#media.warning.nausea

[sambadecomboscribbles]

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!!”

[tubbolul]

an eye for an eye

Tubbo’s muscles went liquid when XD unearthed his sickeningly pallid hand from his robes.

His feet cemented themselves into the ice, and a deafening, electronic buzz began to chafe in his ears. He had no choice to stay stock still as his fate, golden halos orbiting their smiling face, reached out with pale fingers. XD mercilessly dug their nails into Tubbo’s eye socket, and Tubbo’s lips parted in shock. Immediately, agony rushed to claw out of his mouth, but any hint of a scream lodged itself in Tubbo’s throat, and his lungs were filled with sticky putty.

XD rooted his nails in deep, boring into the tendons keeping the unfortunate eye in Tubbo’s skull. With a sickening squelch, XD slowly pulled the eye from Tubbo’s head, a bemused, callous grin smearing his lips all the while. Agony exploded through Tubbo’s skull, whitehot and unfathomable. It violently pulsed through his head, and as XD gave one last yank, severing eye from owner, Tubbo heaved, the paralysis shattered, and he went crashing to the snowy beach beneath him. XD laughed something Tubbo couldn’t hear, and in a blinding flash of white, the Deity was gone- not that Tubbo had the capacity to even look for them.

He could not hear himself when he screamed.

He pressed his palm against the gaping wound, and his stomach lurched when he felt the flesh that had been ripped away. Pain writhed through Tubbo’s entire body, the mechanical buzzing in his ears drowning out the waves crashing on the beach, the wind rustling the trees. Tubbo stuffed his knuckles into his mouth, hoping to quiet his agonized sobs, but they only loudened into wails soaked in unimaginable pain. Blood spurted from his empty eye socket, hot and sticky, slicking his hands, face, the powdery snow, and world spun and stretched before his single eye, dragging Tubbo further into a realm so painful, he did not know where reality began and agony-induced thought ended. Only the festival could rival this sickening agony, the act of flesh being stripped away by someone endlessly more powerful than Tubbo, and through his delirious, distorted thoughts, Tubbo thanked XD that there was no fire this time.

Curled into a fetal position, uncontrollable tremors wracking his body, blood warming his hands, inexplicably, prayer came to Tubbo’s mind. Prime, he whimpered in his mind. It wasn’t meant to go like this. If I can’t survive this- save Ranboo. For Michael. And tell Tommy I’m sorry. The prayer rang feeble in his own ears, a desperate, pathetic cry for help. Surely he would die from this. Surely his last moment would be spent grovelling in agony in the wake of a callous, unforgiving God.

Far off, as if calling Tubbo from a deep slumber, Tubbo thought he heard somebody screaming his name, and crashing footsteps echoed dizzily through his ears. He sobbed through torn breath. Was this salvation?

“Tubbo!” They wailed faintly, horror splitting the cry, and Tubbo foggily wondered if he recognized their voice. A figure kneeled in front of him, distant and swimming- it was Wilbur, fear in his fiery eyes, bags shoveled deep beneath his thick lashes. No, that wasn’t right- the hallucination swam and distorted before Tubbo’s eye, and suddenly there was Tommy, his normally electric-blue eyes dulled to gray, his long, ratty hair spilling over torn, muddied clothes, exhaustion and hurt lining his face. Tubbo cried out to him, but once again, the vision morphed, and the straw color of Tommy’s hair sank into raven black, and Quackity knelt before him, a canyon carved into his left eye and upper lip, a frightening, unwonted hostility lurking in his chestnut eyes. Tubbo squeezed his eye shut, and sobbed wordlessly.

The person clutched Tubbo to their chest and lifted him effortlessly, but those hands were not Wilbur’s, or Tommy’s, or Quackity’s.

They were Ranboo's hands, warm and grounding, yet unbearably hot against Tubbo’s skin. He was talking, no doubt stuttering out a panicked request for explanation, and Tubbo did not offer any, simply grabbed at Ranboo’s white blazer, watching crimson seep into its threads.

“I tried to save you,” Tubbo keened through agony, “I- fuck. I tried to- to save you.” in response, Ranboo’s voice swam in Tubbo’s ears, but darkness closed in faster than Tubbo could understand what they were saying.

He woke up in fits of agony and torrenting guilt. Each time, the sickeningly sweet taste of healing potion on his lips for the next few… hours? Days? It felt like months, but it could surely not be so. Ranboo would not live til the first of January. Recollection of the time trapped in bed wafted in and out of Tubbo’s head as if notes in an unfamiliar song. Michael in the hallway, asking in broken English, “Bee okay?”, Tommy holding a whispered, angry conversation in the doorway with Ranboo, and most frequently, Ranboo sitting by the bed, clutching Tubbo’s hand fervently, cheeks slicked with sizzling tears.

Tubbo tried to push out of bed time and time again, but each time, a pair of hands led him back to the blankets, gently shushing him- Ranboo, Tommy, Phil- it seemed to be somebody different every time. Yet Tubbo arose the next time anyways, the first question on his lips always being, “Is he alive?” He was met with quiet reassurances, soft words, but they all seemed so paper-thin.

No matter what Tubbo did now, some day he would wake up, and the answer to that question would not be given with words. It would be given with shifted eyes, murmurs outside of his room, pitying expressions.

Ranboo would die. Tubbo would be powerless to stop it.

In the scheme of things, he always had been.