nohochceh

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glad when quality content that aligns with my values pops up unexpectedly

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春 “spring”

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White Deer by sophie s

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Jack, you stuck in the retrozone

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“That’s what I wanted to know,” you say with a shaky, hollow laugh. Your hand finds the back of her head and you tilt her face up towards you, eyeing the damages with a pained look. Your other thumb brushes her cheek, lightly flaking away a smear of dried blood. 

“I was gone for that training thing... I thought I mentioned it, had to go out of town for. No. That’s not what’s important.” You look her in the eyes, looking for any sign of trauma, delirium; she seemed woozy, but not incapacitated. You suppose that was good. 

“What happened to you? Who got in?” A flicker of anger alights a golden glow in your eyes, the corner of your mouth barely turning into a snarl. “If this had anything to do with Condy-- her and her fucked up obsession with Karkats, especially Pink-- I’m not going to let her walk away from this unscathed. Not by any fucking means.” 

> Pause. Take a deep breath. You’re jumping to conclusions again, and you’d rather know what happened than get all riled up on assumptions. 

“Are you, y’know. Okay? Relatively, at least?”

Rufioh: Come home from work.

> You’re still getting used to this stupid key and lock system. Why does every single apartment have to have its own set of locks? Why not just kindly ask a striped roar-beast to kindly guard your home while you’re away instead? Seems a lot more practical, to you, anyway. 

> The door finally gives and you step inside, one, two steps, reaching up to hang your apron on the coat hooks beside the front entrance. “Anyone awake? I know it’s kinda–” 

> Pause. 

> You turn and look a little closer. That’s a smudge of… teal on the wall? 

> Panic. 

Keep reading

[nohochceh]

Rufioh: Come home from work.

> You’re still getting used to this stupid key and lock system. Why does every single apartment have to have its own set of locks? Why not just kindly ask a striped roar-beast to kindly guard your home while you’re away instead? Seems a lot more practical, to you, anyway. 

> The door finally gives and you step inside, one, two steps, reaching up to hang your apron on the coat hooks beside the front entrance. “Anyone awake? I know it’s kinda--” 

> Pause. 

> You turn and look a little closer. That’s a smudge of... teal on the wall? 

> Panic. 

> Your bloodpusher skips a beat and you can feel the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Eyes wide and wary, you quietly slip your keys into your pocket and take a few steps further. The hell is going on? Did somebody break in? No, lock and door frame were in tact-- could’ve come in the window, where’s Red? Where’s Riddles-- Did they already dispatch the intruder-- Did they go somewhere else--?

> You’re having a hard time focusing on any one single train of thought as adrenaline floods your thinkpan, putting an obnoxious buzz in the back of your head. You take a few more steps, peek down the hall. There’s a tiny drop of teal on the floor, headed to the bathroom. You ball your fists; you’ll clock that son of a bitch into the next millenia. 

> You’re winding up the punch, shoulders hunched and fists poised. Whoever did this will be receiving the full brunt of your wrath in the next four seconds. Another silent step, and you hear a sniffle. Two more, and a muttered “ow”. One more and--

> You rear back to throw the punch, fury broiling in your eyes, you’ll make them pay, make them regret ever fucking stepping foot into your--

> Pause. 

> Red examines herself in the mirror, oblivious for the most part. The better half of one of her horns is missing, and there’s a massive lump on the side of her head. Teal is smudged under her nose and down the side of her face; you think you see tears on her cheeks, but her eyes aren’t red. 

> Panic. 

> Your fury melts into an instantaneous sense of dreadful, overwhelming worry. Shaking fists fall loose into trembling hands and you abruptly reach out and pull her into a desperate, trembling hug. You’re not even sure she’d noticed you yet, not that it mattered, gods above what could have happened-- 

“Red. Oh, god. Red, what happened, who did...” Your voice waivers as you struggle to keep it in check. You can’t help but feel like you should have come home early. You really, really should have. 

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eveRy time you post something its eitheR a hella good selfie or some CRiptiC message fRom the oldest paRts of the inteRnet and im honestly so Confused what is youR game

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do you ever think about how little Michelangelo cared

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// Hey guys! Might have noticed a lack of activity here lately. Doing a little mini hiatus while I’m in the middle of switching jobs and working every day of the week. Be back soon!