Katey
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Emotions are a rollercoaster, alcohol is the fuel and Sherlock just wants to get out.
Too bad they locked the cell. -
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Imagine it's Valentine's Day and you get a gift. Or two.
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The empty houses at Leinster Gardens are just a façade. There's a war preparation going on behind it.
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Sherlock keeps his nails short. It's neither for the work nor his hobby. He has his own reasons - he just lets no one in on them.
Trigger warning for self harm! (No cutting, though.)
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"Sherlock's actually a girl's name."
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“Facing down an army’s not the kind of mission a person comes back from,” Phil said lightly. “You think I’m gonna let you do it alone?”
“We’re good friends, Phil," Technoblade said, caught, "but we’re not— I’m not gonna make you die for me—“
“You don’t have any way to drive them towards the ravine,” Phil said, and Techno glared at him. Phil let his smile get a little meaner. “Unless you’re planning on wasting three Wither skulls and scattering them in all directions, that is.”
His best friend said slowly, “This may come as a surprise to you, but I don’t actually want you to die.”
Series
- Part 40 of dream smp fic my beloved
- Language:
- English
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- 7,071
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 1
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- 22
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- 371
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Bookmarked by Katey
18 Jan 2025
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“Alright, sure, I’ll fight a ghost,” Techno drawled, and this time Phil really laughed, leftover adrenaline finally receding the tiniest bit. “That’s fine, I’ve trained for that. We’ve got the ocean, so we’ve got salt, and, uh, scriptures, I can write some of those. God Emperor Technoblade, it’s got a nice ring to it. Truly classic. You and me, Phil, Antarctic popes. We’re starting our own religion.”
Phil’s mittens reeked of spilled fuel, pungent and sharp. His head ached, whiplash from the hard landing settling into a pounding behind his eyes, and he was numb and shivering, each frigid inhale scraping his lungs, but those sensations could probably keep him awake, as long he didn’t slip from shivering into hypothermia. Survival instincts, those were good to activate. He’d been in the air over twenty-four hours before he’d been shot down, he needed all the alertness he could scavenge.
“Yeah? What are we worshiping, slowly starving to death?”
“Chaos,” Techno informed him. “Chaos and frostbite. Speaking of frostbite, how’s the navigation going?”
Series
- Part 63 of dream smp fic my beloved
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,976
- Chapters:
- 1/1
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- 2
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- 28
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- 19
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Bookmarked by Katey
17 Jan 2025
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hit the continent running (engines were humming) by Odaigahara for antimony_medusa
Fandoms: SMPEarth
02 Jan 2024
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Philza: Transatlantic, the Corvarians, all those motherfuckers who couldn’t handle us having a stronghold and good mines, they cut us off from everything in the darkest time of the year. They trapped us in the cold, in eternal night, because they figured if we starved to death, Port-aux-Francais would give them whatever deals they wanted, and they didn’t care who they were fucking killing.
We were peaceful, before the embargo. We just wanted trade deals, we collaborated with anyone who’d help us build our railroads. We never struck the first blow. After the embargo– after that winter– we figured that wasn’t gonna work.
Interviewer: So you adopted some new technologies.
Philza: Yeah, we had innovations in our manufacturing, our greenhouses, our fucking sanitation– but that’s not what you’re talking about, right? Forget the emperor shit. If you’re interviewing me about this, you don’t want to hear about the greenhouses.
You want to hear about the planes.
Series
- Part 60 of dream smp fic my beloved
- Part 11 of dsmp/smpearth sampler [personal favorites]
Bookmarked by Katey
17 Jan 2025
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He won’t say the feeling of going from reaching for that brat’s neck to suddenly being caged in some rudely limited hardware was disorienting or anything. He won’t say that because he’s not sure he feels anything other than claustrophobic at first.
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A New Year's Gift by Black_Zora for aquila_black, Bandsalat
Fandoms: Krabat | The Satanic Mill - Otfried Preußler, Krabat (2008)
23 Dec 2022
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On the last day of the year, three beggar children find their way to what's left of the mill, and the Miller.