#even if it doesn’t fit

[bxd-kxrma]

Why do I find it funny that Lumine/Aether could be from a universe that has modern technology and when coming to Teyvat they have a shit tier level of cooking cause they’re so used to modern conveniences?? Like

Paimon: You gotta build a fire

Aether: Fucking why?? Where’s the microwave?? Does this shit not come with instructions???

[blue-mood-blue]

I can pinpoint the moment that destroyed my life today:

It’s been a handful of weeks since Murderbot came within inches of having a new, organic governor module implanted in its head via infection - do you think, maybe, that’s also been hiding behind the redacted? Not the way everything else is, just as a deep-seated reminder of what it can’t afford to lose?

What a way to be told “I love you” - to be told “I will not lose you, I will not let go, I will do the hard part of holding on even if you don’t want me to”

[houseswife]

transgender detector going haywire rn…

[seriouslycalamitous]

Imagine: Timeloop AU, except it's just Ramón using dragon magic to continuously loop the day before qFit disappears over and over again - because he's not strong enough to stop him from leaving, not strong enough to save him completely, but if they stay right here, like this, it's almost enough. Almost perfect.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #52

Danny had been missing for 3 years now. He was scared after the accident at 7 years old left him with freaky ghost powers. His parents didn’t like ghosts so he had to run, and run he did. His powers made him bad, ghosts were bad so if he used them he was bad. He winds up under the care of the League of assassins and was trained the last 2 years as a bodyguard to the demon heads heir. Then Ras dies and he and Damian are sent to live with Bruce Wayne, who takes in Danny as he had no where else. A couple more years go by and Danny starts to get a bit curious about his powers. He’s a bit older now and thinks if the pits weren’t bad then maybe ghosts aren’t as bad as his parents thought.

Maybe he should bring this up to Bruce? But maybe he hates ghosts like his parents did, so he starts with Damian.

[inoreuct]

drink from me

a sherry-laced conversation about thirst and running away. zosan | 2k | hurt/comfort

Being a coward isn’t as easy as one might think.

It’s juxtaposition in its own right; cowardice is, as defined, a lack of bravery— And yet Sanji supposes it takes bravery to be able to ditch everything you stand for. To turn tail and run. Bravery to bear upon your shoulders the disappointment of everybody who had ever believed in you. 

He sighs deeply, tilting the bottle in his hand so that the dregs of liquor slosh within. This is why he doesn’t drink.

It’s relatively easy most days. To lock his past behind a set of double doors, bar the handles with a padlock and chain so he can pretend that everything he’s running from isn’t just three paces behind, snapping at his heels, starved and ready to eat him up whole. Alcohol slots the key back into place and twists it without his permission. Twists his heart until it aches.

He doesn’t know why he’d started. The bottle of sherry had sat, nondescript and guileless and half-full on the galley table after the night’s dessert, and Sanji had paused before he’d slowly wrapped his fingers around the neck of it and let his nails scrape against the dark glass.

The cork had popped almost too easily and here he is now, taffrail digging into his forearms as he takes a long drag from his cigarette and lets bitter smoke fill his lungs full to bursting. Blood orange coats the back of his tongue, cloyingly sweet, thick on the roof of his mouth— He’d made a layered trifle with cacao nibs and caramelised cream that had been slathered between slabs of boozy vanilla sponge, and the aftertaste clings to his teeth. Sanji peers down as what’s left of the sherry glimmers vaguely inside the bottle and fights the urge to chug the rest. 

He could, if he really wanted to. He hardly drinks but it certainly doesn’t mean he can’t. 

A soft scrape against wood catches his attention, barely perceptible. He fights to keep his spine from stiffening, fights to maintain his loose-limbed, easy demeanor; the liquid warmth in his veins helps some but not enough, and he’s halfway through another drag when near-silent footsteps stop just behind him. 

Zoro’s haori shifts in the wind, palm loosely wrapped around the end of Wado’s hilt where she’s strapped alone to his hip. “Was wondering where you went,” he says easily, looking out over the ocean. 

Sanji scoffs. It burns his throat more than the sherry did. “For someone built like that, you’re surprisingly quiet, marimo.”

The immediate urge to kick himself is something new. He rarely feels it— It appears often, don’t get him wrong, he just. Ignores it. It’s a little more difficult tonight. Built like that. The noise that escapes him is mirthless. What’s that even supposed to mean, huh? Alcohol’s always made him snappy and he does feel bad for once — But he’s tired, and the chores won’t do themselves. 

“Make it quick, would you?” he mutters when Zoro still hasn’t replied, low and quiet in the still evening air as he curves down to dig the heel of his palm into his temple. “My spice jars are still all over the counter, and I have to mop the floor before I wash the dishes—”

“It’s done.” 

Sanji blinks, before his eyes narrow and he turns his head to look at Zoro properly. “The dishes?”

“Everything.” The swordsman huffs when Sanji gives him a dubious look, gaze flicking over and away again as he rolls his eye. “Luffy asked me to clean up the galley. Said you needed a break.”

Well. The cook exhales, measured, and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Taps his cig so that ash doesn’t fall into his hair where he’s holding it aloft above his head. “Tell him thanks, but I don’t.”

He clocks it out of his peripheral vision when Zoro smirks and waves a hand to gesture to his cigarette and his slouch and the glass bottle dangling against wood. “What’s this, then?”

I don’t know. Shop’s closed, please fuck off and come back tomorrow morning. 

The other words that sit at the tip of Sanji’s tongue are far more scathing. He feels them, bites them back viciously before he can burn anyone other than himself. “If there’s a single thing out of place in there I’m gonna—”

“Kick my ass, I know, I know.” Zoro chuckles under his breath. “Don’t you get tired of saying the same things over and over again?”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t constantly choose to be selectively deaf, moss-for-brains.”

The swordsman huffs another soft laugh, and conversation peters out after that. Sanji feels an itch building at the base of his skull, flickering just under his skin; it’s making him restless. He taps the bottle against the rail just to fill the silence. Zoro reaches a hand out and Sanji gives it to him easily, unthinkingly, watching and pretending he isn’t as the swordsman thumbs over the faded paper label that’s peeling at the corner. 

Zoro’s hands are scarred, he notes. He knows this, of course, but he never gets tired of letting his gaze drift over tan skin and old scars, thin slivers of pearly tissue painted silver in the moonlight. A breeze ruffles his hair as Zoro finally drinks, and he’s distantly surprised to see that it’s a measured sip and not a swig like what it usually would have been. 

Fucking hell. Sanji’s inhale shudders when he pushes himself up and stands straight, now-free hand wrapping around lacquered wood as he finishes his cigarette and tosses the butt over the side. He needs to stop thinking. He’s paying too much attention. There’s a pressure building behind his forehead and Zoro is an overwhelming presence beside him, unavoidable, stoic and staunch as ever, perfect posture, perfect honour, a sentinel with a pure white sword like some sort of— of hero from a storybook. Perfect perfect perfect.

It’s all building like a scream behind his lips, a river at a bottleneck, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in. Grits his teeth until he hears them creak because what would happen if he opened his mouth? Nothing good, he’s sure. Nothing anyone needs.

Sanji nearly startles when the bottle taps against his elbow. “Talk to me.”

“Nothing to say,” he replies immediately, taking a careless gulp and holding in a cough. 

Zoro’s slow exhale feels like it shifts the wind itself. Their ship creaks gently. “You always have something to say, curls.”

“Look, you—” He cuts himself off, tempering his breath. “I’m tired, alright? So can you just get to the point?” Fuck, he needs another cigarette. 

Maybe that’s the problem. He knows he’s the problem, sure, but Sanji suspects that he’s been running for so long that he’s forgotten how to walk. It’s grown into him like weeds wound through his ribs, the way he sees poison in water that’s perfectly clean, the way peace makes him more anxious than chaos does. He needs to stop running. He doesn’t know how. 

Zoro pries the sherry from his fingers and it’s only then that he relaxes the death grip he’d unintentionally had, a shudder slipping over his shoulders. Zoro holds the bottle loosely between his scarred fingers and doesn’t drink.

The silence thickens. Static crackles within his bones.

Sanji doesn’t know why he starts talking. Doesn’t know why it feels like a dam breaking in his chest, but his mouth is open, and the words are emptying out. “I’m tired of looking over my shoulder for something that isn’t there. Luffy gave me something to run towards, for once, but—”

He doesn’t know how to say it’s not enough without sounding ungrateful, without being greedy. “Sometimes I think I could… consume every one of the Blues, and still want more,” he allows. “Need more.” His fingers lace together, and Sanji dips his head with a wry smile even as he looks at the endless expanse of sky in front of them. “I’m afraid I’ll drink the world and still come up dry.”

There is a thirst in him. Something different than what had wracked him for a month on that barren rock. Hunger he can handle; he eats just enough to stave it off and goes about his day. This, though— Sanji can’t help the way it buzzes in the back of his head and keeps him wound up like a coil of electrical wire. He kneads dough and whisks egg whites just to have something to do with his hands. He defaults to his usual barbs when he’s feeling ungrounded so he can kid himself into thinking he possesses some semblance of normality. His shoulders ache as he stares out over the sea and wonders what it’s like to hold so much and still, still, be so achingly empty.

The winds change, carding cool fingers through his hair. 

“Drink from me,” Zoro says, and Sanji’s breath catches between his teeth.

His head snaps up to find Zoro already looking at him, face unreadable, elbows on the taffrail and bottle cupped in his hands. The swordsman looks serene, Sanji thinks. Gaze trained straight ahead, ever clear of his objectives as Wado gleams at his side, starlight in an ivory sheath. 

“Drink from me,” he repeats. The words are solemn as they always are in moments like these, the liminal space just after dusk but before true night, as his eyes shift over to Sanji and lock in place. “I won’t let you go thirsty again.” 

Sanji’s mouth dries. It’s hard not to feel pinned as Zoro looks at him; the weight of his gaze is almost physically tangible, like a familiar green coat settling over his shoulders. That’s the thing about Zoro— For all Sanji jokes about him having plant life in his skull, the swordsman has a penchant for dropping absolutely earth-shaking statements without even seeming to think about them at all. The cook swallows once, twice, tries to find his words as his lips part and loses them as soon as he takes his next breath.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling like a ticking time bomb. But as Zoro’s lashes flutter and he looks away, Sanji feels something in him settle. The relentless buzz that always seems to sit just beneath his skin soothes out into a quiet hum. 

Maybe part of it’s how Zoro’s scarred and still perfect. Untouchable. Sanji couldn’t hurt him even if he tried, even if he blows apart.

His fingers wrap, unthinking, around the neck of the bottle as it’s pushed back into his hand, the pressure of Zoro’s touch lingering until he’s sure that Sanji has a good grip. The swordsman’s boots brush softly across the planks as he turns to leave and he’s halfway to the stairs before Sanji speaks.

“Marimo.”

He knows Zoro turns without even looking. “Hm?”

“Did Luffy really ask you to clean up the galley?”

A pause, before Zoro starts walking again. “Get some sleep, cook. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

The silence he leaves in his wake is honey-thick. First watch is Sanji’s shift, it always is— He cleans up the galley and stays awake until Zoro comes to take over. 

(The galley is clean. His watch is covered. His mind is quiet.

For once, he can’t find himself another reason to stay.)

 

The sherry holds no evidence of them ever having shared it. Sanji lifts the tinted glass and there’s no trace of Zoro, no proof that his mouth had ever been where Sanji’s is— None of the candied orange and rosemary from the duck they’d had for dinner, gamey and blood-sweet.

I won’t let you go thirsty again.

Sanji tastes it still, gentle in the back of his throat as he drains the bottle.

[petite-phthora]

Hell yeah

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first… murder? - part 17]

<< Prev | Next >>

Part 1

Ao3

---

Danny opens the door to see Red Hood on the other side. They smile and greet each other before Danny steps outside.

“What’s with the bags?” Red Hood asks, gesturing towards the bags Danny has with him.

“Well, this one,” He starts, holding one of the bags up, “is filled with the tp for the manor. While this one,” he holds up the other bag, “has to do with the second part of the date.”

“It’s a surprise for later, so no peeking!” Danny says, wagging his finger.

Red Hood holds up his arms in surrender and nods in response.

“Alright, I won’t peek.”

“Good.” Danny nods, satisfied with the answer.

“Though, would you like me to carry one of those?” Red Hood asks, pointing towards the bags.

Danny opens his mouth to respond but pauses, giving Red Hood a suspicious look.

“This isn’t some ploy to look inside the date bag, is it?”

Red Hood shakes his head in response.

“Nope. Just a genuine question on whether you want me to carry one of those bags or not. No ulterior motives.” He says, not sounding all too convincing.

Danny, who has his eyes still narrowed, gives in.

“Alright. But you carry this one.” He says, handing over the bag with the tp in it.

Red Hood takes it with a nod. They then start walking towards the entrance of the building. Once outside they head over to where Red Hood parked his motorcycle.

“Here, you can put the bags in the saddle bag,” Red Hood says, opening said saddle bag and putting the bag he was carrying inside it before gesturing for Danny to put the one he was carrying in.

After everything is secured and ready, they take off towards the manor.

Instead of going to the front of the manor with the gate, Red Hood takes a different route. They stop somewhere around the back of the manor, beside the stone wall surrounding the property.

Danny takes the bag with the tp with him, leaving the other at the motorcycle.

After looking over the wall to see that none of the manor’s residents are near, they go over it. Luckily for them, the wall isn’t too high and they climb and get down from it with ease.

They go over to the manor and once close enough they stop. Danny holds out the bag he brought between them and opens it up. He takes out some tp rolls and hands one over to Red Hood. They grin at each other.

“Let’s give this manor a little make-over”

“Hell yeah”

Those are the last words spoken between them before they start throwing the rolls at the manor.

---

Danny has another roll of toilet paper in his hand, preparing his next throw. Red Hood is next to him, helmet under his arm, having taken it off a while ago.

They’re both grinning at each other, Red Hood giving Danny a thumbs up in encouragement.

Both grins are quickly wiped off their faces when they hear a pointed ‘ahem’ from behind. Danny turns around startled, the toilet paper roll he was holding falling into the grass when he drops it.

Red Hood, who hadn’t jumped like Danny had, turns around curiously to look at who was interrupting their fun.

Behind them stands an older man with gray hair and a mustache. He’s dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit. He looks at them with a kind and open expression, as if they aren’t trespassers currently defiling the place he works/lives at.

“Good afternoon, Red Hood and guest. Would either of you care for some refreshments? The cookies are just about done.” The newcomer says.

Danny and Red Hood turn to look at each other. Danny gives him a questioning look. Red Hood just shrugs in response. They both turn back to the man in front of them and Danny speaks up.

“Hell yeah, we would love some cookies. If you don’t mind, sir…?”

“Alfred Pennyworth, I’m the Wayne family butler. And your name is?” Mr. Penny inquires as he starts leading them inside the manor and towards the kitchen.

“Danny Fenton at your service, Mr. Pennyworth,” Danny says, doing a silly little bow and almost tripping before he manages to right himself again with a sheepish grin.

“Please, call me Alfred, Mr. Fenton.”

“Only if you call me Danny.”

“Alright. Now, Mr. Danny, Red Hood, would either of you care for a cup of tea?”

---

Jason is looking at Danny and Alfred from a small distance as they are chatting over some cookies and tea. He has his arms crossed and a soft smile across his face.

He doesn’t jump when a voice coming from his right speaks up.

“New Brother?”

He turns to look beside him to see Cass curiously looking over in Danny’s direction. Jason gives her a slight scoff.

“That’s in-law, for you,” he pauses, the next word coming out a lot softer as he turns back to look at Danny who seems to be laughing at something, “hopefully…”

Cass nods in response.

“You’re happy?” She asks with a tilted head.

Jason nods seriously.

Cass smiles.

“Good. Then I’m happy.” She says before disappearing, leaving them be.

---

Behind Danny’s back, Jason catches Alfred’s eye and signs to him.

“I just remembered, the laundry should be done now. Please, excuse me.” Alfred says before leaving the room.

Once Alfred is out of sight Danny turns towards Jason, shoving the last bits of the cookie he was eating inside his mouth.

“So, you ready to get that autograph?” Jason asks him, holding out his hand towards Danny.

Danny glances over at the door Alfred just left through before looking back over at Jason and smiling at him.

“Hell yeah.” He says before taking Jason’s hand and using it to get up from his seat.

Without letting go of his hand, Jason starts leading Danny through the manor.

There’s no way they’d have been able to avoid all cameras in the manor, especially since they went inside with Alfred, so Jason doesn’t bother trying to be sneaky.

They already know of Danny anyway…

While they’re walking towards where Jason knows Tim’s room is, Danny looks curiously around the place.

“Say, how do you know your way around here so well?” He asks Jason.

“I’ve been around here a few times.” He replies casually.  “You don’t wanna know how many of their gala’s have been attacked or the amount of times the Wayne’s have been held hostage” He rolls his eyes. Jason stops walking.

“Alright, I’m pretty sure this is Mr. Drake-Wayne’s room,” Jason says, opening the door of one of the various rooms in the manor and stepping inside.

“Do I want to know how you’d know which rooms belong to which residents?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright, then I won’t ask,” Danny replies with an unconcerned shrug.

Danny looks around the room, inspecting it while taking care not to touch anything.

“Hmmm, do you think he’ll have any documents with his signature here? Or does he keep them all at that Wayne Tower thingy?

“Might’ve been a smarter idea to have gone there for something of use…” Danny says, muttering the last part more to himself than to Jason.

Jason shrugs in response, walking towards the desk.

“He probably has something lying around we could snatch. But if need be, I wouldn’t say no to breaking into the tower and getting the signature from there.”

“More breaking and entering, huh? Would that be another date?” Danny says before fake swooning. “How romantic” Danny grins, trying to ignore how warm his face feels.

Jason snorts at the bit. He then starts looking through the papers lying on the desk,  picking up one of the pieces of paper. He scans it, finding it to be some sort of agreement contract between Wayne Enterprises and some other tech company.

It didn’t seem too important and, knowing Tim, if it were he’d probably already have multiple copies and back-ups at another location.

Now that Jason’s thinking about it, this paper is most likely already a copy and not the original. So he feels no remorse handing it over to Danny.

“Here, check this out.” Jason points to the bottom of the document where Tim’s signature is located.

Danny takes the document from him, glancing over the signature with a smile.

“Alright! This is perfect, thanks Red!” He looks up from the document and beams at Jason, who makes a ‘don’t worry about it’ gesture.

Danny then puts the paper into his bag for safekeeping before speaking up again.

“Soooo… Wanna finish our tp project before ditching this place for the second part of the date?”

“Hell yeah,” Jason responds with a grin.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing @i23432i @imsotiredfanficlovertm @jaguarthecat @arkita-shadow @ilydana @jai-twin

[thisisnotthenerd]

started thinking about lyrics to dawn of justice

like:

watch me rise on this dawn of justice rebel fire for saviors and righteous eyes on me when the fucking bass hits ‘cause you know i’m coming for you bitch

or

fiery sun emerge from the dark clouds scales of law turned hammer of war now find conviction pure from love or doubt best prepare ‘cause i will not bow down

or

clawed the fire from sundown as she fell powers shift as followers compel carved bakur out of athenriel giant devil bursting forth in hell

or

sunlight breaking out of the darkness summer’s peace give way to the conquest crystals red now coming to harvest bringing power to rage incarnate

[steviesbicrisis]

I couldn’t stop thinking about this and Barbie Steve so:

Steve is a special edition Ken, with his polo shirt and sunglasses he’s supposed to be Cool Party Ken, always ready to party and nothing more.

Steve hates it. Not the polo, he actually loves his outfit, but the idea he will be nothing more than the Cool Party Ken. A Ken.

He watches Nancy, who is supposed to be “his Barbie”, being Journalist Barbie and Good student Barbie and he wishes he could do that too. Journalist Barbie comes with a flowery long skirt he can’t stop thinking about.

But he can’t wear it because he’s a Ken.

And he knows he should be okay with what he is because he’s very lucky to be a special edition Ken and all the other Ken are jealous of him, so he tries to endure it for a while.

Until he can’t anymore.

He starts off with something he always dreamed of: he takes a pair of scissors and hairspray and becomes an hairstylist. Everyone is shocked to see and Hairstylist Ken but they welcome the change anyways, not knowing that Steve actually refers to himself as Hairstylist Barbie.

Robin, a Student/Worker Barbie, is the first person he tells.

She comes to him asking for a short haircut which is considered a crazy thing to want, since almost all Barbies have long hair.

“I don’t care! I hate my long hair, if people get upset that’s their problem. I will be a Rebel Barbie if I have to.”

“But why me?” Steve can’t help but ask. Usually people get haircuts from Hairstylist Barbies, not him.

“Because no Hairstylist Barbie wants to cut my hair” she admits, looking down “they think it’s weird. But I thought you would… understand.”

And Steve does understand, so he cuts her hair with no more objections. At the end, Robin is admiring her new shorter hair in the mirror when Steve says “well, one Hairstylist Barbie did say yes to you, in the end.”

And Robin understands.

—

The first person to call him Barbie, however, is Eddie.

Eddie is a standard Ken and he’s okay with it, most of the time. He firmly believes that any special edition Ken is just a snuck out snob, so he lives his life trying to prove that average Ken like him are just as fine.

“If we were just like the Special Kens like Steve” Jonathan objects “we would have found a Barbie to be with, don’t you think?”

Eddie would love to go on a rant about how Steve the Cool Party Ken is nothing special, but his eyes are caught by two Sailor Barbies walking across the street.

Eddie has never seen a Sailor Barbie but they have the same outfit, similar short hair and matching hats, so he imagines it must be a new type.

Despite looking so similar, one of them catches his eye.

He gives Jonathan a knowing look of “watch as I get a Barbie for myself”, which Jonathan replies with a look of “can’t wait to see you make a fool of yourself”, and then he’s off crossing the street.

He watches as one of them enters a ice cream parlor, and the other, the one who has caught his interest, stays back, staring at the door as if they needed to take some courage.

Eddie takes it as a sign to shoot his shot “Hey Barbiegirl!”

Nameless Sailor Barbie goes rigid but doesn’t turn around, so Eddie catches up to them.

“You know that old saying, every Barbie needs a Ken so…”

Sailor Barbie finally turns around, and Eddie is shocked to be faced with Steve the Pool Party Ken. Or maybe not a Ken. He’s confused.

Steve is looking at him expectingly, red in the cheeks.

He wets his lips before talking, making them glossier “so…?”

He doesn’t correct Eddie, he doesn’t say “I’m not a Barbie, you idiot”, he doesn’t reject him. He wants him to finish with his cheesy and overused pick up line.

Eddie wonders if he has been a special edition Lucky Ken without realizing it before.

“So, would you be my Barbie?”

Steve giggles, kisses him in the cheek and says “take me to dinner first, then we’ll see” and then, without another word, he’s gone inside the parlor.

Eddie stands there, staring at the door, too shocked to turn around and give Jonathan a “I told you so”.

[linkbetweenlinksau]

Some more concepts. Sky’s outfit seemed plain to me without the sailcloth cape but I really hate the cape so I didn’t want to keep it. It’s folded up in his belt rn. But I did notice that the headmaster and the teachers for the knight academy all have that sash stuff around their shoulders, and since Sky more or may not be working in the academy at times, I gave him one. Idk, his design is giving me trouble lol. I need to figure out what he’s actually doing. I also moved his feather down on his belt cuz I can’t handle drawing that thing in his earring anymore. And Minish’s design also seemed plain so I gave it a more leafy texture to actually fit a Minish, plus darkening it cuz idk it kinda looked weird. I might lighten it a tad so that it doesn’t blend in with his headband. And lastly Windy…. I still don’t know if I wanna do this, but I kinda am playing with the idea of him being 14 instead of 17. Idk it’d just be easier not to try to fill in all those years you know? His design won’t change too much, but I did cave in and gave him a red bandana

And lastly Warriors and Time being brothers <3

[cinnamon-guardian]

I will never not see this side-by-side and start cackling like a madman.

“I must venture into the jungle and find my own cacao beans for my daughter. Y’know. For Operation Strix!”

“I’m taking Yor out for a night on the town, but you have to remember! You HAVE to remember this is all for the mission! ALL OF THIS is just for the mission!”

The spy doth protest too much, methinks.

Loid really is the only one buying what he’s trying to sell, but at least we know Anya got some 10/10 cocoa and Yor had a good time on their date. Truly the family MISSION couldn’t be any happier MORE SECURE than it is now.

[fujii-draws]

OKAY! Chatot rant in tags below! Read at your own discretion.

[starryguykai]

trying to keep my morale up by doodling this loser

[brookheimer]

none of y’all ever talked enough about how fucking insane the choice of famous blue raincoat by leonard cohen was for connor’s karaoke song

[loversmore]

“you make others happy; you must not forget your own happiness.”

smiley fourth and gemini, for @hyunsung ❤️‍🩹

[disfrutalaisla]

I think I just realized something.

Quackity has been saying that there’s more to come and mentioned once or twice that the qsmp wasn’t supposed to be an rp server. I think THATS why his ideas(purgatory, the mini-me’s etc) have been feeling so out of place narratively. THOSE are what the qsmp was supposed to be.

I think the qsmp was supposed to be more like a theme park with a backstory. Players could experience the world building without being part of it and the focus would be on having a group of people bond while having a good time.