Meepius147
Fandoms
- Original Work (4)
- No Fandom (4)
- Hermitcraft SMP (2)
- Dream SMP (2)
- Haikyuu!! (1)
Recent works
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Summary
Tommyinnit is hiding half-starved in the cave networks of Hermitcraft. The Hermits, torn between kindness and caution, slowly befriend the weird kid living underfoot in the only way they know how: Shenanigans, stupidity, and shenagigans. Yes I put that down twice on purpose.
(or: The story of how Tommy learned to cook, made a forever friend, and slowly came in from the cold.)
Title from No Land Beyond by Dirt Poor Robins.
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In which Tommy finds his way onto the hermitcraft server, every hermit is at least a little bit Bugs Bunny coded, and zero boats are placed in water.
... They're still used, though. Like, a LOT.
(or: The Hermit!Tommy fic you already got from Aard_rinn, but don't worry it's totally different I promise I'm going somewhere unique with this it's not MY fault our first chapters are really really similar--)
EDIT: This fic is no longer updating, and is being rewritten (if you can call it that) under the name 'More Than Our Appetites Demand'. Check the 'works inspired by this one' by the end notes for a link.
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An outline of a stupid crack piece in which canon is a dartboard– and baby, i can’t fucking play darts. Also in which the author fears neither god nor mortal man, Dick isn’t sure if Damian knows how babies happen, and two dumbasses convinced they know how adoption works make some very spiffy powerpoints.
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I've gotten good at living (on someone else's page) by Meepius147
Fandoms: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
14 Nov 2023
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The best lies are spun from truth, and Annabelle is a very good liar. So even through the fear— of the spider’s legs undulating in a pantomime of weaving, of strings that he cannot see, of lies and manipulation and Annabelle herself— The Archivist can recognize that one, underlying truth:
Somebody else is always in control.
Or: You're going to want to read this story twice.
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A poem about self-improvement, in a sense. (that sense is ironic.)
Excerpt:
Break your body into lumber. Hide inside the gears,
Dissociate and suffer.
Be good. Be better–
Objective, unflinching, calculated killing
Machine, stomp stomp– wire and wheels that feel nothing.Series
- Part 4 of Random Poetry
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 150
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 4
- Hits:
- 9
Recent series
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- Words:
- 940
- Works:
- 4
Recent bookmarks
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Summary
Hitters always came with an expiration date, anyway. At some point Eliot’s scarred, beat-up body would give out, and it would be for them, and that would be love. Or at least the best approximation he could give.
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Or: The Lengths That I Will Go To
A Love Story in 100 partsIt's the Thursday that never ends.
Bookmarked by Meepius147
15 Dec 2024
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Summary
Parker had a theory, and her theory was this: it made Eliot really happy when they noticed the things he did for them. It made Eliot happy when they made sure he knew they noticed the things he did for them. And when Eliot thought they didn't notice, it made him- not unhappy, but something worse, something like he knew that was all he could expect from anyone and he'd resigned himself to it a while back. Once she'd noticed it, she couldn't stop, and the realization of how often they took Eliot for granted made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
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He knows it’d be so fucking easy, if he’d let himself. Because he’s easy for them, has been since that first job, since the day he hauled Hardison’s ass out of a building about to explode. It’d be so easy.
So he won’t.
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The woman laughs, her eyes crinkling behind her silver cat-eye glasses. "You must be Eliot,” she says, cheerfully. “He warned me you were charming. Where is he?”
Eliot’s stomach drops as he realizes that this is a terrible fucking mistake, because this ain’t a random elderly woman showing up to collect cans or take up donations or whatever it is that elderly woman in weird fucking places like Portland do. This is Hardison’s nana, and Eliot has just opened the door to the apartment—to Hardison and Parker’s apartment—like he lives there.