I hope Tav’s chapters don’t give me this much hassle in future. At least I won’t have to deal with the rest of the band much |D
Sometimes it’s too much to put on his legs each morning. Sometimes he wakes up in the morning and decides ‘this blows, where’s my chair?’.
Today is one of those days.
He wakes up tired and over everything, but his friends, his bandmates, drag him to his cousin’s place where he sits on the porch and watches them play backyard cricket.
It’s a hot and dry in the early afternoon sun and each time the wind blows, the dead grass rustles and he can feel the red dirt gluing itself to his sweat. The sun has just peaked and the sky is a searing shade of blue over his head, the ice stolen from the Esky melts fast on his skin and he can see their vocalist starting to burn across her shoulders as they start another game, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. With nothing much to do in the town, chilling in their backyard is their biggest entertainment without driving 3 hours to Broome and that’s how Tavros likes it.
Hung off one handle of his wheelchair is a old fashioned radio, blasting his favourite radio station. The DS in his hands quietly sings pokemon 8-bit tunes a him and Tavros slumps back with a sigh and a smile, letting his eyes slip close.
Chapter Two of Aussiestuck
These are all being tagged Aussiestuck Fic for those who want to keep track only of the fic.
Again it’s a rough draft, when I’m happy they’ll be going onto AO3 with art by Deerishus C:
Slinky wants you guys to make her write!
Okay I have a seriously bad procrastination and distraction problem. I want to write, but I seem to either have no idea or I distract myself with other things.
FUCK IT IT’S TIME TO FORCE MYSELF.
And I wanna write stuff for you guys.
The catch is I’ll be writing within the AussieStuck AU Deer and I created last year at New Years C:
So prompt me in anyway you fucking want!
You can say person A and person B doing blahdiblah or you can just give one person doing something or you can copy past shit from that imagine your OTP doing blah blah tumblr and I will write you something.
It’ll all go under the aussiestuck tag and here’s the part that’ll force me to write.
I’ll answer your ask when I start and then I have two days. If I don’t finish it in two days [and you can fucking time me] you can come into my ask and request me to do something. It can be a stupid dare [nothing dangerous or illegal] and I’ll film it happening too or make me post something embarrassing [no nudity guys] or you can demand I draw you something [anything you want] and you can come into my ask box ever day after the two days is up and badger the fuck outta me.
I need to get my ass into gear and write something.
[The original 16 characters are featured in AussieStuck. The new 16 [new trolls and the four alpha kids] are maybe mentioned vaguely, but that’s it. Sorry guys, back to basics <3]
Day One [already late]
So I’m already a day late. So I officially start today XD
Decided to use this challenge to pump out some AussieStuck stuff. This is a first edit of the first chapter. Expect to see some random chapters or side stories from this AU as well.
So far the summer has been brutal. It’s exactly like everyone imagine Australia to be; sweltering heat that leaves you burning scarlet just for standing near a window for more than a few minutes.
It was raining yesterday though. Very good Melbourne, keep up that consistent weather.
It’s a good thing their apartment is so sparse or it’d be worse. Clutter makes the heat worse in Eridan’s mind. He’s been listening to the radio all day every day for the last week, wracking up his phone bill with calls to the station. They’re giving away free tickets to Pyramid Rock and Eridan needs to go like burning.
He’d been saving to go since July, but his car had broken down in November and he was barely pulling enough together for rent and food and other expenses, let alone 300 dollar tickets to a music festival.
He knows that deadpan voice too well and he can’t help the little swell of his heart and the smile that pulls on his lips as he stands in front of the living room fan with his phone to his ear.
Dave saunters in all blonde hair and straining muscles, arms loaded down with groceries and uni gear.
Eridan waves a dismissive hand, hoping the other will take the hint and be quiet.
“You’re not gonna get through, Ampora. There’s thousands of people all over Australia trying to get those tickets.”
The engaged tone sounds in his ear and Eridan groans in frustration, sinking into the couch and running a hand through his meticulously styled brown hair. He’s already had classes today, he doesn’t need to look pretty for Dave. Dave who’s seen him at his worst and stays; Dave who doesn’t criticise his photography or paintings; Dave who he may or may not have a thing for.
The blonde sniggers from somewhere in the kitchenette in their tiny apartment. “Told you.”
“Shut it, Dave.” He turns the radio up once some dickhead who has no idea about real music wins his tickets. He needs to hear the songs that play so he can win the next round.
“I can hear you pouting from here. Get off your arse and come put shit away.”
Eridan shoves himself from the hideous threadbare couch Dave’s brother had graced them with. It’s sick green with rotten yellow swirls and flowers. Eridan hates it, but Dave refuses to part with it. Calls it a victory. He moved out and got a free couch from his bro. Eridan just throws quilts and crocheted blankets over it in the hopes it looks less puke worthy.
In the kitchen Dave is on the counter pushing things around in the high cupboard in the hopes of fitting another cereal box in there.
“Why don’t you finish some of the cereal you already have?” Eridan grumbles, crouching down to pull out a few packets of meat for the freezer.
“Variety, Ampora. Fucking hell, can’t eat the same shit every day.”
The brunette just groans and thumps his head against the freezer door. “It’s a waste.”
Dave snorts and tosses a can of red beans to Eridan and leaps off the counter with ease. “Whatever. Hungry now or later?” He’s already getting pans out so Eridan just shrugs and goes back to sitting by the radio. He will win these tickets.
They’re halfway through dinner when another chance to win comes up and Eridan pounces on his phone. Dave just manages to stop their plates hitting the floor while the brunette hammers the recall button with all his might and jamming the phone against his ear.
“Fucking hell, Ampora-“
Eridan jams his hand against Dave’s mouth and holds his breath.
He squeaks and goes wide eyed.
“Tripple J, please hold.”
His heart is hammering in his chest.
“Hey there, could we get a name?”
“Okay.” More hold music.
“Hey Eridan, mate, you ready to try for those VIP Pyramid Rock tickets?”
“Oh god yes, I’ve been trying since you started this comp!”
There’s laughter on the other end of the phone. “Alright, Eridan. Last 5 songs we played by Australian bands. Go!”
“Boys Like You, 360 and Gossling; Buttons, Sia; Heard It All, Illy; March On, N’fa Jones; and Heart’s A Mess by Gotye,” he blurts in one breath. His teeth sink into his lip when he’s done and even Dave is looking attentive, head cocked slightly to one side and leaning towards him slightly.
“Congratulations Eridan you and a mate are going to Pyramid Rock! Two VIP tickets for all three days!”
Eridan shouts and throws his hands in the air, nearly losing the phone in the process. “I won! Oh fuckin’ shit yeah! I won!”
Dave finds himself with an armful of room mate who’s blathering like an idiot, but he can’t help the little smile. Eridan’s been dying for these tickets and he’s already said he’s taking Dave if he won. The blonde might have gone anyway, but everything is better with free.
While the brunette hangs on the line, Dave’s phone goes off twice. The first text is from his pseudo-sister.
Heard your boyfriend on the radio. Shall Kanaya and I be seeing you at the festival?
The second is from a mate of his who lives in Perth.
H34RD 3R1D4N ON TH3 R4D1O. PL34S3 T3LL M3 H3’S BR1NG1NG YOU. H3’LL B3 UNB34R4BL3 OTH3RW1S3!
“Oh fuck, Dave I won, I can’t believe I did it.” Eridan clambers into his lap and hugs him around the neck, face pressing into his shoulder. He’s shaking.
“Dude, calm down before you do yourself damage.”
“You’re coming with me right?”
Dave smirks. “Who else is gonna drive your sorry ass four hours to Phillip Island so you can go jizz over your indie bands?”
“I thought you liked them too?” he says with a pout.
The blonde snorts and gives Eridan’s rump a squeeze before pushing him off. “Yeah, yeah, no puppy eyes. I was intending to beat the other ticket out of you if you were gonna take someone else anyway.”
Eridan smiles and melts into the couch. “This is gonna be great.” His phone buzzes. “Fef’s going to be there! Dave, this is officially amazing.”
Dave replies to both texts with a confirmation. “You now it’s supposed to reach the high 30’s on New Years.”
IronAmerica for Matty <3
I requested people send me pairings and promps and this was the one I got from Mr-Saxophone C:
The pairing was Tony Stark/Steve Rogers - no prompt cause Matty is a dumbass <3
Talks about 9/11 so…trigger warning?
When he’s not on missions, with or without the Avengers, Steve Rogers spend his time catching up.
SHIELD had brought him mostly up to date, the basics only, need to know and presented him with a modest little apartment in Brooklyn, furnished with the bare minimum.
It had taken a lot of adjusting, but the library he’d known as a child was still a library now and he’d made it a mission to read through the last seventy years of history before the year was up.
The task had seemed gruelling at first, reading through the rest of WWII had brought back awful memories and had him close to tears, curled on his couch with the huge history book splayed across his knees.
He’d been on the phone to Tony when he’d come across the article about the moon landing. Bruce had offered to bring video footage around, which Steve watched in rapture over and over until he’d fallen asleep that night.
Each war, each failure, each triumph, Steve pushed through the years, all the while learning to function in in the current century. The newest book in the Library’s history collection is 2000-2010 and when it come in they call him straight away.
It smells different from the other books. It is new, he reminds himself. Steve makes himself a coffee and settles into his groove on the couch and begins reading.
He’s barely made it through the second chapter before he has to put the book down. His heart clenches in his chest and he put the book down, fighting back tears. He scrolls through the contacts on his phone without looking and just calls anyone.
“This better be a booty call, Rogers.”
The little choked noise he makes wounds his pride, but concern seeps into the voice on the other end of the line.
“Is…I. Can you come round. Please, Tony.”
Tony Stark is at his apartment quicker than he should be and he sets Steve at the kitchen counter and makes tea. Steve remembers how Pepper made them tea after a particularly gruelling battle. Tea is calming she said.
“When ever I asked why The World Trade Centre was gone I was told demolition or…”
“Some other load of bullshit lies. S.H.I.E.L.D is kinda known for the lies, Cap. Think you’d know by now.”
Steve takes the mug offered to him with two hands, feeling the warmth seep into his hands. It stops at his wrists. His body feels so numb.
“What happened?” He wants to know. Needs to know.
Tony sighs and sits across from him.
He explains the day, the planes, the terror, the fear that still lives. Steve listens solemnly, his tea untouched and his face stoney. He doesn’t need to ask why when Tony’s done, the reasons are there and Steve feels drained and empty.
“Those…” He looks down at his milky tea and sips it. It’s cold. “Those poor people. I wish I-“
“Don’t, Steve. Don’t do that to yourself. There was hardly anything that could be done. Everyone did the best they could.”
Steve nods and sniffs, pressing the heel of his palm to each eye in an attempt to push back any tears. He hears a chair scrape across the wooden floor and then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder and he can’t help but lean his head against Tony’s abdomen. Fingers comb through his hair and he takes a slow shaky breath.
“Can’t save ‘em all, Cap.”
He nods and wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and pulls him close. He feels the hesitation, but the billionaire reciprocates after a moment, leaning down to press his lips to the crown of the blonde’s head.
There’s a long pause where they stay in each other’s embrace until Tony says, “They were fighting that war. When I was taken they were fighting the war that came from 9/11.” He pulls away and move over to the couch to flop down carelessly.
“That’s how you became Iron Man, right?” Steve turns his chair and leans on the table.
The other man opens the book and flicks through the pages randomly. “Essentially. In a round about kind of way.”
Steve smiles and stands, moving to the couch. He lifts Tony’s legs and sits down, letting them rest over his lap. “That’s something good I guess.”
The brunette gives a derivative snort and turns the book around, pointing to a paragraph on a page Steve hasn’t read yet.
“Might be a spoiler, but we got the guy who organised it.”
Steve give a sharp nod. “But the war isn’t over yet.”
“Mmm, not our war to fight. But no. Not yet.”
“Something like that.” Tony shifts on the couch, digging the remote out from under his back and turning on the TV for some quality cannel surfing. “You really need cable.”
His smile is a lot softer this time and he laughs. “I’d rather read.”
This wasn’t written by me, but for me C:
Slinky requested: Bath time. Cuddles with Zexion. Creative times with anyone.
The best ideas always came to him in the bathtub. It wasn’t that he went out of his way to think of them while in there, but they always happened while there. Of course he didn’t bath very often, not bathe, but bath, he would shower, but there wasn’t enough money to pay for the water bill of a bath every night. However he did like to sit in the empty bath and play his sitar. It was one of the most relaxing activities he could think of, besides simply cuddling with Zexion.
It was their one year anniversary in less than a week and he hadn’t organized anything; what else to do, but bath. He sat there for a few hours while Zexion was at work, thinking, and thinking before he gathered up some papers and started to write all the things he could place about Zexion. His favourite food, piece of clothing, side to walk on, way to hold hands, and anything else he could think of.
It took a few more hours before he called Axel. Though Demyx was a songwriter, singer and musician in general, no one, No One, could set a mood like Axel and his voice. He just had this way of sounding like Frank Sinatra but still punkish like Max Bemis with a tinge of Ville Valo. He could start a fight, end one, seduce and conquer, woo and exuberate and have people falling to their knees by the end of a song; which is essentially how he wooed Roxas.
So when Demyx finished the lyrics and was happy with the tune he had come up with on his sitar, he rung Axel and they arranged a time, between bantering about what he would owe and singing the gist of the song. Both hung up feeling rather accomplished with what they had received from the deal. Axel, a song of love for Roxas and a couple of guitar lessons, and Demyx, a mood setter and seducer for his song.
A few days later saw the morning of their One Year, and a strew of photos leading from the empty bed where Demyx had only just risen from to the kitchen where a blue smoothie was waiting to be devoured. But Demyx wouldn’t know this until later as he picked up each photo from the ground, the walls, and various other surfaces where they had been lovingly placed, and read each word on the back, a short summary of the photo and what the other was thinking when he took it.
He didn’t see Zexion throughout the day, but friends would come up to him and give him more photos. All taken by Zexion, and Demyx was betting to guess had also been developed by him. By five o’clock Demyx was home again and he looked up to see if Zexion was home yet, glad to see he wasn’t he ran inside setting up everything to perfection for when the man arrived. He finished moment before the door opened, and quickly turned out the light, hiding in the shadows before creeping out the back door and to the street. By now it was seven o’clock and dark outside, the street lamp lights having risen from the depths of darkness and into light to guide wary travellers or, in Axel and Demyx and all of their friends case, to showcase them through the apartment window.
At seven thirty exactly everyone had been in place for five minutes and then when Zexion appeared at the window and opened it, leaning out to stare at his boyfriend and the crowd who were silent, then Demyx spoke into the microphone, his voice echoing throughout cars in the street, each tuned into the same radio station.
In words and gestures Demyx explained his love for Zexion and then Axel stepped out from the crowd, his hair giving him away as to who he was. When Demyx started to play his sitar and Axel begun to sing and everyone else joined in, Zexion simply smiled. He didn’t cheer when it was over but he did clap.
When Demyx entered the apartment he was greeted by soft words and touches, his body lead to a table of food and a single water lily. They ate and talked in hushed voices of their days and lead ups to this night. They spoke of how they had met, what it had meant to each of them when they found how the other felt, how their friends had seen it for so long before them. They spoke of every and anything until the food was finished and cold, and the candle was almost out.
Retiring to the bedroom had never meant more. But it was after that both of them liked best, the moments when they would lay next to each other and breath the others air, simply being.
So yesterday a new friend of mine needed some loves.
I wrote her a fic in her askbox because I’m slow at other arting.
Each Other For SnowChildHero
When she arrives at her hive she can sense that something is amiss. This place should be empty and yet she gets the feeling she is not alone. She moves fluidly through the halls, spotting an overturned table in her comfort block. Outside her respite block there is a long, deep gouge in the wall. Large eyes blink behind goggles and she peers into the darkened room. At her desk sits a large figure, shoulders haunched over and head in his hands.
“Dualscar?” she calls out cautiously.
He lifts his head, but doesn’t turn to her. She steps inside and he speaks up.
“She’s gone, Feferi.” His voice was rough with sadness and her heart squeezed in her chest.
The younger troll swept forward, pressing against his back, palms flat against his shoulder blades and face buried in his cape.
“She’s been gone for so long. Why does it still bring such an ache to my bloodpusher?”
Her small hands fisted in his cape and she made a pitying sound. ”I don’t think the pain will ever go away…”
He made a desperate sound, turning and wrapping the princess in his arms in one fluid movement. She could feel his nose pressed against her hair and pink tears filled her eyes.
“You loved her and I loved my boys,” she sniffled into his chest.
He nodded against her hair and held her close.
“At least we have each other…” he whispered.
“Mm, at least there’s that.”
IM me on Yahoo Msngr it's important. my username is wilsonneslerff121382 (from Anonymous)
We were told to write about what we thought the afterlife was like. I believe in reincarnation so this is what I came up with.
Being an observer of your own funeral makes you both happy and sad. You stand amongst your mourning loved ones and while you are glad they mourn you death you are saddened by your inability to reach out and comfort them.
Then you sleep. You sleep for a day, for a month, for a year, for eternity. When you wake you are wet and cold, shivering and alone. You see Them from the corner of your eye, but whenever you turn to Them, They move. Always within your vision but never in your sights.
“You must be cold, Hon.” Her warm, syrupy Southern United States accent washes over you. Suddenly you are warm.
“You look wet, Sweetie.” Her dry, airy Australian accent rushes past you. Suddenly you are dry.
“You must be lonely, Dear.” Her comforting, aged English accent curls around you.
And then there are people. Hundreds of them, all milling about in a city. It looks like a city you know, perhaps you lived near this city. But it holds a feel of places you’ve been, a Danish hotdog vendor, a French building, maybe a double Decker bus.
You wander through this nameless city and meet people you know. Your best friend from long ago, and the person you loved but never held. The deeper into the city the stranger the people are. You wonder briefly why everyone is wearing clothes from the 60s, but then it seems so normal you don’t wonder anymore. The further in you travel the
older the clothes become; one part of the city is populated entirely by animals.
At the centre of the city stand three statues. Maiden, Mother, Crone. At the base of the statue is you. Lots of yous from throughout time.
A someone who almost looks like you, no older than eight, wearing a puritan outfit, smiles and beckons you over. This someone is standing beside another someone, still young but aged all the same, with a neat haircut and a looking stylish in their 1920s getup.
You come over and you are welcomed in with open arms, standing amongst the fancy clothes in your loose jeans and band t-shirt. You greet each of your previous lives with a smile and a handshake, one or two give you a hug. You pet the sleek fur of the you-fox and admire the deep red-orange colour of it’s coat and the deep coal black on it’s legs. You always liked foxes.
Eventually you come to the last you in the group. This you is a type of dinosaur, one you’ve always told everyone ‘was your favourite’. It bows it’s head and you walk with it to the feet of the statues. They appear in the corner of you eye once more.
“Time now.” She says.
“New life.” She says.
“Forget.” She says.
You close your eyes and then you’re falling. Slowly, it’s more like floating down. You think of animals, of the future, of different genders, different places, different choices. When you open your eyes so much time as past. Life begins again.
For anyone who knows me [and Daegal] from dA this story is based off his past, an ancestor who lived in Lake Eyre.
It stands before you; an eerie mirage. Looking at you with it’s strange opalescent eyes as the heat ripples the air as it rises off the blanched bed of the salt lake. They left you hear to die and you’re sure that your time is short. It steps forward, placing one long, thin leg ahead of the other three. The sun is so dazzling here, in the middle of the salt lake, that the colours of the world wash out to a simple array of white, pale yellow and blue; the bright, brilliant blue of the sky. It steps again and in the back of your heat dazed mind you notice there is no shadowy colouring beneath it’s body. No darkness to denote a shadow.
And then it’s standing over you. Its polychromatic eyes look at you and through you and you wonder at how this thing is part of the light. Its body all shades of parchment and tan and it’s muzzle covered in a chalky dust. Maybe it has fur but you dare not reach out to touch it. Its lips pull back and it’s mouth opens wide, slowly exposing sharp, bone-white teeth covered with a thin film of red. You lean away from the frightening face. Its jaw unhinges like a snake, spreading wide till you’re looking into the shapes and ridges of its crimson throat. A noise fills your ears, the whistling of a kettle.
The bleached scenery is broken by a splash of scarlet. A pool of liquid that the ground eagerly soaks up, desperate for any kind of moisture. A strange creature stands at the edge of the pool. Looking for all intends and purposes like a very leggy deer. It’s sandy fur rippled with pale yellows and soft browns. The deer closes its pearly eyes as it leans down to lap at the splash of colour. Its muzzle is splashed apple red. The salt is stained pink after it is done soaking up the wetness and the deer raises its head. It looks around and steps away from the stain, into the shimmering heat and light.