(simping softness prompts) could i get some “hey, everything's gonna be fine. stay where you are, i'm on my way” or “holy crap, i thought you were dead! never do that to me again!” if you are feeling so inclined? sorry im just in love w ur writing
For those who don't know, my ask box is open. Send me a simping softness prompt, and I'll write a short sbsp ficlet for you. ✰
i'm gonna do "hey, everything's gonna be fine ...", but don't you worry. i will also be doing "holy crap ..." at some point, since someone else requested it.
anyway, thanks for the prompt, and for the kind words! while we're here, i should also say that @wowthwtslame is doing a similar ficlet challenge. their writing is wonderful, so definitely check them out!
also tagging @azumeowth, who requested the same prompt!
ficlet under the cut. thanks again!
The call came in -- loudly -- at around 2 in the morning.
When Squidward rolled over to check his shell phone, the dull blue screen read, simply, “SpongeBrat”, accompanied by a vomit emoji. Sighing, the octopus put his phone on silent and went back to bed. Surely whatever it was the sponge wanted to blabber about could wait until tomorrow. After a decent night’s sleep.
Unfortunately, sleep was hard to come by. Despite having switched his phone to silent, the device’s small blue screen continued to light up repeatedly, like a small, pathetic rave. Every few seconds, the small blue light cast peculiar shadows on the walls of Squidward’s bedroom. Eventually, after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, the cephalopod grabbed his phone to shove it inside the nightstand -- when he caught a glimpse of the screen itself.
43 missed calls. 37 unread text messages. All from “SpongeBrat” Squarepants.
The phone rang again. This time, Squidward picked up.
“Spongebob, do you have any idea what time it is?” snapped Squidward, despite the uncomfortable, worried feeling growing in his stomach. “No? Well, I’ll tell you -- it is two-forty-seven --”
“I-I know, Squidward,” came a small, shaking Spongebob-voice. “I just -- I didn’t know what to do.”
Squidward paused. Well, that was … not the regular Spongebob volume. Or tone. Or pitch.
“Squ -- Squidward?” came the sponge’s soft, sad voice once more. The frycook’s voice was barely audible. There was some sort of loud, constant whooshing happening on the other end, not to mention a weird crackling noise, which made it very difficult to hear. Squidward sighed, wiping a tentacle across his eyes.
“I’m here,” said Squidward. “What’s this about, Spongebob?”
Silence. Then, crying -- and not Spongebob’s usual loud, obnoxious crying. This crying was quiet and gentle, barely decipherable against the loud whooshing on the other end of the line. Squidward sat up then, pressing the phone close to his ear.
“Sponge,” said Squidward, panic rising in his chest. “Sponge, what’s wrong?”
Spongebob sobbed something indiscernible. Then, he stammered, “I’m -- I’m hurt, Squidward. I’m hurt, and … I’m lost.”
Something funny exploded in Squidward’s chest. Before he knew it, the octopus was out of bed, scrambling for his jacket and keys. Gripping his shell phone tight, Squidward asked, “Where are you? What’s going on, Spongebob?”
On the other end of the line, Spongebob snuffled. “I got on the wrong bus,” he explained, in a shaky, uneven voice. “I -- I’m in a place called ‘Deviltown’ now, and the current is so strong, and the signal is pretty bad --” There was that distorted, crackling sound again -- followed by a few more broken whimpers.
Squidward sighed, feeling his hearts crack with every little sob. “Hey, everything’s going to be fine,” he said, stepping out the door and into the cool Bikini Bottom night. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
-0-
Deviltown, it turned out, was several hours away from Bikini Bottom. Squidward’s shell phone indicated the drive not only went straight, but downward -- which was certainly a problem. Oceanic towns grew more and more dangerous the deeper you went, and Deviltown was apparently thousands of nautical leagues under the sea. Wherever Spongebob was, even the sun couldn’t reach him.
Undeterred, Squidward set off on his journey. His boat was constantly maintained, so the cephalopod was certain it could handle the perilous road ahead.
For the first hour or so, the drive was uneventful -- peaceful, even. The streets were smooth and well taken care of, which was good considering the massive tax hike this past year. Squidward even put on some Kelpy G, which certainly helped to soothe his nerves.
Later on, however, the drive got worse. The once well-maintained roads gave way to rickety rocks and slippery sand, with only a few sporadic road signs to get by. Moonlight became sparse, and by the time Squidward reached a vertical road, he had his brights all the way up -- and was still struggling to see.
A nearby rickety sign read “Deviltown, 10 nautical miles downward.” Peering down into the deep abyss, Squidward gulped. Despite his headlights, he still couldn’t see a thing -- just a vast expanse of open blackness.
A tight feeling wound itself around Squidward’s chest. He thought about backing up, turning around, and going straight home. This was ridiculous. Why was he out here, in the wee hours of the morning, chasing after SpongeBrat Squarepants, of all people? The boy had other friends. Certainly one of them would be willing to retrieve him.
Squidward’s tentacle hovered just over the gear stick. That’s when he saw it: in his passenger seat lay Spongebob’s wrinkled little jacket. The sponge must have left it behind the other day, when Squidward (begrudgingly) drove them both home from work.
Squidward’s chest felt hollow, suddenly. He thought of how many times he’d seen Spongebob in that exact jacket over the years.
He thought of never seeing him in that jacket ever again.
Groaning, the octopus switched gears from “Drive” to “Drive, But Downward”, and puttered his way into the deep and black abyss.
-0-
The journey into the inky black was, bar none, one of the creepiest things Squidward had ever experienced. He told himself, repeatedly, that if he just stared straight ahead and focused on the task at hand, then everything would be fine. Still, hearing creepy noises in the darkness (and being unable to see where they came from) was severely unsettling.
After what felt like forever, the vertical road became horizontal once again, and Squidward finally drove into Deviltown. Luckily, the town had the decency to set up some lamp posts, possibly for out-of-towners like Squidward who were unused to the darkness. Still, the lamp posts were few and far between, and there was nobody out and about, giving Deviltown a fittingly creepy vibe nonetheless.
Tense, cold, and worried, Squidward drove further into town, squinting for Spongebob’s bright yellow body. Surely the boy couldn’t be that hard to spot -- he was likely the only vibrant thing down here. Surely --
Oh. Oh, no.
Squidward brought his boat careening to a stop. Clambering out of it, the octopus made his way over to a rickety wooden bus stop, with a flickering lamp post just overhead. On a bench nearby was none other than Spongebob Squarepants: cold, alone, and unconscious. For a moment, a horrible thought passed through Squidward’s head -- is he dead? -- before he saw the sponge’s chest rise and fall, taking slow and steady breaths.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Squidward looked up and down the street. No one in sight.
Gently, the octopus leaned down and shook Spongebob lightly. “Hey,” said Squidward, awkwardly. “What are you doing asleep all the way out here? We have work tomorrow, you know.”
Spongebob stirred. In the dim light, Squidward realized the sponge really was hurt -- his usually spiffy shirt and tie were ripped straight down the middle. Beyond the fabric, the sponge’s chest was badly torn up, too, and for some reason, he had not regenerated yet.
Squidward swallowed. “Spongebob?”
The sponge stirred once more. This time, his eyes opened -- and he smiled, weakly. “Squidward,” he slurred, happily. He tried to laugh, then winced, clutching at his stomach and chest. “Squidward, it’s you … you came … ”
“Of course I came,” muttered Squidward, before he could stop himself. “I -- you … ugh, I hate you.”
Scooping up Spongebob, Squidward gently carried him over to the boat, positioning him carefully in the passenger’s seat. The sponge fussed a little about being buckled in, but otherwise, seemed too out of it to complain properly. Taking a deep breath, Squidward got back behind the wheel and started the engine.
“Heheh,” chuckled Spongebob as the boat roared to life. “Vroom-vroom.”
Squidward rolled his eyes and began turning the boat around, back towards Bikini Bottom. “We’re going home now,” he said, with a sigh. “You need to see a doctor for … whatever it was that happened to you.”
Spongebob simply nodded, then fell to his side, leaning all of his body weight on Squidward as he drove. The octopus felt warmth rising to his cheeks, and for once felt grateful for the murky blackness of the ocean void.
Spongebob was mumbling something.
“What is it?” said Squidward. “Are you okay?”
“I …uh … love you, Squidward,” said Spongebob, in a very loopy voice. “I love your big nose, and your paintings, and I wanna … get married, someday. Okay? Can we get married, someday?”
Squidward’s entire face was bright red now. It took everything in him not to just veer in a random direction and crash the entire damn boat. Taking a deep breath, the octopus collected himself. Spongebob was just severely injured, and loopy as a result. He didn’t really mean any of this.
Squidward decided to play along. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we can get married.”
“Mm,” said Spongebob, chuckling softly. “Can I -- can I wear a dress?”
“Sure,” said Squidward. “Whatever you want.”
“And you’ll … and you’ll kiss me?”
“Mhm,” mumbled Squidward.
“And I can … listen to you play the clarinet around the house … and, and paint with you … and watch your soaps with … you … ”
Squidward looked over. The sponge had fallen asleep, and was snoring loudly. Which was … good. Very good. Excellent, even. That way, they couldn’t talk about marriage or love or any of that absolute nonsense. Now they could just drive forward in sweet silence.
Still, Squidward found himself dwelling over Spongebob’s words far more than he would have liked.
About an hour into the drive home, the octopus glanced over at the sponge, still fast asleep beside him. Fixing his gaze forward, Squidward took a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel in a tight death-grip.
“Spongebob, I …,” Squidward began, shakily. “I love you. I love you, I love you.”
Squidward found that once he started saying it, he couldn’t stop. The words felt good in his mouth, like a massive weight had finally been lifted off his chest.
“I love everything about you,” said Squidward, his three hearts exploding inside his chest. “Your annoying laugh, your stupid singing, all of it. I want to read with you, and garden with you.”
Squidward hesitated, his words floating out into the open water.
“I love you,” said Squidward, one last time. “And I … I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe I’m a coward. I’m sorry.”
Squidward looked over. Spongebob was still fast asleep, snoring away against his arm -- but the smallest of smiles had appeared on his face.
-0-
Squidward woke up in the hospital, seated in a chair next to Spongebob’s hospital bed. The poriferan was wide awake, watching an episode of Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy on the hospital television. Of course.
The sponge turned. “Squidward!” he exclaimed, his voice loud and back to normal. “You’re awake!”
“Unfortunately,” muttered the octopus. “How are you feeling?”
“Great!” chirped Spongebob. “Better than ever, actually -- but the doc says I should stick around for a little while, just in case.”
Squidward glanced down. Sure enough, Spongebob’s chest had almost fully regenerated. Thank Neptune. When they arrived at the Bikini Bottom General Hospital early that morning, Spongebob was still in rough shape. The doctor said Spongebob most likely had a run-in with a deep-sea predator, and the attack was too quick and too constant for the poriferan to regenerate. Not to mention there were several lacerations to his vital organs.
Still, sponges were pretty sturdy folk -- and all Spongebob really needed was a long rest in a controlled environment.
Squidward breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Great,” he said, awkwardly. “I, uh. Pay attention next time you get on the bus, alright? So I don’t have to come running after you.”
Spongebob laughed. “Okey-doke.”
The two then sat together in silence for an uncomfortable amount of time. All the while, Squidward wondered if perhaps his stupid, impulsive, not-really-a-love-confession-confession had actually gotten through to Spongebob. His hearts twisted up at just the thought.
“Hey, Squidward?”
The octopus looked up, and was very surprised to find splotches of red decorating the sponge’s cheeks.
“What?” said Squidward.
“My, uh, sea flowers have been dying lately,” said the sponge, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Maybe you could come by and we could share some gardening tips?”
A brilliant red blush planted itself on Squidward’s face. Then, he cleared his throat, and folded his arms across his chest. “Only if we get to watch a soap afterwards.”
Spongebob grinned. “Deal.”
Squidward found himself grinning, too, despite himself. “Deal.”
References:
“Deviltown” is loosely based off of the Devil Sea, near the Japanese coast.
I will likely be compiling these ficlets into one combined fic on ao3. I originally wasn't going to, but I definitely didn't expect so many requests. So keep an eye out for that, at some point.
warmup doodles! i had a dream spongebob came out as genderfluid and there was a whole episode where the moral was gender expression doesn’t equal gender identity (and as a somewhat gnc trans man it made me very happy)
pixelskylines
blakekathryn
origamiaround
kaledo-art
titsay
germansingergirl
discoholicmusic
snowghoul
areudirty
