any awkward spots.

Jimmy really doesn’t look any better once he’s done, covered in so many bits and pieces of bandages that barely any skin is showing. He forces a smile anyhow, shows Jimmy his reflection in the mirror.

Jimmy stares at himself for a long moment. “I’d laugh if I could move my mouth that much,” he comments, and the smile on Scott’s lips becomes just a bit more real. He’s making jokes. That’s got to be good.

Then Jimmy takes one of his hands, and Scott’s heart skips a beat.

“What’s this?”

Scott follows his gaze down to his hands—Scott’s knuckles have similar bandages wrapped around them.

“Same as you,” he says, flexing his wrists. “I escaped with just losing a bit of skin, fortunately.”

Jimmy nods. “Right. Scales—on a fish, perfect protection. Bit weak when you combine it with normal skin. It—it makes sense.”

“And you were in there for longer,” Scott adds. Jimmy shrugs, looking away and down. Every which way, except for back at him.

Scott leads the way back into the sitting room, gestures for Jimmy to take a seat on the sofa (it’s his favorite spot, Scott knows, the velvet of that left cushion still brushed back weird from when he’d been sitting there last). Scott almost sits in his preferred armchair, but makes a last-minute decision to sit beside Jimmy on the sofa.

They’re quiet for a moment, and it isn’t a gentle quiet, nor a comfortable one. It’s awkward, filled with tension, and Scott’s certain they keep looking at each other but never managing to catch one another’s eyes.

He’s got to say something, but all he can think about is Jimmy’s exhausted eyes, love confessions falling from bloodstained lips, impulsive kisses and a slippery grasp on his lover’s bleeding face.

He has to say something.

But Jimmy speaks first.

“I really like you,” Jimmy says, looking away, and Scott takes the moment to gaze at him, truly take in the fatigue lining his face and the droopiness of his eyelids. “I didn’t—I have for a while. Months, really. Ever since . . . I don’t know when. I just—well, I tried, that one time—” he grimaces— “I just . . . I didn’t feel worthy, I suppose, of you. You’re—Scott, you’re so perfect, always all put-together and—and rescue-y and everything, and I’m just . . . me. Gosh, I’m sorry for rambling—I really just meant to say that I like you and—and I kinda hope you like me too.”

Scott blinks.

If his heart flipped when Jimmy took his hand earlier, it’s positively doing cartwheels now.

Jimmy likes him.

And apparently, all that pining was for waste because he could’ve confessed this whole time and Jimmy would’ve reciprocated.

Scott can’t help it: he laughs. Just a little, a giggle that slips out accidentally, but it’s enough that Jimmy freezes and glances over at him, eyes terribly fearful.

Scott waves frantically, pushing closer to him. “No, no—I—I wasn’t laughing at you,” he’s quick to correct. “I was—Jimmy, I’ve liked you for ages, but I was so afraid of you rejecting me that I didn’t dare say anything. Just think what might have happened if we both actually used a bit of logic for once in our lives.”

Jimmy blinks. A surprised laugh bursts out, one that’s quickly stifled as Jimmy winces and covers his mouth. It’s really not funny—it must hurt to laugh, with his face in such a state—but Scott can’t help it. He laughs again, lightly punches Jimmy on the shoulder.

“Don’t laugh,” he reprimands, still laughing himself. “You’ll start bleeding again, and we can’t have that.”

Jimmy clearly can’t help it, his shoulders shaking as he struggles to not even smile. Scott’s smiling too, he’s gazing at Jimmy beside him as he tries not to laugh and. . . .

He’s really in love, huh? Because Jimmy’s always shone like a star, he’s always been so breathtakingly beautiful, but he’s somehow so much more so now that he’s his. Now, Scott gazes at him, wave after wave of glory hitting him like waves of heat from the sun.

He’s in love, and it’s wonderful.

“Um,” Jimmy says after a moment, and Scott realizes that not only is he staring at Jimmy, but Jimmy is staring right back.

“Sorry—” he starts to say, looking down at his hands, but Jimmy interrupts him.

“I actually—I know you’re busy, with . . . with everything going on, and I am too, but if you wanted to just have one night before all that? I’d still like to—to go stargazing with you.”

It’s wartimes. He only has the one night to offer Jimmy, and no promises for the future.

Scott smiles. “I would be honored.”

There’s no snow on the ground where they pick to stargaze, a stone shelf in the side of the mountain that Scott’s lain on many times past. He spreads out three blankets on top of one another and leaves a fourth bundled to the side, in case the air gets too chill.

Jimmy splays out immediately, just like how he’s always first in bed—an incredibly intimate thing for Scott to know, and something inside him seems to almost purr at the realization. Jimmy is his, and he is Jimmy’s (at least for tonight).

Scott eases himself down next to him—his lover, Jimmy’s his lover—and, in a split-second decision, shifts a bit closer so that their hips touch.

Jimmy doesn’t move away.

Scott’s heart flips a little.

Exor’s hooves, you’re acting like a teenager, he tells himself. You like him, and he likes you. Just—be normal.

He can’t be normal. There is no way he can be normal.

The world around them has been gradually growing dark the entire time they spent hiking up to here and setting up, and now it’s dark enough that Scott can barely see Jimmy’s face.

He hadn’t been able to see Jimmy’s face then, either.

He’d seen him fall.

Scott had just caught sight of it as he regained his sense of balance from the End portal. He’d looked up to find an unfamiliar island, the world surrounded by the darkness of the void, and on the other side of the island—

Even from that distance, Scott could tell that Jimmy’s fall was the most graceful he’d ever seen.

He spread his wings and took off without a second thought, abandoning the others who followed him through the portal.

He had to try. He had to.

He’d passed fWhip, who was laughing—who tried to grab him—as he went over the edge of the island.

And then, wings pulled tight to his body, nose down, he dove after Jimmy.

“Scott?”

He blinks, looks around. Jimmy’s at his side now, head propped up on his arm. Jimmy quirks an eyebrow, still barely visible. “You good? You kind of zoned out for a second there.”

Scott blinks again, looks up. The stars are starting to twinkle into vision, bright and lively, and Scott almost waves up to them.

Perhaps Jimmy doesn’t know much about elven beliefs, doesn’t know the significance of the stars. He doesn’t know that Scott could point out a dozen or two elven legends and heroes—Gelidrian, Calireth, Alinar. And others, more mundane—his parents, the nurse who had raised him, the palace guard from a mere two decades ago.

Someday, Scott knows he will join them all. Hopefully not any day soon.

“Whoa,” Jimmy whispers. Scott glances over at him, his face illuminated by the exaltation of elves. One of his hands is raised slightly. “They're so close.”

“They really are.”

They watch in silence for a while, more and more bundles of light appearing in the sky. When the entirety of the Stags is visible and bright, Scott points it out, taking Jimmy’s hand (his heart jumps, Jimmy’s his lover) to trace his fingers down the lines of stars.

“That’s the Clash of the Stags,” Scott tells him, tracing it over again. “On the left is Aeor, see His antler?”

“That’s your god, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that’s Aeor.” Scott smiles just a little bit—somehow, every time Jimmy knows something about elven history, it makes him ten times more attractive. “And then below Him and to the right is Exor, His brother.”

“I’ve heard you say his name before. Is he your god, too?”

Scott can’t help but snort. “No. Exor may be Aeor’s brother, but they don’t get along. Exor was cruel, controlled those under his domain, sacrificed the weak and oppressed the followers of Aeor. Aeor, meanwhile, ruled with kindness and respect, befitting of the last remaining gods.”

“What happened to the others?” Jimmy asks. “There are others, aren’t there?”

“Yes, we believe so. I’m sure you’ve heard Pix mention the Great Slumber?”

Jimmy nods, the movement scrunching up Scott’s sleeve. Jimmy’s so close to him, close enough that Scott can feel his every twitch and breath.

“Aeor and Exor were the only gods not to fall asleep. But when Exor became corrupted, jealous of his brother’s rule, Aeor knew He had to do something about it. So He gathered all His power and wielded it in a mighty battle against Exor—the Clash of the Stags. See how Aeor is kicking Exor down?”

Jimmy nods again. The nerves in Scott’s arm are tingling at his every touch, and he has to take a moment to swallow back the squeak that threatens to break his voice. “Um. Aeor used everything He had to seal Exor and his followers within a mountain forever,” he says, thankfully with no cracks. “Then He withdrew from the people, still hearing their prayers and granting small blessings, but separate from them. He lost much of His power in that fight, and has spent many thousands of years resting and caring for us—as any god should.”

Jimmy’s silent then, and when Scott looks over at him, he’s staring up at the sky, eyes flicking from point to point. Scott doesn’t look away, and while Jimmy’s eyes trace the stars, Scott’s eyes trace Jimmy’s face.

In the dark with the stars as their only light, the raw patches around his mouth and eyes that they hadn’t been able to bandage are invisible. The lines of exhaustion are impossible to see, as are the shadows Scott knows ring his eyes.

Instead, Scott sees the way his nose twitches. He sees long eyelashes that flutter gently. He sees golden hair that’s starting to curl around the gills, long in a way Scott’s never seen it. He sees lips that move soundlessly, lips that are looking more and more kissable by the second.

“There,” Jimmy says, and Scott pulls himself out of his reverie to follow Jimmy’s finger. Scott squints up at the sky as Jimmy traces a triangle shape out of the stars.

“That can be the mountain,” Jimmy says, sounding proud of himself. “The one that Aeor trapped them in. Do you guys know where that mountain is?”

Scott giggles a little—he can’t help it, it has to be a crime to be so cute—and traces along Jimmy’s triangle as well. It’s part of another constellation, he realizes after a moment—the Crystal of Rivendell, made up of stars of rulers who have passed on. “The mountain probably wasn’t real, Jimmy. Rivendell scholars have searched for it for literal ages, and they’ve not found evidence of it yet. Besides, I find it hard to believe that a mountain could entrap a god.”

“It was a magical mountain, you said so,” Jimmy says stubbornly. “Aeor sealed it. And I think it would be a great idea—some mountains are older than the ocean, you know, surely they have some sort of power.”

“Well, when you fight a god, trap him in a mountain and let me know how it goes.”

Jimmy laughs too, then cuts off abruptly as a cold gust of wind blows over them. He shivers, shifts close enough to Scott that he’s practically curled up in Scott’s side, head resting on his shoulder.

Scott’s certain that his heart actually stops.

Which is stupid, because—because they’ve done this before! Almost every morning, Scott wakes up pressed into Jimmy, and it’s fine. Well, it’s nerve-wracking and overwhelming and suffocating, but it’s been weeks since he last blushed and apologized, and much longer since he stopped pretending that Jimmy isn’t a very physically affectionate person. Romantic intentions or not (and now, in retrospect, Scott knows that most of them likely were romantic in some way and isn’t that something), Jimmy hugs him or leans on his shoulder on a near daily basis. This isn’t anything new.

Somehow, though, it’s the strangest sensation he’s ever known.

He’s been quiet for some time, he realizes suddenly, and before he even knows what to say he’s blurting out, “What’s your favorite constellation?”

Jimmy jerks a little bit. “What?”

“I—that’s how it started, isn’t it?” Scott says, and he just knows he’s paler than the stars right now. “You asked me what my favorite constellation is. Which one’s yours?”

Jimmy doesn’t answer immediately, pulling back a bit to gaze up at the stars properly. After a few moments, he takes Scott’s hand (the hairs on his arm stand up) and guides him up, much further to the left than the Stags. There, he traces out a strange shape—almost a lopsided rectangle, but with five sides.

Below it are two stars that are very familiar to Scott, he realizes with a jolt—

Staying up late every night—he’s just a child, he ought to be in bed, but instead he creeps over to the window and looks up at the stars.

His nurse had taught him to make a wish on the point of Aeor’s antler, and if the God was willing, his wish might come true. Scott can’t really remember where it is most of time, but he can always find those two bright stars to wish on—and that way, he would get two wishes!

He wishes twice for himself, or sometimes he uses one for Xornoth, or sometimes he uses one for his parents.

Most of the time, though, he wishes twice for himself—and he wishes for a friend.

Jimmy traces it again, the soft bandages on his knuckles rubbing against Scott’s matching set. “That one. That’s my favorite.”

“What is it?”

Jimmy’s hand falls to his side, almost in slow motion. “I don’t know,” he says, and there’s something wistful in his voice, something terribly sad. “But it feels like home.”

It gets too cold to stargaze, so Scott packs everything up and helps Jimmy back to the palace, flying in through his window so as not to get caught out by the guards.

And sure, it may be the beginning of the end of the world, war hovering over them like the executioner’s axe, but Scott can’t stop giggling. He and Jimmy are sneaking around like teenagers, trying to not be seen as they clamber in through his window. It’s so very cliche that he can’t help but enjoy it, can’t help but be entirely wrapped in the feeling of new love.

They both collapse onto Scott’s bed, both laughing, even though Jimmy’s covering his mouth and wincing like it hurts. He doesn’t stop, though, eyes sparkling as he snickers.

“The funny thing—the funniest part is, it’s not even funny,” Scott gasps out, and it isn’t—he thinks they’re more laughing because of the absurd pressure it is to sneak into a building that you belong in in the first place. It’s more stupid than anything—it would have been just fine to go in through the gates, really, but they’d decided to do it proper just for the fun of it.

Jimmy laughs harder at that, cutting himself off with a small “ouch!”. He presses his sleeve to his mouth for a moment before pulling it away, examining it for any blood. Apparently satisfied, he lets his arm fall and stretches out a bit.

“This was really good, Scott,” Jimmy says after a minute, and dear Aeor, even the way Jimmy says his name. . . .

“Can I kiss you?”

Scott blinks, sits up. Jimmy’s watching him, a blush spreading across what’s visible of his face. He almost looks just as surprised as Scott feels that those words fell from Jimmy’s mouth.

And really, props to Jimmy, because it’s not a bad idea. It’s a very good one, in Scott’s mind.

But they really need to talk about it first, don’t they?

Scott sits up, runs a hand through his hair. “I’d like to apologize, actually. For our first kiss.”

Jimmy frowns. “Yeah, I—it was sensory overload, yeah? I don’t think you need to apologize for that.”

“Wha—when did I say it was sensory overload?”

Jimmy sits up too, scoots along until he’s sitting beside Scott. “Well, I didn’t figure it out until today, actually. I sort of thought you hated me at first, but yesterday, when . . . and then again, earlier. You said—you’ve liked me this whole time, right?”

Scott nods.

“Right. Well, I figured if you did like me back then, you probably wanted to . . . do the whole kiss thing. And it’s really not like you to just run away like that. And I know you get sensory overload real bad sometimes, so. . . .”

Scott slides his hand toward Jimmy’s, loosely tangling their fingers together. It’s a conscious movement, one that sends nerves sparking up and down the very bones of his body.

It’s dangerously close to too much.

Yet it’s everything he’s wanted for so long.

“How about this,” Jimmy continues. “We—we’re . . . courting now, right? Um—that—that’s really nice to say—so how about we always ask first, before a kiss? And stuff like that. That way, neither of us is taken by surprise.”

Thrills go up and down every inch of Scott’s skin when Jimmy says that they’re courting, his breath stolen from his chest. They’re courting. They’re in a committed relationship. Jimmy is his, and he is Jimmy’s, and it’s true because Jimmy said so. It’s real.

“That—that sounds good,” he manages. He takes stock of himself—definitely on-edge, but he can handle one kiss. As long as they make sure it’s just one. And maybe if they do some pressure cuddling afterward.

“Can I kiss you?” Scott asks, his voice almost a whisper. What’s visible of Jimmy’s face under the bandages goes through a series of emotions—anxiety, enthusiasm, warmth, and then settling back on anxiety. He nods, a little uncertainly, and turns to fully face Scott, drawing his legs up criss-cross on the bed.

They’ve kissed three times before, but everything is different about this one.

There’s an awkward sort of lean-in, of course—the first and second times had been sudden, passionate, and the third filled with the thrill of survival. For this, they move slowly, telegraphing each movement carefully—akin to trying not to spook a wild stag, Scott thinks offhandedly.

And then their lips meet.

Scott’s always led kisses in past relationships, his lips slotted above his partner’s, but Jimmy takes the lead here, leaning up a bit to match Scott’s height—and Scott thinks he likes it. His lips are warm, far warmer than Scott’s, and wet, and so very very soft.

It’s not the burning fireworks of their first kisses, but it’s warm like a cozy evening by the fireplace—there are so many nerve endings, he can feel his shoulders start to raise at the overstimulation—and it’s Jimmy and he loves him so much and it’s overwhelming, it’s perfect, it’s underwhelming compared to the first time because Scott knows that Jimmy has very sharp teeth and knows how to use them—

But Jimmy pulls away after just a moment, their lips parting slowly, and offers a small smile. “Good?”

Scott can only manage a squeaky noise in the back of his throat, and Jimmy giggles. The sound is a little bit loud for his sensitive ears.

Scott stands and pulls off his cloak, muttering something about putting on softer clothes before ducking into his walk-in closet. He can hear Jimmy laughing behind him.

Normally Scott would consider himself the smooth one—why is he so uncollected? He can’t even find the words to make any sort of dirty jokes. Jimmy must think something’s wrong.

(And so many things are wrong, of course, but definitely not this.)

He changes into soft pajamas, emerging to find Jimmy having also changed—he’s in a loose shirt and shorts, hair mussed and occasional bandages wrapped around his arms and legs. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how one looks at it—his face and hands had taken the brunt of the damage, only a couple of patches bandaged on his arms and even fewer on his legs. Jimmy smiles brightly when he sees Scott reenter.

“I sort of assumed I’d be staying the night. You looked overstimulated, do you need anything?”

Scott points to the bed. “Sleep?” he suggests, swallowing half of the word back. Jimmy nods, pulls back the covers.

“Do you want me on top of you?”

Scott can’t help it—he snorts. Jimmy goes totally red, sputtering incoherently.

“I—you know I—Scott!”

“Very forward, Jimmy, and on the first date too—”

“Oh, come off it!” Jimmy shakes his head, sighs, then adds, “We’ve been engaged for a while now; I don’t think it counts as a first date.”

Scott quirks a brow, and this is more familiar, this is how their banter is meant to be, flirtatious and comfortable and not at all awkward. “So you’re saying you’re open to it?”

“You are a menace,” Jimmy tells him, but he’s smiling, and it really does feel like before all of their issues. Except now Jimmy’s actually his, and the awkward dancing around each other in a newfound relationship hasn’t passed, but maybe they can become like this again soon enough.

Scott climbs into bed, turning down the lamp on his way in. He curls on his side, pulling the blankets up to his waist, his wings resting on the cushioned shelf built into his bed for this precise reason.

After a moment, the bed shakes as Jimmy climbs in beside him, then slowly, carefully, rests an arm around Scott’s waist.

“This okay?”

The weight of his arm is heavy and warm, the perfect amount of pressure, and Scott rolls to be fully on his stomach before pressing closer. When his head is up against Jimmy’s chest, and their knees are bumping at every readjustment, he nods.

He can be close to Jimmy. He doesn’t have to be self-conscious about wanting to touch him. He doesn’t have to restrain himself in private, pretend that the physical affection is all for show.

Scott moves one arm up, wrapped under Jimmy’s arm and up his back, and sighs. This is comfortable. This is right. This is real. Their bodies know how to fit together, weeks of practice in their sleep lending subconscious knowledge to Scott as he presses up against his lover, his Jimmy.

This is real, he tells himself, and it’s perfect.

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lit-in-thy-heart · 10 months

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people leaving not glowing reviews in ao3 bookmarks my unbeloved

#went onto one of my fics to familiarise myself with interactions before continuing to tackle a planned sequel #saw someone else had bookmarked it and went :DD and got even more excited to see it had been bookmarked with a comment #buut the comment was just like 'i mean it was alright' which isn't shattering criticism but it's like #i spent 2 weeks writing and editing and tying myself in knots and worrying about the depiction of characters in that fic #it's one that i'm actually quite proud of and am putting a lot of effort into the follow-up and trying to maintain the same tone #why would someone bother to bookmark it if it just felt average -- moreover why bother to say that?#i've seen worse ones #like i understand that you're not going to like every single fic in existence but unless people ask for feedback #you don't need to leave your critical review in a comment that the author can see #and i know how i've worded it may sound conceited #but some i've seen very much carry the same vibe as being invited in to someone's house and dumping spaghetti bolognese on their carpet #like if you're not a fan either don't accept the invitation or politely leave instead of posting a pic on social media #with a caption of how much of a state the house was #it just baffles me why someone would bookmark something they didn't thoroughly enjoy #anyway #shoutout to the fantastic people who leave lovely comments on fics and in bookmarks and put a smile on fic writers' faces you're all swell #even just a !!!!!! makes my day <3 #personal #lit talks

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krokaxe · 8 months

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Alright it's time for some October Creation™ Comments highlights

#Highlight Reel #shout out to vinny for making me daily feedback (and making me laff)#that's so good and precious #I really appreciate it #as I do I appreciate every single person who takes the time to comment on anything #after a year and then some of truly rancid happenstances #I can say with absolute confidence #that I'm Back™#and every one of you who interacts? golden #I'm leaving you all snackies out by the keyboard over night #Fallout

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lunarblazes · 1 year

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hrmmmm. art is so hard you guys

#i have so many ideas for fics and paintings #but like. my skills aren’t developed enough for the executions #and i know if i try to make them it won’t be up to my standards :^(#so i’ve been taking a bit of a creative break lately and hoping that’ll help a bit #but you guys are welcome to ask me about concepts i have rattling around up there if you want!!#some of em are for cr3 and some of em are for limited life #i have one for cr2 which i actually just started #so. yeah!#idk. support is always appreciated and i still adore every comment on every work i’ve ever made <3 #i’ve been delighting in leaving feedback on other peoples’ fics and art lately #that’s why i always leave comments and tags #i want people to feel included and involved!! it’s so encouraging #ANYWAYS YEAH #ramble done i swear #lunar winds

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sambadecomboscribbles · 2 years

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Captain College Au

Tags: Mentions of Weed, Mentions of Alcohol, College and superhero stress, Heavy Language, Blood, Battles, Fighting, Injuries, Mention of divorce and more older topics! This fic isn’t for kids! Captain college au, what if I gave Harold Captain’s job and gave him dad issues? That’s it that’s the fic.

Characters: Harold Hutchins, George beard, Melvin Sneedly, Mr Krupp, Edith, Heidi Hutchins, Jessica Gordon, Billy-donabee-Ahiro and more!

Relationships: Harold and Melvin, Harold/Billy, Melvin and Billy, Harold and George, Melvin and George.

1/ ???

Chapter 1

Hey Ho, here we go.

There was a light dusting of snow along the crunchy, chipped sidewalk. The snow sticking to the rocks with gentle grasps, holding on with all their might. The air smelled of crisp smoke and a hint of the last remains of Pumpkin spice as the holidays started to settle in the bones of the city. Winter was just around the corner and it didn’t seem like the monster truck of Christmas was stopping anytime soon, slamming into Piqua like a bat out of hell.

It seemed to arrive quicker every year now. Not that the city cared, jumping up at the chance to celebrate the holiday earlier.

Walking along the roads, was one of Piqua’s oldest residents. His bright green sneakers happily dancing along the sidewalk as Old 45’s dance in his dollar store ear buds. Swinging like bells in a clock tower was tonight’s dinner, the plastic bags crinkling in tune with his steps. Chinese food, from a familiar friends family restaurant. The man didn’t seem too upset over the cold blanketing the town, instead he seemed overjoyed in the moment, letting the music dance and move his body as it pleased.

“If you think romance is dead and gooo—oooon—ooon-!!”

BRRRING! BRRRING!!

He was brought from his music induced vibe by the sound of a harsh ringtone. He blinked, pulling out his phone with slightly frozen hands, the skin red with irritation. Ah, it was his roommate!

Ah… it was his roommate…

“Shit shit- Ah! Yellow?” He answered, voice cheerful with a sniffle. Knowing fully, the earful he was about to receive.

“Harold Hutchins!! It’s been 40 minutes! where are you?” A sniveling voice barked back, voice holding simmering anger and a hint of worry. “The campus isn’t that far away dammit! Don’t tell me you’ve been kidnapped! I feel sorrow for the poor souls who have to deal with you!!”

“Hahah! Nah, I’m just taking my time Melvin! Don’t worry! I’m almost back in the gates now!” Harold reassured the other, a hand held up in a passive motion. He… was very familiar with the others intense worry and even jabs. “I’ll be home in about 20 minutes, okay? Can you have Glenda open the gates for me? I left my card in the dorm.” He asked, picking up the pace a bit, blonde hair bouncing on his head as he ran against the sidewalk. His worn shoes slamming into the ground with heavy thumps but he didn’t exactly care about the ice beginning to slick up the roads and sidewalk.

“And why should I do that?, last I checked I didn’t even like you.” Melvin sneered, a slight hint of amusement in his voice. Which was steadily growing at the sound of his roommate beginning to hurry the fuck up with dinner.

“Because- ha…! I’m the one with your Dinner! egg rolls- oof! And! crab Rangoon!” Harold replied, out of breath due to his now exercise, mouth curling like a cat’s smirk knowing he had the upper hand in this equation.

But lord was he out of shape.

Ow.

“….okay fair enough, but I still hate you!” Sneedly yelled over the small cellular device, hanging up his phone and snickering to himself in the warm comfort of their dorm. He had gotten easier with learning how to jokingly tease his friends and those close to him. It’s taken a few years but he’s made excellent progress!

Melvin pulled the blanket over his shoulders, snuggling up on their sofa, waiting for his delicious dinner. In actuality he was worried for the other due to how fast the sun was going down and what kind of nasty characters come out in the dark of night in Piqua. He knew the other could handle himself but Harold meant a lot to him. He didn’t know what he’d do without the Hutchins boy who was previously such a thorn in his side.

“That idiot better not spill my beef and broccoli…..” He mumbled, leaning back into the squeaky couch, groaning with the weight of his body. As Melvin sat and worried, the Hutchins boy finally made it to the grand gates of their local community college. His sneakers skid across the ice and salt covered sidewalk, shivering as he waited for the gates to open.

“Awh! Cmon!! Cmon! Cmon Cmon! It’s cold as hell out!!” He whined, curling the food in his arms to keep some semblance of warmth in their styrofoam containers. As the gates creaked open, snow falling from the steel rows upon rows, Harold quickly scampered across the field, running past the closed up fountain, still smelling of Pennies and wishes and hoofed it to the double doors.

He sighed heavily as the warm air hit his body and a sigh of content escaped his heavy lungs. “Man, that’s so nice….” He mused, mouth curling up like a content cat. His eyes closed in bliss as the heavy duty heater warmed his freezing legs and arms.

“And where is my share o’ the loot, Mr Hutchins?” A voice sounded infront of him, voice heavy with age and a pack a day.

Ah, Glenda.

Wonderful, amazing, stunning Glenda.

A true queen amongst queens.

“Why madam! It is right here! Two fortune cookies and a extra egg roll for you my wonderful door keeper!” Harold exclaimed, presenting her share of the loot with the upmost grace and respect one man can offer. “And I promise I did not crush them accidentally like I did before.” He smiled.

“You’re not bad Hutchins! Not bad at’all! Thank you much, dear.” She smiled at him, accepting her share with a happy chortle. “You know that roommate o’ yours called me with such the attitude! ‘If that brat Harold makes it back you lock the door in his face Glenda!!’ O’ lemme tell ya I was almost tempted to! Wondering what you did to make him so upset!!” She snickered, taking a bite of her eggroll.

“Wasn’t running fast enough Gel! Can you believe that??”

“Really now? That boy oughta learn some patience I tell ya!” She gently wiped her mouth, careful to not smudge her red ruby lipstick.

“Well, that’s a Sneedly for ya! I wouldn’t change him for the world!” Harold chuckled, shifting the bag of food to his other hand.

“Well you tell that boy to have a good night alright? And you sleep well tonight alright dear?”

“You too Glenda!! See you tomorrow!!” And with a wave and a smile he headed up the elevator to floor 5. He slumped against the wall of the elevator, taking a moment to fully catch his breath. He pulled his headphones back into their case, putting said case back into his jacket pocket.

He sighed softly, letting his head rest against the metal wall of the elevator, closing his eyes and letting the subtle movement of the box pull him upwards. He didn’t exactly like elevators, preferring the stairs but given he’s had to speedrun his route, he can tolerate the sick feeling his stomach got in order to rest his weary legs.

He almost zoned out, feeling his mind start to wander when-

Ding!

He jolted, eyes opening as he came back to himself from his daydreaming.

Ah, that’s his stop then.

Harold walked out of the elevator, yawning loudly into the quiet hall.

He fumbled a moment, pulling out his keys. A rubber ducky, various Keys to places he never visits and random keychain souvenirs he’s picked up from god knows where hang on the metal ring as he searched for the one key he needed. The others rattling like an off tune windchime, hung on his hand instead of a dad’s porch. Unlocking the door, he was hit with a familiar cinnamon and cupcake smell. Their shared discount candles burning in the dorm.

He kicked the door shut behind him. Ah, home sweet home!

Harold grinned widely and strides to the table, setting the bag down and with a loud cheerful voice, he called, “OH MELVIN!!! DINNER IS HERE!!!~~”

“AAGGHH! Harold IM RIGHT HERE!!” Melvin snapped, getting up from his comfy spot on the couch and waddled over into their connected ‘kitchen’. “Please for the love of all introverts everywhere DONT DO THAT AGAIN.”

“Right! Sorry! Anyways I got your beef and broccoli and your sides!” Harold apologized, pulling out the still warm Chinese food containers and styrofoam. He passed them off to Melvin and pulled his own dinner out. Fried rice with extra onion and pork and sweet and sour chicken.

He could already feel the drool pooling in his mouth as the scent hit his stuffy nose. The smell of freshly fried rice, and the tangy sauce of the chicken. “Mmmm!!! Oh man I can’t wait!!!” He cheered, walking over to the sink and pulling out a pair of forks.

One for him and one for Melvin.

He tossed the fork to the other and sat down with his meal, digging in like a rabid beast. Rice stuck to his face as he chowed down. “Awh man! Thish placsh’ alwaysh rocks!!” He spoke, mouth full of rice and chicken.

“Didnt your mother teach you any manners you barn animal??” Melvin scoffed, chewing on a piece of beef. “Besides! I am sensing one of my eggrolls are missing! Care to tell me why?”

“Oh, yeah I gaff’ one ta Gel!” He replied.

“Good, Gel is a wonderful lady and I can tolerate one going missing because of her. I was worried you ate one on the way here again!”

“Awh Cmon Melvin!! It was one time!!” Harold whined, frowning. His hands still red of his monstrous eggroll crime. For shame Hutchins, for shame.

“One time too MANY!” He barked, eating a forkful of broc n’ beef. The sauce was delectable and as always a knock out of the park. “Regardless, thank you for picking up dinner tonight Harold, I appreciate it.” He spoke, wiping his mouth off on a napkin.

“Heh, it was nothing Melvin, I’m just glad we got Chinese tonight! I was really craving it lately!” Harold beamed, finishing up his chicken in one huge forkful. Truth be told he was starving lately and all that running definitely helped him work up an appetite.

“So was I, it’s not every night we get Chinese food and whilst seafood is my absolute go to, I can appreciate the craftsmanship of a good meal.” Melvin agreed, smiling down at his meal with a look of content. “You have classes early tomorrow, do you want me to wake you up?” He questioned.

“Mmmmmm…..” The other groaned, eyes closing as he tried to mentally prepare himself for the absolutely difficult task of waking up in the wee hours of the morning. “MMMMM..I guess….”Harold replied, pain evident in his voice.

He was not a morning person, no definitely not. Meanwhile Melvin was the shining poster boy of morning people everywhere. Always up at 5 am, coffee in hand and fully dressed in his best slacks and khaki.

Harold never understood how he does it. He’s like Old Saint Nick, always ready at the weirdest of times. Ready to make magic happen. Science magic that is, and coffee magic. Damn does he make a good Mochachococcino.

Harold chuckled softly, shaking the mental image out of his head of his roommate in a big beard, coffee in hand. “I suppose I can get up early, Melvinhaler, unfortunately!” Harold replied, standing up and cleaning up his side of the mess of dinner. Gathering up napkins and his styrofoam.

“Well I should hope so! You’re grade is on the line Hutchins!” Melvin scoffed, waving his fork around, punctuating his words with a point. “You’re so close to graduating with me and I refuse to let you get held back again!”

“I know Melvin I know, it’s just been rough…” Harold sighed, dumping his remains of his dinner in the trash can, tossing the fork in the sink. “It’s not easy managing both a town and school, ya know?”

“Yes unfortunately I am aware of that fact, however you are close Harold and I know with an extra push it will happen.” He’s seen the other try his hardest with his studies all his life, aware of how the other struggled to focus and he’d be upset to see that potential wasted, see another failure on his shoulders.

“…..”

yeah, a push?

He wasn’t sure he wanted another push-

“Besides, I am more than certain That floating deviled egg will return sooner or later. Then, we will rejoice with rootbeer floats, mine diet of course, and soy based toast squares.” Melvin spoke, a hopeful tint to his monotone voice. He truly believed Captain would return soon.

Heh.

“Yeah…. Yeah! You’re right! And I can get pizza and we can invite George and Billy! And Edith and… yuck, Krupp.” Harold grinned, the feeling of despair sludge in his stomach pushed down by the hope filled air pushed into his lungs. Like smelling a fresh minty air freshener, a rich scent of pine and hope.

Yeah!

Yeah.

It’ll be great.

“….”

“Hey Melvin? I think I’m gonna hit the hay early tonight…all that running really wore me out ya know?” Harold said, a hand curling to the back of his neck and nervously scratched at the curls at the back of his hair.

“Of course, you are due for more exercise at some point, rest well and I will wake you up at a reasonable time to get ready. I will clean up the kitchen and head to slumber myself soon enough.” Melvin answered, pushing his glasses up with a finger, careful to not get greasy goodness on his clean glasses.

“Heh… thanks.”

Harold made his way through the small dorm, the floor creaking under his footsteps. Along the walls there was various framed photos of different families and friends. Harold gazed at the picture of him, Mom and Heidi, all dressed up and smiling for Easter. She wasn’t too happy to be dressed up but mom made up to her In chocolate and eggs. She knew Heidi loved the purple ones, she’d buy a separate bag of purple eggs just for her.

Man, Mom…

Shaking his head, He made his way into his room, directly across from the bathroom. Opening the door let out a familiar smell of cheap deodorant and the smell of pot. Along with a boatload of air spray to attempt to hide the smell. It didn’t exactly work out but it’s a good thing he’s noseblind to certain smells given his years of dealing with less than savory smelling adversaries. Along the wall was various drawing assignments and Christmas lights, discounted and still going strong with their unending power supply.

Harold pulled his raggedy jacket off, flinging it wherever was less crowded in dirty clothes, tossed his familiar worn shoes into a pile near the door and collapsed into the creaky bed. He sighed heavily, curling up in his discounted sheets and goodwill blankets. He could still smell Billy’s cologne when they stayed over the night before, the smell helping to ease his mind for a moment.

He gazed down at his mix matched socks, frowning in thought. “…Yeah, he’ll be back…” he murmured, closing his eyes and burrowing his head into the pillow next to him.

“Hopefully…”

#captain college au #captain underpants au #Captain underpants college au #Captain underpants fic #harold hutchins #melvin sneedly #george beard #billy hutchins #captain underpants #the epic adventures of captain underpants #leave me some feedback in the comments!

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