#goddamn this art block <:^c

[badolmen]

Maybe Next Time

Inspired by @reds-skull's Revenant AU - please go check out their art its so goddamn cool.

He feels alive.

Which is a frighteningly alien sensation.

At first, Soap kept the caution of a living man, as though the next blast would kill him for good this time. The first suicide mission he bears with a grin – who else but him could survive it? It’s practically his obligation to die in the stead of soldiers who have no guarantee of getting up again.

The second suicide mission, the third, the fourth…he lost count of the times he felt shrapnel bite his bones and fire sear through his flesh. He bears it with a grin and a joke that no one laughs at – who else but him could survive it? He is a Revenant after all. It’s what he’s still here for.

Isn’t it?

Because if that’s all he lives for, to die for men who see him as a cheap flesh alternative to bomb robots, a tool to be used, bloodied, cleaned, then used again…

Then why does this mission make him feel alive?

In all his time with the SAS, Soap never met another Revenant. They are rare, and thus closely guarded. This one – only called “Ghost,” with not a picture in his file – doesn’t even have a description of his abilities. All Soap can glean from the single page file is that he’s a Lieutenant of a taskforce – the 141. Who they are and what they do is a mystery to him, but it’s not like he’s being recruited.

This is a joint mission, acquiring intel for the 141. He’s on loan, his abilities coveted for this mission given its circumstances. Who the hell guards intel with explosives? (Someone who would rather destroy it than let it fall into enemy hands.) The nature of the intel is kept from him, but he doesn’t mind. This is the most he’s known about a mission outside of ‘there’s a bomb’ in a long time.

He tries not to get his hopes up; this job is the same suicide mission he’s done a thousand times before. Infiltrate, locate intel, disarm or detonate the explosives, crawl back with whatever is left. But this time, he isn’t alone.

And that’s as terrifying as it is thrilling.

He feels alive for the first time since he died.

--

Soap decides he likes Ghost, even if the feelings aren’t mutual. The Sargeant’s attempt at levity during on-boarding is met with a muttered curse. (“Save you a seat, LT.” Ironic considering this is a two man mission and most of the helo is unoccupied.) The two review their mission brief on the flight to the drop location: three buildings to clear, intel in two. Enemy presence is shockingly low, but that’s to be expected considering they don’t know what’s coming. Besides, who needs soldiers when you have enough explosives to level a city block?

Drop off goes off without a hitch and immediately any expectations for a standard mission (as standard as Soap knows it) is chased away. Ghost uses the comms actively, almost to the point where Soap wonders for a moment if there are normal soldiers on this mission that he doesn’t know about. But he’s making call outs for Soap, letting Soap know when he clears a sniper, muttering what one might construe to be praise when Soap cleans out an entire level of a building while Ghost picked off the patrols.

“For an explosives expert you’re one hell of a shot.”

“Aye, glad to see I’m not too rusty. Used to clean up like this back in the day; why do you think they call me Soap?”

“Perhaps you need some.”

“Was that a joke LT?”

A flashbang catches the Sargent off guard, a quick curse and crack shot clearing the final enemy.

“Keep it tactical, MacTavish.” The words sting, but the faintest shimmer of amusement that crackles over the comm static has Soap sweeping to the second floor with a grin.

“Movin’ up, second floor Bravo-7.”

“Solid copy. I’m moving to building C.”

“Copy. Let me know if you need me.” To die for you the mission.

The sudden lack of response is almost deafening.

Soap knows when he isn’t wanted.

He knows well the pointed silence on comms, the curt order to keep it tactical when he tries to joke with the others on a mission. He has a keen eye for cold shoulders and stolen glances. The others on a mission know what he’s there to do. They know he will be torn apart, bloodied and burned so that their mission is successful. Something between a sacrificial lamb and Frankenstein’s monster. Something that isn’t spoken to, either out of pity or of fear.

There’s the rank difference, sure, but they’re from separate operations, so even if Soap is only a Sargent, the usual power dynamics aren’t at play. Part of him wants to indulge, to push and grab at whatever scraps of humanity he can get from the guy. Part of him is too scared there isn’t any left, not for him.

There is only grim silence as he takes down the final two enemies on the second floor. No intel on the second floor. Sweeping the first reveals a basement hatch, and Soap can feel his heart sink with every step into that dank cellar. The air is thick with the tang of gunpowder and practically humming with primed charges.

Soap suddenly feels out of place, creeping slowly, smoke grenade highlighting trip lines that he follows to disengage explosives. Most missions didn’t care how messy things got, so long as no one but him and the enemy got hurt. Going loud was less an option and more a standard he had gotten a bit too comfortable with. Here, taking it slow, focusing on every breath and movement, Soap is alive. There is a heady rush of adrenaline in his blood as he cuts wires and pries primed mechanisms to safety.

Between clearing tangos with a voice in his ear and setting aside disarmed charges, Soap is holding that bittersweet nostalgia of Before with both hands. Because if he fucks this up, it’s going to hurt. A lot.

Not to mention Ghost would see his fuck up. Soap isn’t sure why that idea bothers him so much, but he has a job to do, so he pushes it aside to focus on the frankly overcompensating amount of explosives.

(What was this, some comic book supervillain storage lair?)

(Well, maybe it kind of is – his own fingers are aflame, sparking against the metal housings of the laser projectors. What was that character called again? The human torch? Soap can’t remember if he merely burst into flames or exploded –)

Focus, MacTavish.

He’s half tempted to comm Ghost, just to see if the other will answer, just to see if he will be ignored. He can’t hear gunfire or explosions here in the cellar, but Soap assumes Ghost is having a bit more excitement than he is right now, taking care of tedious and boring bomb disarming.

He hisses, holding a housing too-tight in his palm as the metal warms and warps against his powers. He nearly dropped the red hot shell right on top of a charge. He needs to focus. This isn’t a loud mission and Reapers knew if Ghost realizes he would have to drag what was left of Soap back to base if things went tits up. The last thing they need is a Revenant falling into enemy hands.

(How would they use him? There’s no point killing such a powerful asset. Would he still be a glorified one-man bomb squad? Or would they put his powers to more sinister use -?)

Fucking focus, MacTavish. Ghost has probably finished clearing the other two buildings while you’re down here faffing about.

There are boots on the stairs. His hands are full of primed explosives.

“Freeze!” His heart sinks, the fire at his fingertips licking against the charges in hand. “Hands up, slowly.”

“Easy boys…” Soap hums, not moving his hands. If he drops the charge it will go off. If he raises his hands the tangos will see his fire and shoot for fear of him accidentally setting off the charge. Better to draw this out and maximize the casualties.

They filter into the cramped basement, weapons aimed at his head and flashlights sweeping the disarmed charges on the floor. Four tangos. Someone must have reported their earlier kills – no other reason for a full patrol unit to be walking around weapons primed.

Ghost is definitely having more fun than Soap is at the moment.

“Let’s be reasonable –”

“Shut up.” The order is punctuated with the muzzle of a rifle pressed under Soap’s chin. The adrenaline kicks in, thrill and terror mixing in crystallized euphoria. He could die here. Again, for good this time. His conditional immortality did not include point blank bullets to the face.

His Reaper wouldn’t be too happy about that.

The memory of fluttering insects and light so bright it burned and why he was sent back is like swallowing sun-warmed honey, sweet but cloying. He will not die here. It will hurt. But he’ll live. He always does.

“Bravo-2 how copy?” Ghost’s voice is sharp as it crackles from his radio. Before the tangos around him can use their own comms, Soap takes a step back, hands burning hot against the fragile charge as he pulls it to his chest. The swansong of igniting thermite and roaring fire is all he hears before the world around him is torn to shreds.

--

His Reaper hovers nearby, a buzz under his skin, buffering him against fire and shrapnel and rubble. If he doesn’t look too closely, he can see them in the cinders and smoke. Warm, golden insects the same color and temperature as the fire sparking at his fingertips. They flutter past, carried on the fumes and swirling air currents, fading out of view as his vision darkens.

Soap’s consciousness rises and falls like a weak tide, a few seconds of painful clarity defeated as blood loss and agony blur his thoughts and catch in his blood filled lungs. For so long it is awfully quiet. He can feel the slick of blood from burst eardrums running down his neck, but soon enough he can hear his gargled breathing and knows they’ve heal.

He can hear footsteps, or at least, he thinks they are footsteps. A voice – no, probably not a voice. Why would they be calling to him? They’re probably talking to someone else. They will pick him up when the mission is done. However long that took.

Christ, he is so fucking tired – he can feel his Reaper’s power surging through his body, coalescing around what he knows to be a bad puncture wound too adrenaline numbed to be felt. He just needs to clear it, at least enough to start healing, because replacing all of this blood is going to take weeks at this point.

Hands. Right, he has hands, he just needs to –

Feeling rushes back into his blood like a tidal wave, a full body shudder as his nerves burn back to life. His eyes snap open, burning in the smoke and welling with tears.

Steamin’ Jesus, he is going to be sick. And even though he hopes to pass out again, he knows he won’t.

Soap thought he would get used to it by now, the almost-death, the not-death he died when his heart stopped beating but his soul couldn’t leave. Dying the first time had been easy, practically painless. It’s the coming back that seems to get worse with every mission.

The strangled sound in his throat seems to garner some attention, footsteps echoing in the shadows – are his eyes still getting reconnected to his briefly deceased brain or is the smoke still that heavy?

“Ghost?” The name is garbled, croaking from his spasming throat. He can’t seem to get enough air, one lung collapsed and the other fighting remember how to breathe. His vision tunnels, a skull mask hovering in the near distance. It has to be Ghost – or maybe Soap is dead-dead this time, and death happens to have a sick sense of humor.

“Soap? Johnny where – oh fuckin’ hell.”

Soap writhes, trying to push himself off the rebar stake through his chest. He’s holding up the operation – Ghost probably needs him to take care of some other explosives –

He can’t fucking heal like this.

“Could – could use a – a – a hand here, LT.” Soap forces the words through gritted teeth. No use being a whiny cunt when it’s his own damn fault for taking so long with the charges.

“How can I help?”

Soap wants to laugh – he almost does, the muscles in his abdomen clenching and making the rebar impaling him burn hotter than any thermite. The whimper that crawls up his throat in response is strangled into a growl.

“Gettin’ me off this fuckin’ spike would be nice.” The frustration in his chipped voice is undercut by an apologetic warble as his breathing hitches. “Please, I cannae – I can’t heal like this.” He swallows back another mouthful of blood, the pressure of Ghost’s hands on his shoulders gentle compared to the fracturing agony pulsing from his injuries.

Part of him is glad there isn’t a countdown, the blinding pain forcing a pathetic whine from the back of his throat while he clamps his jaw shut hard enough for it to ache. The world fades gray, his vision blacking out as he feels Ghost set him down, a slab of cold concrete to his back. His Reaper’s power flushes into the gaping wound, a sob shuddering through him as he feels a bloom of healing fire flush through the injury.

He just needs to get his breathing under control; he needs to get it under control faster before Ghost – is Ghost already pissed at him? He’s at the very least annoyed – he sounded annoyed on the comms – his own comms were probably broken in the explosion. Fuckin’ hell he just got them replaced…

Christ, focus, MacTavish – quit being a little bitch and breathe and get up and –

“How long do you need?”

Soap cracks his eyes open, vision still spotted with stars but he focuses on the mask in front of him. Those coal brown eyes are...warm. Ghost is crouching in front of him, still waiting for his blood starved brain to string together a coherent response.

“Just – just a few more...a few more breaths. Dinnae worry I –” He winces, something in his chest snapping. He can feel bone fragments wriggling free from mangled flesh, piecing back together ribs. It takes a few quick breaths for him to work through the pain enough to continue speaking. “I’m fine. Not that bad – had worse. Really.”

Ghost doesn’t look convinced, but he turns to sit next to MacTavish, rifle across his lap.

“Take your time. Don’t have to worry about tangos for now.”

Soap finds himself staring and he can’t quite look away for fear that he is, actually, dead-dead and death just happens to have a sick sense of humor. But Ghost doesn’t fade away or explode into a swarm of golden butterflies dancing with the acidic warmth of his Reaper’s disappointment. Ghost just sits there, close enough to brush shoulders with as he scans the rubble around them.

Soap’s thoughts are swirling; he’s desperate to push his luck and lean against that steady presence, and frustrated that he is too distracted to focus on getting his breathing back. If this was a normal mission they would need him on his feet by now – if he wasn’t diffusing bombs, someone who could actually die, dead-dead, would be.

It’s almost a relief when Ghost rises to his feet, stalking across the crater’s debris. Almost. A selfish part of Soap wants to reach out and grab him back, just to know he’s still there.

“We – we can get going. Sorry for holding this up.” Soap pitches forward to follow, shaking hands braced against the ground with a groan as his vision swims. He needs to get up, follow Ghost, get to exfil, get back to base, and sleep for a fucking week.

The first step is always the hardest, right? Bracing against the concrete slab, he’s able to slide to his feet, shaky legs wobbling like a newborn deer as his vision flashes white with pain.

Get up. Check.

He waits a few breaths for his vision to come back, the bloody spoke of rebar he had been impaled on the first thing he sees. His halfhearted glare shifts, Ghost’s silhouette in the distance.

Follow Ghost. Check.

He could do that. One foot in front of the other. Don’t stop moving – except Ghost has stopped moving. Soap blinks down at the warped frame of a safe. Right. He has a job to do outside of blowing himself up.

“I got it.” He bites back sob as he drops back to the ground, the pain of rubble under his knees a grounding distraction. Soap holds his fingertips to the thick wall of the safe, metal sparking red then white under the intensity of his powers. Rotating his hand slowly, he’s able to create a near perfect circle, pulling away a chunk of the molten metal to open a window to the safe’s contents.

Soap sits back on his heels, melted iron running off his fingers as his powers dim. Blood is puddling below him, the wound in his side still gushing. If only he had been able to pull himself free before Ghost showed up, just a few extra minutes to heal.

“Good work.” He looks up at Ghost, who briefly inspects the hard drive he had fished from the safe’s interior. Soap blinks up at him as Ghost straightens where he knelt, silhouetted in starlight and lingering smoke. He blames blood loss for the bloom of warmth in his chest and the giddy smile sliding onto his face. Ghost’s eyes narrow, head nodding to his injury. “You need something for that?”

Soap opens and closes his mouth, choking on whatever he was going to say and exchanging it for a shaky laugh.

“Nah, nah – it’ll be fine. Eventually. Just – just gotta get back to base and rest up.” He rises to an unsteady half kneel, breathing too hard and too fast. The world spins, his vision graying out for a few faltering breaths.

Why did he laugh? It hurt so much worse now – was it bleeding more? As his nausea passes, Soap spots Ghost fishing a medkit from his pack. He halfheartedly swats it away.

“No – no, that’s for you. I’ll heal up without anything.”

“I’m stopping the bleeding and giving you some stims. I don’t feel like carrying your ass to exfil.” Soap slumps under Ghost’s unwavering stare, dropping back to the ground like a kicked dog. Ghost isn’t his CO – hell, he isn’t even sure if Ghost can pull rank seeing as they’re from separate operations – but he isn’t going to argue. Not with that tone; he’s already a burden to the mission as it is.

“Right...right, yeah. That – yeah.” His words are slurred, accent thickening as he mutters curses to himself. Pull it together MacTavish, you’ve had worse, you’ve walked through a minefield with worse, crawled to exfil without your legs with worse.

“Bloody hell MacTavish…” Ghost’s growl is almost a whisper as he lifts the hem of Soap’s shirt, baring the gory wound. He isn’t sure what stung more – the thread of disappointment in Ghost’s voice or the hemostatic bandages now secured on either side of his torso.

“Sorry.” His apology croaks unbidden from his throat. It isn’t like an apology will speed this up.

“Choices have consequences.” Ghost huffs as he wipes his bloodied gloves on his pants. “Don’t blow yourself up next time.”

For a split second he latches onto that. ‘Next time.’ He wouldn’t mind a next time. Or maybe he would – working with Ghost is…different than being assigned to various crews as the de facto bomb robot. He isn’t sure yet if different is better. Soap hums in agreement, wincing as a stimpack bites into his shoulder and a rush of wakefulness stirs in his blood.

“I was taking too damn long. Got caught.” He shrugs, either a flush of embarrassment or some color finally warming its way onto his cheeks. “Easier to take them down with me, seeing as I’m the one that can get back up.”

“Easier than waiting for me to help?”

“I’m an impatient guy.” Soap hisses, the injury still stinging as he pushes back to his feet. “Can we go now? I’m right as rain.” He wobbles on his feet, not impressing Ghost as he holds an arm to his side, keeping pressure on the wound. Ghost heaves a sigh, starting towards exfil without another word.

Climbing out of the crater is the hard part, but Soap can bite his tongue and push through the blinding white hot agony of reaching and climbing over debris. The bandages are soaked through in minutes, seals broken by the agitating movements. He makes sure to keep behind Ghost, partly to keep the still substantial blood trail he’s leaving out of sight and out of mind.

That doesn’t mean his too-loud, hollow breathing is something the other soldier will continue to ignore.

“Do you need a break?” The question is paired with a gentle glance, so foreign to Soap after so long on the receiving end of snappy COs and stressed soldiers. He doesn’t respond, wide eyed and panting with a hand on the wall for stability. The softness in Ghost’s eyes flickers, something shadowy in their depths.

“…‘m fine.” Soap finally manages to grit out, breaking eye contact and stumbling forward. He nearly yelps when Ghost snags his right arm, powers flickering from his fingertips as the Ghost pulls the arm over his shoulder. “Careful – I’ll – my hand…”

“I’m not afraid of a little fire, MacTavish.”

The Ghost straightens, helping support Soap’s weight as the pair shamble forward. This close there’s no hiding his pained breathing, the way every other step sends stars sparking behind his eyelids as the agony ripples through him like a wave. They’re moving even slower now, the empty compound eerily silent and still save for their limping procession toward the exfil point.

“What’s got two legs and bleeds?” Soap almost doesn’t realize the question is meant for him, blinking blearily up at the Ghost.

“Me?” He isn’t sure if it’s a joke at first, blood starved brain struggling to parse the tone of the question. But Ghost glances down at him, eyes crinkled to crescents. Is he smiling?

“Half a dog.”

Soap’s bark of laughter tapers with a groan, a fresh flush of blood as his wound wept from the outburst.

“I hate dogs, but that’s fuckin’ brutal.”

“What you have against dogs?”

“Rabid bitch bit me.” Soap tilts his head up, baring the pale pink scar under his chin. A scar from when his body remembered every near-death experience. Now he’s had too many to count and nothing to show for them. “Rabies shots fuckin’ suck.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ghost’s voice rumbles like thunder, a hum of contemplation in his chest. “That before or after?” The event in reference is left unsaid, a haunting shimmer of his Reaper’s golden glow still mending his broken flesh.

“Before.” Soap bites out the word, hissing in pain as he trips, Ghost keeping him from falling flat on his face as they keep moving forward. “Since you’re learnin’ so much about me, I’ve got a question for you: what’s with the mask?”

Ghost stiffens, almost imperceptibly under Soap’s arm, but his silence as they continue walking speaks volumes. Something in Soap’s chest aches at the lack of response, aside from the still reorganizing lung tissue and rib bones. It’s too much like being ignored on comms on normal missions.

“Bet you’re ugly.” He bites his tongue hard enough to taste fresh blood the second after the words fall from his lips.

“Quite the opposite actually.” Ghost’s response is smooth, a hum of amusement loosening his tensed shoulders. What has Soap done to deserve this stranger’s good graces? He’s tempted to push, to take all he can before it inevitably blows up in his face. It isn’t like they’re going to be seeing each other anytime soon; he can risk burning a bridge built to be temporary.

“Prove it.” Soap’s voice lilts with a friendly challenge. “Take off the mask.”

“For you, MacTavish…” Ghost pauses, reaching towards his face and – playfully tapping the hard shell skull of his mask. “Not a chance. Maybe next time.”

Next time. Soap would like a next time. But as helo blades drone overhead and Ghost’s comms crackle to life with two separate COs asking for sitreps, he sighs and sags against his fellow Revenant.

Reapers knew if their teams would ever work together again, let alone have the two pair up as they had for this mission. But there’s a spark of something other than power and fire in his chest. For the first time in a very long time, he feels he has something to hope for.

Next time.

[katiekatdragon27]

To my other followers: I am so sorry.

To my two new followers: *comes out with silver platter* Here! Eat uuuuupppp~~~~

This! *slams fists on table then slams face on table* This GODFORSAKEN MOVIE HAS ALTERED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY I'M NOT JOKING.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT KIND OF "RECLAIMING MY CHILDHOOD TRAUMA" MINDEST MY BRAIN WAS ON BUT THE OBSESSION WITH THIS PIECE IF MEDIA IS ACTUALLY SCARING ME-

Most stuff below. Lots of rambling.

So. Flatland. It's a good book, and an amazing f*cking movie. I love this goddamned movie so much bro. It's not even like a "good" good movie I just really like it for no reason.

Some lore I have with this book, since I want to talk about it.

I watched this movie the first time when I was in 6th grade. It scared me so bad that I had nightmares about it for a week. I hated the style of the 2D world and was so scared about the amount of murder that I psychologically blocked it all out.

Now in the present (as an adult in college), my friend brought up the movie for us to watch during a movie night. I was way more excited to watch it than I thought I would be (cuz of my previous encounter with it and wanting to "reclaim" the movie), but we only got 4 minutes in before my other friends got bored and decided to watch something else. I sorta dropped it for a bit after that before @/goosesartblog posted their ONE - Flatland crossover and 10000 emotions flew over me. I then proceeded to watch it with my siblings, who also did not care about the movie.

Now, it has become a lifestyle of watching it every single day. Every. Single. Day. It's bad. I can't stop.

And it's on YouTube for free.

AND the book is on YouTube as an audiobook AND the actual PDF book is just there to read.

PLEASE. I NEED PEOPLE TO NOT BE NORMAL WITH ME.

Anyways, actual relevant doodles. These characters are A. Sphere (the objectively best character idgaf) and Carlton Cube(?). I saw something about them being John-locked and thought it was really funny. Also, I saw a meme about the two getting Starbucks or smth during the week I lingered, so here lol.

Some more doodles of concept stuff. Actual A. Square art and some style testing, Hex doodle, and more A. Sphere bc I love him so much. His ass is gay idk if you think I'm wrong just look at him.

Silly little idea I had about if Spherious *(the sphere from the other Flatland movie) and A. Sphere were in the same universe. It's unlikely, but I think Spherious would be the Messiah of 2000 and A. Sphere is the Messiah of 3000. They met at some point where their lives overlapped, and Spherious tried to give A. Sphere advice, to which he was completely ignored. A. Sphere's a bratty teen here and Spherious is a grandpa. They treat their apostles very differently.

Another silly idea I had was that when A. Sphere "died", he was actually picked up by a 4D being named A. Tesseract. He stays with her until the war is over in his dimension, and he is able to see A. Square one last time during his hallucination (that's why A. Sphere's innards are seen). Also also, A. Sphere learns how to treat people better b/c of A. Tesseract and the 4th dimensions' more liberal views on expression and gender. Development for the stupid shiny solid.

Thank you for looking at this mindless rambling. If anyone knows of more Flatland media, please send it to me I'm starving. Expect more, and have a great day :)

[fuckedupcleric]

Triggers

I love suffering, don't you? Inspired by this art by @sarathrwizard

---

Donnie stared at the screen with a slack jaw, eyes glued to the You died! message that had popped up. His latest Minecraft build was absolutely destroyed. He could see the remains in the background of the death screen. He'd been almost finished! Just the last few bits of decoration had been left! And now… hours upon hours of work. Gone in an instant.

A long, frustrated groan escaped him and he tossed the controller to the side, prompting Leo to glance up from his phone and take in the words on the screen, as well.

“Wait,” Leo said. “What happened?” 

Donnie pursed his lips. “...Nothing.”

Leo smirked, putting away his phone and leaning closer. “Oooooh it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? Tell me. Tell meeeeeeeee.” 

Ugh. Here we go. “Drop it, Nardo.” 

“Come on, Don-Tron.” The amusement in his tone made Donnie cluck his tongue, and he pointedly ignored his brother. Leo leaned closer, practically draping himself across Donnie’s right side before he was irritably shoved away, only to start repeating “tell me” over and over, poking Donnie in his side with each utterance of the phrase. Donnie reached for his tech bo just to have something to squeeze that wasn’t Leo’s neck and shot him the nastiest look he could manage. It did nothing whatsoever to deter Leo, though, who was still smirking and poking and being an annoying goddamn menace. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, t-”

“Oh would you - Kassinove! Fine!” 

Leo sat back, giving Donnie a smile that somehow managed to look both completely innocent and infuriatingly smug at the same time. Donnie sighed and looked at the screen again. You died! still stared back at him. He shook his head, looking anywhere but at Leo, his mouth twisting into a grimace as a noticeable blush crept up his neck. “I was trying to fix the lighting system and… I placed down a block of TNT instead of a block of redstone… and…”

He glanced back at Leo, whose eyes widened. “Wait, so you killed yourself AND blew up your house? With your own TNT?”

“...I forgot it was in my hotbar.”

Leo was still for a moment, and then he burst into hysterical laughter, bending forward and clutching at his stomach. “PFFFFFFFT oh my GOD!”

Donnie just scowled, watching with growing self-consciousness as Leo continued to lose his absolute shit at what was apparently the funniest thing he'd heard all week. He waited for the laughter to die down, but each time he thought it would, Leo suddenly dissolved into renewed giggles once more. 

As the laughter dragged, on and on and on, Donnie found himself getting more and more annoyed. He'd put a lot of time and effort into this stupid build. Leo knew that - he'd been hanging out here a lot over the last two weeks, just chilling while Donnie worked, so he'd actually seen most of the progress in real-time. 

Donnie heaved an enormous sigh as Leo continued laughing, smacking his knee obnoxiously. 

Okay, enough. It wasn’t that funny.

Leo swiped a finger under his eye before wheezing out, “Donnie, that was so dumb of you!”

Donnie bristled, feeling the embarrassment and annoyance spill over. He let out a harsh breath, snarling, “Oh just- wipe that grin off your face!”

A sudden choking sound had ice shooting through Donnie's veins, his irritation instantly disappearing. Leo was still as stone, his expression of mirth replaced by wide-eyed terror. His eyes held a faraway look, and for a long, terrible moment it seemed like he couldn’t quite manage to inhale. 

Donnie felt his brows furrow. He reached out but left his hand hovering in the air between them, hesitant. “Leo?”

Leo didn’t answer, but he did finally start to breathe. Short, rasping breaths stuttered out of him, and he blinked rapidly a few times, clutching at the fabric of his hoodie over his chest. Leo was shaking, Donnie realized, and then Leo let out a high-pitched whine and Donnie started to panic.

“Leo, what’s wrong? How can I help?”

He still didn’t answer. 

Donnie clenched and unclenched his fists uselessly, floundering. Not wanting to make things worse and unsure what he could do to make things better. He didn’t know what was even - didn’t know what had - maybe a scan would tell him? - but when Donnie lowered his goggles, Leo jerked away from him so hard he fell onto the floor. Donnie watched, horrified, as Leo scrambled backward until his shell hit the wall hard, his eyes never leaving Donnie’s face. His entire body was trembling, little, terrified sounds slipping out of him that made Donnie’s chest tighten and his stomach drop, and now Donnie was really fucking panicking. 

He stood and took a step toward Leo, but that made Leo flinch violently again, his hand raising as if to shield himself and his shell making an unpleasant scraping noise as he pressed himself further against the wall. Donnie stayed still. Unsure and panicking and useless useless useless.

An agonized sound clawed out of Leo’s throat. There was a slight shake of his head, his eyes still glued to Donnie, before he started to whimper. “No, no, no. No, I - I escaped from - this isn’t - you’re not real, you’re not-”

A box popped up in the interface of his goggles, pulling Donnie’s focus. NO MEDICAL ANOMALIES IDENTIFIED. PHYSICAL SYMPTOMS CORRELATE WITH EMOTIONAL DISTRESS. PRIMARY CONCLUSION: PANIC ATTACK.

Fuck. Fuck. Okay. 

Donnie swallowed and licked his lips, thinking. Should he call Mikey or Raph? Would more people make it worse? What was he supposed to do? He pushed his goggles back up, still trying to think think think, and Leo’s babbling abruptly cut off. 

For a long moment, both brothers were frozen. Staring at one another. And then something in Leo’s eyes changed and he took in a sudden, shuddering breath before lowering his arm and clutching at his hoodie again with a trembling hand. He swiped his other hand across his face, and when it dropped he was no longer looking at Donnie. He stared at the floor, his face perfectly, completely blank, and the silence was so, so loud. 

Donnie wrung his hands and watched his twin, still afraid to advance. “Leo? Are you-”

“I’m fine,” he said flatly.

That was very much a fucking lie, but before Donnie could say anything Leo pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and stumbled out of the room. Donnie blinked in shock, his mouth hanging open and his brows furrowed. He watched Leo retreat until he disappeared around the corner, then pressed his lips into a thin line.

He should go after him. Right? He should… find out what the fuck just happened. And why. And whether it had happened before. 

Donnie sat down, twisting his fingers in his lap and trying to keep his breaths steady. He needed to go talk to Leo. He needed to go talk to Leo. He needed to go talk to Leo.

Why wasn’t he moving?

…Donnie would go to him. He would. He just… needed to do some research first. He needed to be prepared. In case it happened again. Just some research. Some preparation. And then they would… talk.

(Right?)

[rottin6]

give me thief james..... snippets please.. im a beggar at ur doorsrtep

got major writers block and cannot for the life of me finish this one but here u go mwah!!!

There was a fucking thief and Regulus was hell bent on catching him if it was the last thing he ever did.

He didn’t realise it at first. Of course, he didn’t. No one ever thinks to count the flowers or notices that someone would be stealing them out of all the things in the shop. But on a Tuesday morning, Regulus refilled the stands, paying more attention to the white roses which he thought smelled quite nice but were drastically overpriced. An old lady came by sometime later on and asked Regulus when they’d be getting a new batch in, and that’s the confusing part. Because not once that day did Regulus sell anyone any white roses.

Now, the thievery didn’t happen for the rest of the week, but Regulus was so sure that whoever it was, was going to strike again the following tuesday. So, like any normal and sane-minded person, he set out to catch them instead of calling the police.

Regulus arrived earlier for his shift that day with a goddamn plan. He’d gone though it in his head at least twenty times and was certain it was fool-proof. He must’ve had around three coffees and four energy drinks coursing through him because what if the thief was a seven foot hench bodybuilder? Regulus may as well give him the rest of the flowers and anything else in the shop because he, albeit studied the art of martial arts over one summer, was about as frail as a feather in a thunderstorm.

Regulus filled the bucket with flowers before promptly ducking away behind the stack of umbrellas. He stayed there for minutes, patiently waiting for the thief so that he could execute his very well made plan. It got to the point where he was beginning to think no one was going to rob him today but as he began to move, a flicker of movement caught his eye and he froze.

Regulus had never spoken to James Potter before, but everyone knew of him. Everyone knew about his football success and how he was the golden boy of the decade, on his way to becoming a huge star. Regulus’ best friend, Remus, had warned him away from pretty, popular boys on his first week at college as they watched James sit on a table with a huge group of friends, rowdy and loud.

“Popular ones aren’t for boys like me and you, Reg.” Regulus did ask why but Remus only shook his head, looking enigmatically stressed as always.

Regulus was sure he was looking the same when he caught James standing in the door of the shop, one leg in and one out. His fingers picked meticulously at the white roses, holding them carefully in a batch. Regulus couldn’t look away—James’ hands moved dainitly from stem to stem, being so gentle that Regulus couldn’t even be angry or scared at the situation. Though, by default, he was both, considering James Potter was stealing from him.

That’s when Regulus, obviously, had to knock into an umbrella.

“Shit,” James muttered, freezing before standing upright and looking around. “Hello?” he called. “Hey, is someone there?”

Regulus didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say and instead settled on resting his palms and his back flat on the wall behind him. So much for a well thought out plan.

“I–I can explain,” James continued, adjusting the glasses on his face. “I wasn’t breaking and entering. Well, I was entering but your door was already open in my defence, so there was no breaking.”

Regulus begged to differ but it wasn’t as though he was about to tell James that. He could barely lift a finger. He knew he had to do something, anything, and he so wished he had his phone so he could text Remus for help.

“Also,” James paused, the moment laying between them as though he could tell Regulus was listening. “I found something,” he said. “A necklace?”

And Regulus jumped out immediately, brushing past the newspaper stands and coming face to face with the boy in front of him. A gust of air swept by him from the late spring winds coming in through the door, wrapping around Regulus, and for once, he was self conscious.

But then James’ face had broken into a grin. “Oh,” he sighed. “Hi.”

His arm was still firm against his chest, the flowers nestled like one of his football trophies. His eyes, clear and golden, were on Regulus, who squinted back and held out his hand, attempting to look as mean as possible. “Give me the necklace,” he said, not budging. “Now.”

In an ideal world, James would’ve given the necklace and the flowers back, apologised and then left Regulus alone forever. But rather, he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, his face taken up by his wide teeth grin and dimples so deep that Regulus wanted to sink his finger in.

“Can’t we talk first?” he asked, amusement flowing behind his eyes and Regulus struggled to stand still. “Now that you caught me and all, you know. I didn’t think you’d be all business already, seeing as it’s only what, half eight?”

“Who steals at half eight in the morning?” Regulus blurted out, his hands clenching into a fist shape at either side of him.

“Well, I’m no proper thief but I doubt any of them have schedules and stuff.”

“Stop talking.” Regulus said. “Give me the necklace, or I’m calling the police.”

James raised his eyebrows, his smile stretching further. “Or?” he echoed.

Regulus nodded, “Yes. Give it to me and I won’t report you, and we can just–just pretend none of this ever happened.” He crossed two fingers over his chest, James’ eyes following the movement. “Promise.”

He wasn’t really going to call James in. Not only did stealing flowers seem like a stupid crime to call the police for, but if his boss found out there was a thief, she’d most likely fire him and Regulus can’t let that happen.

So it worked in his favour when James finally took a step closer to him. “Who am I to say no to an offer like that?” he said, the morning sun hitting his face just right. Up close, his eyes were bronze with specks of green dotted around, the same size as the moles scattered across his face.

“Here you go.”

James placed the necklace into Regulus’ palm, the metal cold on his skin and so different from the brief warmth he felt from James’ touch. His pulse spiked and he stuffed the necklace deep into the pocket of his jacket.

“Thanks,” Regulus said quickly, his cheeks matching the red roses next to him. He moved past James and held onto the side of the door, motioning out. “Really, thanks. See you at school—”

“Wait.” James spoke, standing in front of Regulus who huffed. “I don’t know your name.” he said, leaning on the door. “I’m James.”

“I know.” Regulus’ voice stayed calm. “And you really shouldn’t introduce yourself to the workers of shops you steal from.”

James looked down at the roses he held onto, his brows creasing. “Oh. Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“It’s fine,” Regulus gritted out, his hand holding onto the door. “We just got that batch in actually, but it’s fine. I just n—”

James interrupted him. “Wait. So, you’re okay with me taking your flowers?”

“No fucking way,” Regulus shook his vigorously. “Definitely not. I’m actually not okay with any of this which is why I need you to leave right now.”

Neither of them spoke for a couple of seconds and for the first time that morning, James’ smile faltered. He nodded, “Okay. Okay, yeah, I’ll leave.” he said. “But I wouldn’t be here if I absolutely didn’t need to be. And I can show you why–”

Regulus formed another great plan at that moment. It was quick and stupid but needed to be done. And as soon as James moved himself from the door, Regulus leapt out of the way and crashed it into the frame, pushing James out while doing so.

He jumped back and Regulus would have laughed at the bewildered look on his face if he wasn’t so committed to his plan, busy locking the door. He let out a long breath, his heart erratic, as he met James’ gaze through the glass.

He mouthed something but Regulus just shrugged, tending to the flowers and umbrellas which fell during his whole scheme. He felt the weight of the necklace in his pocket and the relief that it came with—worth losing roses for, he supposed. Regulus half-expected James to bang on the door at some point, to still be there, but when Regulus looked out and saw no one, he unlocked the door again.

He hesitated only momentarily before standing behind the till and finishing the rest of his shift, with a strange feeling of regret for not telling his name.

[sirensea14]

SHUTANGINA ANG INIT GUSTO KO NANG GUPITIN UNG BUHOK KO TAS BIGLANG NAGPA-ASYNCHRONUS, AMPOTEK, UNG PICTORIAL NAMIN 😭😭😭

THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY ITS 11 PM RN AND ITS FUCKING 36°C (yes, im usually still awake in this hour lol)

AND THEN THEY SUSPENDED CLASSES CUZ ITD BE WAY TOO HOT OUTSIDE (it would feel like 45°C but its actually just 35°)

AND THEN I CAN ONLY DRINK COLD WATER CUZ WE AINT HAVIN ENOUGH FUCKING MONEY FOR ICE CREAMS

Ugh i cant sleep well like this. And its been like this since... The end of march? Or the start of april? Around there. Which is LATE cuz the sunny season usually starts at march.

I WANNA CUT MY HAIR SO BADLY HELP, BUT I CANT CUZ WE WONT BE HAVING A PICTORIAL TOMORROW DUE TO EXTREME HEAT😭😭😭😭 i canttttt--

Damn it ... Its so hard to live with thick heavy hair, and its only medium length yet! Imagine if it was long up to my waist, itd be a nightmare

I cant sleep, way too hot and the electric fan's in front of me, man. Its still way too damn hot. Im wearning fucking shorts and a t shirt (cant wear those a shirts tho, i have those but its way too short for my liking) And then fucking mosquito net bruh. Ive given up setting them up but my mom wont budge, she wants me to set them up all times even tho its blocking the wind from the electric fan...

No art today. Just complaints. I cant do any art for fucks sake cuz of this goddamn extreme heat and rushed schoolworks that makes me lose my motivation. Good thing watching my favorite gamers on yt still kept my sanity. I still want to cut my hair tho 😭

Damnit i need to sleep now, bye

[grumpy-zane]

((Hello everyone! Today I was asked to get all of the times @alanshee had mentioned the Dii debacle, since they had claimed that they had not talked about it until recently. SO! I am going to put it all here to prove a point :)

If you're not interested, feel free to skip!

This is going to be in Chronological order because its best that way. This is going to start with the first official inclination that there was a falling out. Anything from here on out that springs up in relation to it will be listed.

So this is my formal notice

I am going on hiatus I have lost four friends in just two weeks. I am emotionally really not okay one of them just randomly blocked me I wen...

--

You show all the respect in the world and people still break their promises

If you're a character creator and you've split from somebody don't block them for trying to respectfully look for descriptions for character...

--

I'm just that Best Friend

I told you that I was scared that this group would end up the same as the others and you all promised me "We won't we would never block you

--

The Archivist

Me about a month ago *Finishes art piece excited* Hey guys look-*remembers the person I drew it for cut me off* oh that's right...*tucks awa

--

The Archivist

hey I did ask the author of benevolence of a physician but I wanted to ask the creator of Simone Borg if they knew why she was removed, I en

--

Diisdoodles took my characters and just reinvented them

I am so goddamn angry I am furious I was being nice I was doing everything properly and then I get a message tonight hey isn't this Violet

((This one makes me pissed off.))

--

Not Ninjago just need this off of chest

The thing about me is no matter how much hatred there is supposedly between us I will always care I guess that's a foolish part of me that e

Tumblr

--

Ha gotta love Memories popping up and being reminded you were thrown out like trash this year and have no friends

Pretty sure I now understand Morro and Harumis Anger at being alone

--

The Archivist

You want to know the truth because you've poked a balloon that is overfilled so it explodes, like I have stated before I don't care anymore,

Tumblr

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https://www.tumblr.com/alanshee/695584358572130304/the-last-thing-ill-say-before-i-drop-everything

--

Artwork Dump for Healing purposes

As I am healing from everything, I need to delete these from my Files in my drawing programs gallery each of these characters or in Pixals c

--

The Archivist

When someone has traumatized you so badly that you have nightmares of abandonment and here's the thing I don't get nightmares I can't even r

Tumblr

--

((this next one may be a reach tbh but I thought it was interesting. )) -https://www.tumblr.com/alanshee/711356665157582848/bind-to-protect-your-creations

--

Stop asking me about it

I get that friend breakups are hard and you feel betrayed but can you stop putting personal drama in the main fandom tag its showing up in G

Tumblr

((Said this yet here we freaking are I guess.))

--

My last post on the situation that happened yesterday

I will say outright on my side my viewpoint When I found Diisdoodles it was via Tik Tok, I followed them for a while and then they starte

(( Fin ))

((Its amazing how many times that this situation has been referenced in some way shape or form. ))

[titleleaf]

3, 4, 8, NINETEEN

3: screenshot or description of the worst take you’ve seen on tumblr

oh no... girl i'm sorry about this for you specifically but "the ending of Red Dragon, the novel, is a triumph of heterosexuality and a reaffirmation of normative happily-ever-after heterosexual married bliss (and that's why NBC Hannibal's s3 finale is better)". Like... are you thinking about the ending of the motion picture Manhunter... because Will Graham's marriage is fully toast at the end of Red Dragon. Paging Tammy Wynette, because they are getting a D-I-V-O-R-C-E. The ending of that novel has a lot going on but my man is not in a state of bliss.

4: what was the last straw that made you finally block that annoying person?

I block people all the damn time for very stupid reasons but I think the pettiest reason I've blocked someone was for saying something mean about Robin Lord Taylor's Penguin way back in s1. My repulsive son, who has never done a decent thing in his life.

8: common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I actively need to stop myself from making this an airing of my Will Graham-related grievances. So: people are a little bit too chillaxed about Thrawn's art collecting. By the time he's fully in Imperial service that shit is pretty fucking sinister!

19: you’re mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like…

You might think this is where I cop to how much I enjoy a naughty vaguely effeminate kinda incestuous manchild villain in a period piece, but actually it's where I cop to something much worse: Mike Flanagan's Fall of the House of Usher is so much more enjoyable than anything else he's created and it is so goddamn stupid.

[klugpuuo]

I posted 34,121 times in 2022

That's 22,762 more posts than 2021!

2,822 posts created (8%)

31,299 posts reblogged (92%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@/jichulichu12

@/joyflameball

@/g0reoz

@/the-autism-mascot

@/klugpuuo

I tagged 6,811 of my posts in 2022

#rb - 662 posts

#srb - 394 posts

#important - 231 posts

#stim - 225 posts

#klug answers - 190 posts

#ask to tag - 189 posts

#friend art - 176 posts

#gif warning - 160 posts

#rb game - 141 posts

#ult fave - 131 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#other than a total of two and a half theory videos by white guys with too much time on their hand and the wild ramblings i've seen everyone

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i figured it out

42 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

#4

genuinely love the genre of games like YIIK and hunt down the freeman where it's just "pretentious white guy makes a shitty game with tons of potential but the worst self-insert to ever grace this world so he can be the main character and everyone decides to collectively take a massive dump on it until it's completely forgotten by everyone forever"

50 notes - Posted January 27, 2022

#3

i just burnt myself (potentially really badly) with scalding water and when i closed my eyes my brain flashed the "ONE PLAYER LEFT" salmon run text so it's good to know my brain associates that with extreme pain

106 notes - Posted October 27, 2022

#2

btw if you're one of those ridiculous people who somehow believes that trans men either a. Aren't oppressed b. Don't deserve to name their oppression or c. Can't be oppressed because all men are oppressors. Block and unfollow me IMMEDIATELY

111 notes - Posted February 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

do new bee and puppycat fans even understand how fucking insane it was that VOCALOID OLIVER was doing the silly voices

476 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

goddamn

[cosmicanger]

yea winter and Johnny Depp are very similar, they both take their stylings from how homeless people layer (most non-Black fashion is literally make an object pulled from the poor Black experience but pricing it where most poor Black people could never afford it, “luxury” is just anti-Black classism) and both do DARVO when someone with less power than them tries to hold them accountable.

I do not have the power to “cancel” winter in anyway so I do not understand pinning me as the violent one when I cant do anything to winter. winter and followers have “cancelled” me with the power winter has through social capital. winter and the abuse by proxy is violent. also why we acting like I called an actual proBlack person a c**n like winter has the fucking Beatles as his header like y’all acting like Im coming for Rick Owens Malcolm X when winter barely know any theory and Malcom X wouldve called winter a c**n too and Malcolm X was calling Jackie Robinson a c**n like and Malcolm X aint even the most the radical Black person from that era like 🛑 stahp (also this is a prime example how Twitter is slightly more “progressive” than Tumblr cause calling a violent Black cis man a c**n wouldnt be dragged for this long 🤣) like he couldve just taken the initial crit a while back and got over it but i bruised winter’s ego so winter continues to enable violence onto me that I cannot do onto winter or would need to cause I can fight my own battles, winter hiding behind a block and using Black MaGes he tokenizes as shields, disgusting.

this is gone too far and everyone sees all of this even if they don’t like my posts or winter’s cryptic shade he throwing at me. people see what has been happening on both sides so yea anyone enabling winter in any way at this point aint shit to me. people are afraid to be vocal about winter cause they see what is happening to me for so long. like im not the only Black person who dont fuck w winter, like goddamn. i dont wish this bullshit on any Black person who actually isnt a non-Black apologist.

the other thing, i admitted have a slightly above beginner knowledge of fashion history. I like fashion a lot more now cause I can sew but I more deep dive into theory and art. So my slightly above level fashion history I know can keep up with winter and other platformed microcelebs on here but none of come even close to me when it comes to art, craft, film, theory so again none of this shit is merit based.

people gain social capital by enacting anti-Blackness, enabling anti-Blackness indirectly or centering non-Black content/non-Black content creators. In this global anti-Black world, power can come from social capital. like if I did not need to post non-Black content to get likes to gain social capital to use to b00st Black f*nding on here, i would only post Black content. And you say, oh some blogs only post Black content. yes but the actually pro-Black ones dont have a lot of social capital to use because they are also “cancelled” for calling out the anti-Blackness on here and the radical chic/neoliberal ones or the very conservative ones are the most popular.

it is not “cool” to try to materially help Black “publicly” online and no one wants to admit that aloud, that’s why they only share Black f*nding when it won’t affect their social capital much. everyone knows if you post Black f*nding often, the algorithm fl*gs your account and brings traffic down on your account, which in turn affects your social capital. like ppl truly do not care that Black f*nding is life or death. yes a like can materially affect ppl, Black or non-Black. posting non-Black designer & non-Black art is more important than tryna materially support poor Black ppl everyday? like it’s not much labor for some of y’all to copy paste a link or text. yea Tumblr is a sea of anti-Blackness and abuse apologism.

this bs w winter could be settled easily but winter has too much hubris. the reason winter and others get more likes for posting the same thing as me is because winter and others have a lot of power for being anti-Black and a lot of anti-Black non-Black followers. I will continue to run a blog that is better than all of the ppl who hate me on here combined. 9 out of 10 ppl on Tumblr are very anti-Black.

[thegoddesswater]

Got tagged by @lanonima​ and, because I have other things I should be doing, decided to get these all done right away Yay semi-productive procrastination!

What's one thing that your friends say that applies to you? Like a quirk or something they know you for? Something they associate with you always?

This legitimately depends on people group you’re asking. One friend immediately thinks of me when he sees anything Batman. For other friends, it’s my yarn witchcraft fibre arts. My coworkers? They associate me with baking. All are correct

Who inspires you in your life? I don't mean a celebrity, but a person you know, brag about someone incredible that is your inspiration.

Probably Sir Silver (very weird to call him that). I can trace so much of my personal growth over the last couple years back to him: I drive now, I’m more confident in social situations, he indirectly hauled me out of the worst writers block I’ve experienced... Things just feel POSSIBLE around him and I can’t explain why, but when I’m around him, it’s just like “Yeah. I CAN do this and I WILL. Bring. It. On.” I don’t think he has any idea he has this effect on me

Who do you consider to be your favourite person and why?

@flamingdoritos​ and @wheelybard​ are some of my oldest IRL friends and they have both seen me at my absolute lowest and worst and they’ve still said “you are my person and I am here” They bring colour to my life when my world goes grey scale.

What's your favourite kind of animal? If you lived with said animal, what would you name them? If you have said animal, what is their name?

Normal answer is bunnies. I had bunnies growing up named Cotton and Candy - they came named. The weird how-would-you-keep-that-as-a-pet answer is sea slugs. A freaking huge tank of all kinds of sea slugs. Heck If I know what I would name them. Probably name them all after fictional characters..

What colour is your most recent obsession?

Probably purple (I say “probably” as though I didn’t carry a paint chip around for eight years waiting to paint my kitchen that exact colour as soon as I got a house)

What's a little decor item that you want to own in the future?

I have very little impulse control when it comes to decor. Particularly since I tend to gravitate towards more unique things, so when I see something I want, I snag it. Except for a pair of owl candlesticks I found last summer. I left those in the shop and somewhat regret that. If I ever find something similar again, I may need to own them. A LARGE decor item that I want to own is a fancy board game table

Do you have any mundane but cute "talent"/thing you can do? Something just slightly unusual but also completely usual?

If I’ve heard a song before and am later presented with just the lyrics, I can usually pull the tune for it out of nowhere?

Do you like fashion? What kind of a dresser are you? More casual? Fancy?

Eh. I don’t mind looking nice, but I am very much a ‘jeans and t-shirt’ gal when I’m not at work. I did vow that this year I would be making (sewing/knitting/crocheting) all new articles of clothing instead of buying any, so that’s going to be interesting. My grandmother thinks I’m crazy for deciding that I will attempt to make myself jeans.

Do you wear makeup? What's your go-to makeup look? If you don't wear makeup, have you ever thought of wearing it?

Who has the time for makeup? Not I! Last time I wore make up was for my friend’s wedding and I felt like a goddamn princess. It was delightful and I have no idea how to replicate it.

Recommend us one movie that the critics/public didn't like that much when it came out but you personally think is a hidden gem!

Um. I dunno??? Kubo and the Two Strings? I wouldn’t dare go so far as to say that folks didn’t like it when it came out, just that it was not well known? It’s phenomenal

What show are you watching right now? Recommend it to us!

Currently I am watching a post-war saga about a man from a cult who steals (and subsequently adopts) a severely traumatized child from an evil government organization. After breaking the creed of his people for the sake of son, he must go on a journey to his ancestral home to seek redemption and absolution in the war-torn ruins (It’s The Mandalorian, folks)

Have you ever watched an anime? If yes, which one?

Numerous ones. Fullmetal Alchemist will probably always be my favourite series.

What's your favourite kind of art medium? Recommend us an artist or show us an art piece (could be music, painting, crochet, whatever) that you really love!

I don’t feel like I have a favourite art medium, but hand stitched embroidery is pretty freaking cool.

I mean LOOK AT THIS (from here)

What do you like to do when you are bored?

Knit/crochet, go for a walk, play video games, read, show up unannounced at my parents’ house and make my boredom their problem, practice French...

How many pillows do you sleep with, if any?

One. Unless we count my two stuffed dogs - which I do not.

Do you have trouble with sleeping? Do you remember your dreams a lot or forget them as soon as you wake up?

I usually sleep pretty well. I try to keep fairly consistent sleep hours, which helps, but sometimes I am just Awake For No Reason. And that is The Worst. I also sleepwalk which is an adventure and a half sometimes. Once I nearly ran around my house at 2:30 in the morning looking for my cat because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen or fed it. (I do not own a cat) I think it depends on when in the sleep cycle I wake up whether I remember my dreams or not. If I remember them FlamingDoritos usually gets a text saying “Okay so I just had a dream that...” And she’s gotta brace herself for the most unhinged series of paragraphs that she’ll encounter all week.

Who is one cool character in something you've seen in your life that you hyperfocused on at a time in your life.

The fact that you think I can pick ONE is almost insulting. Nightwing/Dick Grayson and Red Hood/Jason Todd from the Batman comics. Soren from Fire Emblem 9 & 10. Jak and Torn from the Jak and Daxter series. Lirael from the Abhorsen novels. I’m mildly ashamed that there’s only one lady listed

Show us your current phone case!

It is significantly more pink IRL. And the pattern is wearing away in numerous places. Probably gonna replace it soon tbh

Recommend people a song that has meant a lot to you sometime in your life and share us the story about if you'd like.

If you want one with a history (that I don’t feel like expanding on at the moment) - “Diamond on a Landmine” by Billy Talent If you would like the one that I most recently forced unendingly on repeat into my ears for reasons I cannot articulate beyond clearly it just resonating with my soul at the time - “Perfect” by Miracle of Sound

How has your day been so far?

Decent! My back and hips are killing me though and have been for weeks so that puts a bit of a damper on things.

Tagging~ Um... I dunno. Do I have any followers who enjoy tag games? I don’t wanna impose these things on folks if you super don’t want to do them.

[stuff-from-the-void-matron]

Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (17)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader) (?)

(After a goddamn century (and art/writing block..) I’ve finished Ch.17~! This chapter was SO hard to get through. I had the plot line all set out but putting actual meat on the bones was so difficult. 😢 But I didn’t want to leave you all hanging forever so here it is! I tried to write more than usual to make up for the long wait but it didn’t go very far. Either way I hope you all like this chapter! PLEASE comment and reblog to let me know you do! <3)

——————

Wilbur had snuck off as soon as he could, which was way easier than he’d expected. But he shouldn’t be so surprised, he’d more or less cut himself off from everyone important to him amid the duration of your presidency. They could only work so hard to keep up the friendship on their own, and Wilbur certainly wasn’t helping them. Leaving their efforts feeling very much one sided. But Wilbur strangely didn’t see or notice that fact. 

Whatever part of him that was so hyper focused on you had conveniently forgotten that for friendships to actually prosper they needed effort from both sides. But to Wilbur’s janky mind he’d already made the friend so they would be there for him when he needed them… Even if he didn’t talk to or spend time with them for months… He would surely notice some things were different at some point, right? He had to… Sadly, it was unclear.

“There you are, fuckin’ finally. Do you know how fucked it is to see you’ve got a goddamn bounty out on your head? Because I do! Crazy bitch isn’t happy I bailed..” Schlatt said from his spot sitting between some oak trees.

Wilbur shrugged his co-conspirator’s ire off and said he’d had to sneak away to avoid being seen and questioned about where he was going. He failed to mention that he hadn’t actually had to sneak anywhere since nobody had really bothered him on his way out. But that was neither here nor there for the ex-president and instead he said Schlatt should probably avoid going anywhere near L’manberg, or even anywhere around it, because everyone saw the bounty you’d placed on him. So it probably wasn’t going to be only any L’manberg bounty hunters that would be looking for him.

The ram cursed and asked what the hell he was supposed to do now! Just leave the Smp?? But Wilbur told him not to do anything rash, he was going to need the politician’s help if they were going to get L’manberg back. Hearing this caught Schlatt’s attention and he asked how the hell were they going to get L’manberg back? 

“Have you seen that giant bitch? Pretty sure she could fold your ass like a lawn chair.” The horned hybrid said with an amused twist of his lips. 

Wilbur glared at the other male and snapped that no one had ever seen you fight before. For all anyone knew you were more bark than bite. Because size alone didn’t mean you were any kind of warrior. 

“Cows are big but all it takes is a couple swings of a shitty iron sword and they’re dead,” Wilbur said with a glower.

So yes, he thought you were all talk. And he’d continue to think so until he went toe to toe with you. But he however had fought tooth and nail for L’manberg, he was sure he could fight and win if it were a 1v1 between you and him. Schlatt however didn’t look too sure. You had this anger in you, boiling right under the surface. He’d seen it bubble up slightly whenever you got pissed at him. And frankly he wasn’t interested in fighting you without at least some good enchanted armor on.

But that train of thought ended when Wilbur smirked and said they were going to start a rebellion, Pogtopia! A faction to take L’manberg back and return things to how they were before Quackity opened his big fucking mouth and started putting American ideas into the citizen’s heads. And the first place to start was their base of operations. 

They couldn’t just amble about in the woods like a bunch of idiots, they needed a place to stay, to sleep, and prepare. But Schlatt just raised an eyebrow, asking where the hell they were supposed to have this ‘Pogtopia’. Wilbur’s smirk widened and beckoned the ram to follow him.

-0-

“A shitty fuckin’ ravine?!”

Wilbur sighed and shot a mild glare at the hybrid next to him before elaborating that it wasn’t just some shitty ravine! It was the birthplace of rebellion! Schlatt didn’t look convinced, especially when a skeleton landed in front of them, dying instantly from the fall. 

Schlatt just glanced at Wilbur, who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Instead of saying something smart assed he instead asked who was supposed to clean this place up? Because it wasn’t gonna be hi-

…All at once stacks of oak logs, coal, and a crafting table were being dropped at the ram’s feet. His head snapped up so he could glower at the ex-president, again asking what the hell he was supposed to do with all that shit. And when Wilbur said he should start building somewhere for them to use as a base, the hybrid re-establishing that he was not a builder! He was a politician! Only chumps got suckered into building shit! 

Not liking the hazel eyed ram’s spiel Wilbur snapped back that if Schlatt wanted to avoid getting killed by whatever monsters started roaming around once night fell then he’d better start being a chump and building.

With that he turned and headed towards the Dream SMP. Schlatt growled and angrily picked up the dropped items and barked out at the brunet, asking where the hell he was going! And why wasn’t he helping since this whole rebellion shit was his idea. But Wilbur just turned around and walked backwards as he retorted deviously,

“I’m going to pick us up some leverage~”

-0-

The dry, unforgiving heat of the Nether welcomed Wilbur as he stepped through the communal obsidian portal that led to the hellish dimension. He checked the coords that Purpled had reluctantly given him to see he had a bit of a way to go before he stumbled across the house he was searching for. But he told himself it would be worth it to have such a big ace up his sleeve for when dealing with you.

After all, he knew you claimed to have a soft spot for the piglin child.

But he doubted you’d even do more than bat an eye once you discovered her missing. He didn’t think you honestly gave a damn about the random kid. And he’d use that to show everyone how two faced you really were. Because what kind of self aggrandizing mother wouldn’t care if her child was gone?? You that’s who. 

And once people see how uncaring you really were they’d stop putting you on a goddamn pedestal and see you as the liar and conwoman you are. Everything about you was suspicious and he was tired of acting like it wasn’t!

*snort*

His ears metaphorically perked up when he heard the high pitched pig-like noise a little ways away. He’d been so distracted with his own thoughts that he’d zoned out for most of the trek to his destination. Thankfully he’d not encountered any ghasts or blazes. But none of that mattered right now, he was on the hunt for a piglin. Double checking he had on some gold armor he made his way up the small netherrack hill, surveying the sangria colored landscape.

Spotting the house you’d built for Azo wasn’t hard, it’s not like you’d tried to camouflage it or anything. And neither was spotting the piglin child in question, not with that obnoxious enchanted golden armor you’d given her to wear. You’d given it to her to keep her safe, adding mending and blast and regular protection to them. But to Wilbur it just looked like you were decorating one of your toys with sparkly doo-dads as a way to show off.

So what better way to get one over on you than to nick one of your toys?

Wilbur approached the child, noticing she was playing with a pair of cloth dolls, ones most likely made by you. When the piglin noticed him she stepped back cautiously, but perked up when Wilbur waved hello in a friendly way and asked if her name was ‘Azo’. When she warily nodded the ex-president knew the info Purpled gave him was good. He pulled out a gold bar from his inventory and held it out to the child, smiling when she happily took it. This was going to be easier than he’d thought.

“Hey Azo, I’m a friend of your mums! She and I work together and she told me to come visit you and take you somewhere cool! Sound fun?” He asked with a faux chipper tone.

Azo had never really had to learn about ‘stranger danger’ in the Nether. Because if something or someone was going to kill you in that realm then it was going to be from a frontal physical attack and not any kind of sneaky luring away or tricks. So when this human said he knew her mama and gave her gold on top of it then it must be okay! Piglins are fiercely protective of their gold and never hand it out willy nilly to strangers. Only her mama and brothers have given her gold, and they’re all nice, so this ‘Wilbur’ human must be nice too. 

So poor Azo happily grunted and took the human’s hand and let him walk with her back the way he came. Though he only got about 30 blocks before a ghast ascended up from the lake of lava and spotted the brunet, its cries increased before it launched a fireball at him. Wilbur cursed before scooping up Azo and running away to avoid the blast. Azo squealed in fright at the sudden movement, not expecting to be hoisted up and run off with. But her cry alerted all the adult Piglins in a 100 block radius and aggravated them.

All they saw when they looked over was a human running off with a distressed Piglin child. 

Which admittedly…. did Not look good for Wilbur.

Before he knew it the anxiety inducing sound of roughly 15 Piglins snarling in unison alerted him to his fuck up. Panic surged through him as he saw them all running towards him. He yelled in fright and without thinking he booked it, Azo still in his grip. He’d not worn any protection besides the one piece of gold armor he’d put on before entering the Nether, so stopping to fight them off wasn’t even an option. And yeah he could just drop the kid and bolt but that would literally ruin his plans! They hinged on him getting this kid to hold over you. And trying to get her after this would be impossible! Not only would she likely be too freaked out to follow him again but the adult Piglins would no doubt be keeping an eye out for him after this. 

So he had to just take her and go.

He never really stopped to think that maybe kidnapping a kid for leverage was maybe kinda fucked up..

Though to be fair he wasn’t really doing much thinking at the moment, instead just panicking and acting on instinct, which was pretty normal for someone being chased by 15+ angry Piglins. He was just looking for any kind of exit strategy as he ran, avoiding the growing number of Piglins and other hostile Nether mobs he passed by on his sprint. 

He’d somehow gotten turned around while running and was pretty far away from the portal that led back to the Dream SMP, actually Wilbur wasn’t totally sure where he was. He’d never been this far into the Nether in this direction. He’d passed by the gaudy little house you’d built for the kid about five minutes back and now everything looked the same. He’d gone through a brief patch of a warped forest, dodging Enderman and teal mushroom trees before entering a larger crimson forest. He sighed when he heard the kid sniffling and whining so he gave her another ingot of gold to keep her quiet.

After all that running he looked behind him and didn’t see any Piglins so he allowed himself to slow down and catch his breath. He’s usually able to run for longer but the combo of carrying a kid and breathing in the oppressive hot air of the Nether made running his usual length harder than normal. And when he looked down at the kid he actually felt a twinge of discomfort at how upset she looked. Her wet glassy white eyes stared up at him in worry and she clutched the gold ingot he’d given her to her chest in a bid for some kind of comfort. 

A brief flash of Fundy at the same age flitted across the brunet’s mind.

But he mentally shoved it away and told himself this was for the good of everyone in L’manberg. No point getting all sentimental now, not when he’d come this far.

Speaking of how far he’d come, he had no idea where he was. He’d just been running as fast as he could to get away. But now that he was out of sight of the Piglins he wasn’t sure where exactly he’d ended up. He narrowed his eyes and tried to scout the area, but the damn eerie dark red atmosphere of this biome didn’t allow him to see very far. Plus him being in a crimson forest meant he was basically surrounded by like 4 different shades of just red. Though he perked up when he saw a flash of purple and instantly canted his eyes downwards on instinct, not wanting to have to fight an Enderman right now. But when he slowly raised his gaze he realized the purple he’d seen wasn’t the eyes of an Enderman but was instead the corner of a Nether portal half hidden behind a netherrack hill.

“Oh it’s a portal. What the hell is it doing over here-”

*THUNK*

The dull thump of a spectral arrow notching into the leathery trunk of a huge crimson fungus shook Wilbur right out of his train of thought and smack dab into anxiety again. On instinct he just ran, but took the time to look behind him to see a quintet of angry Piglins advancing on them. He cursed at the sight of them, angry he’d somehow missed hearing them approaching. Another arrow hit the netherrack wall beside him and he tried to bob and weave but when an arrow hit him in the arm he let out a loud ‘FUCK!’ and staggered a bit before pushing himself to run faster, adrenaline and anxiety mixing unhelpfully in him and causing him to panic.

Wilbur wasn’t really thinking when he ran towards the nether portal… 

Well he was but not with any real sensibility, instead letting his fight or flight kick in and keep him alive. And since fight wasn’t really an option then flight it was. His only real objective was ‘get away’ and the portal was the best way to accomplish that. So he ran towards it, gritting his teeth to give him focus while he ran, no time to worry about the pain. He was so focused in fact that he didn’t register when Azo started panicking the nearer they drew to the portal. 

The closer they got the more she tried to wiggle free of his grasp, but his hold was firm so Azo resorted to squealing, but it didn’t work. The human Wilbur didn’t seem to notice. He was too hyper focused on reaching the portal. Portal means safety! He’s almost there haha! 

He didn’t notice until he finally reached the swirling purple gateway that the charging Piglins had stopped following them some blocks back, merely staring on in apprehension. But he smiled triumphantly when he remembered Piglins were scared of Nether portals, that’s right! Because if they go through them they end up in the Overworld and they become zombified- God will this kid stop squirming around already?

…Wait-! 

“OH SHI-”

The realization hit him like a freight train.

But it was too late.

Wilbur lurched forward, desperately trying to jump out of the portal, but before he could they were both transported into the Overworld. The refreshing breeze belaying the danger Azo was in. Dread was practically rolling off Wilbur in waves. He was full on panicking now, but he reasoned that if he hurried to get her back into the portal she’d be fine! Surely! So he hurried back into the portal and waited for it to send them through.

…But Azo began to shudder violently before they could and Wilbur yelped and stumbled out, sitting her down so quickly you’d think she was made of fire before stepping back nervously. His hands began to shake when Azo started squealing in distress, scared of what was happening to her. Wilbur winced and the father in him felt so much guilt… He honestly hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d not intended to have her zombify. All he wanted was to just stash her away in the Nether somewhere, not-.. THIS.

The ex-president wracked his brain for a way to fix this but knew Piglins surviving outside the Nether was pretty much impossible. Or if it was possible then there were zero recorded cases of it happening. Which was basically the same as saying it was impossible.

“...-yeah I know I’ll-...”

Wilbur stood up ramrod straight when he caught the sound of a voice approaching through the trees some blocks away. He cursed under his breath and pulled a gold carrot from his inventory. He’d been saving it for an emergency, but he’d sacrifice it now if it meant having this little Piglin not snitch on him. So he handed it to her and told her someone was coming who would help her get better. The hopeful look in her milky white eyes sent a pang of shame through him at lying but he couldn’t get caught over this.

So he whispered for her to forget he’d been here and just eat the carrot. Then he told her to stay still and wait for the person, then once he saw she wasn’t moving (aside from her horrendous shaking) he turned in the opposite direction the voice was coming and quickly and silently darted off.

Azo watched him go, her breathing a bit erratic and her heart racing as she clutched the golden carrot to her chest. She was beyond scared but the human said she would be okay, and he’d been so nice… to start with anyways. So she had to believe she’d be fine. She let out soft snorts as the shaking continued, tears welled in her eyes before spilling down her pink cheeks. 

She was scared.

She wanted her mama.

She hoped the person the Wilbur human said was coming showed up soon-

“Azo?! What are you doing in the Overworld?!!?”

The little Piglin looked up with hopeful eyes at her human brother, Tubbo!

He rushed to her side, nearly tripping in his haste, and pulled her into his arms before moving towards the portal in one smooth motion. His hope was that she’d just now accidentally gone through the portal and he could quickly take her back through before anything… irreversible happened. But he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized she was already shaking. And that could only mean one thing.

…It was too late.

-0-

@lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @reverse-iak @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake @realitycanbeajerk @lostandsouciant @thegeekisheere @sparkling-gayyy @woman-soot @xxtwizztedxx @fall3n-vo1d @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @jaciahbabes @lucian-kinnder @deadroses2021 @victory-is-here @where-thesundoesntshine @itsberrydreemurstuff

[pascalpanic]

Begin Again (Marcus Pike x f!Reader)

Inspo: Begin Again by Adam Melchor

Summary: Dating apps never pair you with the right people. Until you come across the profile of a handsome, pancake loving FBI agent named Marcus.

W/C: 4.8k

Warnings: lots of talk of food, language, late night deep conversations, some sadness at the end but nothing intense? reader has a pet cat, is that worth a warning? idk

A/N: HI GUYS this is my first full length Marcus Pike fic! I really hope you like it!! thank you so much to @theteddylupinexperience and @sanchosammy for being my best editors and proofreaders and idea givers!!!

note: PLS listen to the song before/after/while reading! it’s one of my favs and it really goes along with the story

Over the course of your adult years, you’ve become convinced that dating apps are complete and utter bullshit. The algorithms never work right, never pair you or any of your friends with anyone worth seeing in person. Maybe that’s just the problem; maybe it’s not the apps but the people. Whatever the answer is, whatever reason you’ve never found success in the endless swiping, you’re through with it.

That was before last week. The rainy Tuesday night left you in your apartment, alone, to succumb to the cold spring dreariness. Over a cup of hot tea, you’d downloaded the app again. Might as well try, right? You have nothing to lose. If worst comes to worst, catfishing an annoying guy is always a blast. The good news is that this app requires you as the woman to make the first move. That’s kind of a downside- you never know how to start conversations- but at least you can’t get unsolicited dick pics right off the bats. Life is full of tradeoffs, you suppose.

You begin again. The app becomes your favorite pastime. Bored at work or home? Dating app it is. Left. Left. Left. Boring man after boring man. One labeled himself super-straight: absolutely fucking not. One holding a fish: nope. A man who describes himself as a gym rat: not your type. It’s a boring way to spend your lunch break, you’re aware, but the entertainment value is fun if nothing else. There are a lot of strange men out there.

After a few days, your luck seems to turn around as the photo of a man with brown hair and warm brown eyes pops up on your screen. He has a scruffy beard and wavy hair, and the way his smile tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart flutter. He’s really cute, you have to admit. You read the bio next.

Marcus, 35

❗️ Washington, D.C.

Got forced into making this, but optimistic. Lover of art, dogs, and time to relax. Always down for breakfast for dinner and cuddling. Looking for someone with a sense of independence, love of travel, and a sleep schedule equally fucked up as mine. Must love pancakes.

Must love pancakes. That’s absolutely adorable. You immediately think of your cat, named Pancake, and you laugh and swipe right, hoping the man already thought the same of you. Your eyes widen with excitement and you almost laugh out loud from your giddy state when you see the little logo indicating it’s a match.

The first message you send him has to be perfect. You ponder your options for a minute, frowning and furrowing your brow as you think. You don’t want to come on too strong; you’re not trying to sound like you want a hookup. A simple one-word greeting wouldn’t be enough.

You could comment on something from his bio, you realize as you read it again and again. Maybe ask him about his dog? No, that’s too awkward. You want it to be about him, something that can draw him in. Talk about traveling? No, you don’t want to sound like you’re bragging about the places you’ve gone in your life.

Pancakes. Pancakes are good. You love pancakes. You think for a second more, debating what to say, before inspiration strikes and you send off the message before you can stop yourself.

-

Marcus Pike has essentially felt the same as you. He’s a somewhat charming man. He’s had his fair share of relationships, but they never quite work out. His ex-wife, now long gone and blocked from his phone, was an absolute failure of a relationship. He’d gotten close to what felt like true love with Teresa, another FBI agent, but she flaked at the last second.

Maybe the constant here was that he met them in person. When Marcus falls, he falls hard and fast, down an endless spiral of emotions with no escape. Maybe if he met someone online, it would be different. His best friends had all encouraged it, and on a night out not long after Teresa left him, Pike set up his own profile. He liked that the app didn’t require him to make the first move. It’s refreshing.

Marcus had seen your profile hours ago, on a mindless phone break from his work. He’d swiped right too, stunned by your smile and the lovelines you radiated even through the phone. He crossed his fingers for a good part of the day, hoping you’d swipe right on him too.

His day is busy, leaving him no time to fiddle with his phone and distract himself. He eats in the cafeteria, checking up on his phone. After lunch, he’s walking back to his office when his heart flutters as he sees the dating app indicates he’s had a match. He looks at it and swallows hard before stopping, moving to the side of the hallway to allow others to pass. He’s breathing hard, and his heart speeds up when he sees that you are the one that matched with him.

He knows how this app works. He has to wait now, to let you make the first move. He can’t even write a message until you send one. So he pockets his phone again and continues on his walk.

He’s determined on his walk, rushing back to his desk so he can sit and be thoroughly enthralled in waiting for or receiving your response. His phone buzzes several times with notifications, one of which he prays is you. When he finally sits, he opens the app ceremoniously and has to hold back a genuine laugh when he sees your first message.

Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus shoots back a text nearly immediately. Sorry, what?

Your bio. “Must love pancakes”. Blueberry or chocolate chip?

Marcus is absolutely beaming as he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. Blueberry. Always. I hope that’s the right answer :)

Unfortunately, it’s not, but you’re cute so I’ll let it slide

You called him cute. It makes Marcus’s heart flutter. Come on. There’s nothing like the warm blueberry popping in your mouth.

There is. It’s when the chocolate chips are all melty and creamy.

God, Marcus is already painfully into you. You know what… at least you love pancakes. I’ll let it slide. You got a favorite place?

Anywhere I can get ‘em. You seem like quite the connoisseur, do you have one place in mind?

Jane slams down a stack of files on Marcus’s desk. “Paperwork overflow, Pike. Can you get these done tonight?”

Marcus is the fastest in the office with paperwork, which often leads to him being the one that flies through the files in the place of the people who actually filed it. He nods. What else is there to do? “Sure.”

Jane claps him on the shoulder and wanders off. Marcus watches him in slight annoyance. The best place in D.C. is definitely Sandy’s. Hey I gotta go, text ya later?

I’d love that :)

-

It didn’t take long for your texting to move from the dating app to actual texting. It happened within the same day, in fact.

Marcus messaged you some hours after the initial conversation. Your phone buzzed while you were doing yoga in your apartment, your cat curled into a ball beneath your stomach as you held a downward dog. You nearly collapsed on top of Pancake as you fumbled to sit cross-legged on the end of your yoga mat.

The message from Marcus is bright on the top of your screen. Hi. Sorry that took so long. Work stuff.

Smiling, you take a swig from your water bottle and lean back against your couch. Not a problem. Understandable. What do you do for a living? It’s a loaded question in D.C.; they could range anywhere from politicians to their rich sons to artists and athletes.

I work for the FBI, actually.

Your eyes light up in excitement. That’s the coolest shit I’ve heard. What do you do? Are you an agent?

The man’s responses don’t take long at all. He must be waiting in the chat to respond. The idea makes your heart flutter. Yep, I’m an agent. I work in international art crimes.

You certainly didn’t expect that for an answer. Wow, okay, that’s even cooler than I thought. I was about to call you Agent Pancake but I think my girl would be disheartened...

Snapping a photo of the way Pancake is nuzzling into your side, meowing for snuggles, you have to laugh as you send the photo his way. Funny you love pancakes so much. This little muppet is named Pancake.

Marcus responds with a barrage of heart-eyes emojis, which makes you laugh aloud and scoop Pancake into your lap, stroking her strawberry-blonde fluff. She’s an absolute angel. Like her mother, I’m presuming.

Your cheeks flood with warmth and you can feel the tips of your ears turning hot too. You’ve never even met me, Agent…? You trail off the text, asking for his last name.

Pike.

Agent Marcus Pike. What a nice sounding name. It sounds official and strong and you really like it. Cute last name. Might steal it from ya someday ;)

You don’t normally flirt this shamelessly, but he’s so goddamn cute and funny. You cross your fingers behind your back that this isn’t just a facade, that this is Marcus himself texting like he would to anyone else. You got a phone number?

As you laugh, Pancake paws at your chest to grab your attention, nails nearly digging into the stretchy fabric of your yoga tank top. “Watch it,” you scold her softly and remove her paw from your chest, picking her up and giving her a kiss on the head. Sure do. You want it?

Yes please.

You send your number his way and moments later, your phone pings with a text from an unlabeled number.

Maybe: Pike: hey, it’s Pike :)

You: hey… dammit, I really want to call you Agent Pancakes, but I think my fluffy little heathen would be offended. I don’t know what to save you in my phone as...

Agent Pancakes: Save me as whatever, I suppose. Not my problem, right?

-

The texts became more frequent. Over the course of three weeks, you’d stay up late talking like teenagers, knowing you need to go to bed but unable to bring yourself to do it.

You learned that his middle name was Mauricio, that his mother wanted him to have at least something a little more Latino in his name. You told him the story of how you’d adopted Pancake as a kitten from a shelter and she woke you up one morning with her claws entwined in a snarl of your hair. He told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancée, Teresa, and you responded that he deserved something better than that. You can already tell that he’s a good man.

At the end of three weeks, you shot Marcus a text. Things seemed to be going pretty well.

You: Hey, you want to do a video call sometime soon?

Agent Pancakes: I’d love that! I’m free tonight if you are.

You: Always free. Shouldn’t you know that?? Doesn’t the FBI spy on us through our phones and whatever?

Agent Pancakes: well, I do work in art crimes. Even if we did, it would be a totally different thing

You: Good.

An hour later, you fidget with your hands as you sit on your couch, the laptop propped up across from you and ringing for a video chat. Marcus’s profile picture bobs on the screen as you wait for him to pick up.

Marcus’s face and apartment fills your screen, and you automatically grin. “Hi,” you giggle and wave, absolutely enraptured by how cute his real smile is, not the forced one in the photos.

“Hey. Nice to kind of-finally meet you,” he tells you and waves back. The wall of his apartment is nothing exciting, but his facial expressions already have you falling. Those big brown eyes compliment natural but ridiculously pink lips, and his brown hair is neatly done. It looks like he’s wearing a tie and a dress shirt; probably his work gear, you suppose.

“You too!” You tell him, unable to stop smiling. “You shaved.”

-

Marcus’s heart jumps out of his chest when he sees you ringing him. He barely has time to flop on the couch and turn it on, propping up the camera across from him.

God, you’re so gorgeous. Your giggle is infectious, making Marcus laugh softly at god knows what. Your grin is equally as contagious, making him smile back. He rubs his jaw in response. “Yeah, yeah. I tend to keep it clean there. Stubble takes too much maintenance, and I have this little patch where it never quite grows,” he tells you as he juts his chin to the camera, touching the spot where his beard can’t grow.

“I like it either way,” you assure him, shrugging a little. “How was your day, Agent Pancakes?” Your voice is the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard, even with the granulated audio over this shitty app. Agent Pancakes makes his heart flutter. “No, not you!” You groan as Pancake climbs onto your lap. “Hi. Your twin wants to say hi.”

Marcus’s smile widens. “Oh my god, hello cutie pie,” he chuckles, launching into baby talk. “What a pretty girl. You make a good Pancake.”

You smile and rub her fur, grinning. “She’s my baby,” you chuckle and set her aside. “Yeah. I’m busy. Leave me alone.” Pancake meows in protest. “Shut up, I’m on a date,” you whine.

Marcus’s ears perk up. “This is a date?”

Your eyes widen as you turn back to him. “I… yeah?” You ask, wincing a little.

He grins back at you. “I like it. And I’m really in love with the idea of seeing your face when you talk.”

“I like your voice,” you flirt back, but you mean it. “It’s so pretty. Do you sing?” You ask mindlessly, studying the way his brow furrows and his eyes convey exactly what he’s thinking.

He chuckles softly. “I used to. I haven’t in a long long time.”

“You’ll have to sing for me sometime.”

When he shakes his head, his neatly gelled hair tries to break free. A strand does, falling in his face. “You don’t wanna hear it, I promise.” He removes his tie, and you can’t help but watch the movement. It’s incredibly sexy.

A mischievous smile makes you bite the inside of your cheek. “No, I really do, I really think I do.”

Marcus rolls his eyes. “Only if you try the pancakes at Sandy’s sometime. I promise you, they’re the best pancakes in the District. I’ve never had the chocolate chip pancakes, but if they’re anywhere near as good as the blueberry, they’re fantastic. And they’re open 24 hours. I go there a lot for late night case work.”

You smile at that, getting cozy on your couch and hugging your blanket. “That does sound nice. I love a good all day breakfast,” you say with raised eyebrows, the teasing in your voice. “Okay, human Pancakes. How was your day?” You ask him again, intent on hearing his answer. Not only is his job fascinating, but he’s adorable when he explains things.

Marcus frowns, and that makes you instinctively frown too. “Well, it’s been good. We’re tracking a huge smuggling ring right now, but since we’ve pinpointed a stock house for them, I might have to travel for a while.”

You frown. You’d been hoping you could have a real date soon, at least. “How long is a while?” You ask him curiously, sipping from your water bottle that sits next to you.

“Couple weeks. No less than a month, probably. I’d… well, I might have to go undercover, which means we couldn’t talk for a while.” His eyes are apologetic, showing that he hates this news as much as you do. “And… I’d leave maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

Your heart sinks. “So soon,” you say with a sad smile, a desperate and lonely chuckle. “Well, if you want to come home to me, I’ll be here.”

Marcus’s smile perks up just slightly. “You would be the best thing in the world to come home to. And I’ll have the scruff back by then.”

“Yes!” You exclaim and laugh, pumping a fist in the air. “I think you’re really cute anyway, but I really love the scruff,” you shrug shyly.

“Maybe I’ll grow it out just for you.”

-

The adrenaline from his first technical-date with you prevents Marcus from sleeping. The call lasted hours, the two of you covering almost everything important in your lives. You talked about your favorite television programs and politics, your parents and your favorite pizza toppings. Talking with him was like nothing you’d ever experience, a connection you’d never thought a dating app could offer.

After several hours, during a lull in the conversation, Marcus suggested the two of you log off. It was around 11 P.M. now, and, even though Marcus has a sleep schedule like a raccoon, he figured you should sleep. He blew you a kiss through the camera, which you pretended to hold to your chest and grin at him.

But now it’s an hour later, just past midnight, and Marcus is antsy. He doesn’t sleep much anyway, but your face is running through his mind like it owns the place, and at this point, maybe you do. Marcus sits up in bed and sighs. He knows the proper remedy for this: Sandy’s. Throwing on a rare pair of jeans and a leather jacket over the white v-neck he wears, he slips on his shoes and makes his way to the tiny, 24-hour diner.

-

The adrenaline is coursing through your veins too. You text any of your friends that will listen, rambling about how beautiful Marcus’s face is and how wonderful it was to finally hear his voice. You pace your apartment, petting Pancake as you pass her perch on the arm of your couch. You try to do a little yoga to calm down but you can’t stop smiling. Marcus occupies too much room in your brain to try to think about anything else.

When it’s just after midnight, hunger strikes. You realize you never ate dinner, too preoccupied with talking to the handsome man to even consider microwaving something from your fridge. Talking with Marcus has instilled you with a love for pancakes, and you think to yourself that maybe Sandy’s would be worth a shot. It’s open late.

So you toss on a jacket and pick up your purse, slinging it over your shoulder and leaving your apartment. You toss the book you’ve been reading into your bag, planning to read it while you sit and eat. Pancake gives a sleepy meow of protest but you just smile and lock the door behind you.

The diner is just as small as Marcus described it to you: just a short line of booths along the windows and a smattering of tables in the middle. There’s a colorful, warm-toned tile floor that juxtaposes the warm green of the walls and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting through the air. Quiet classic swing music filling the atmosphere. You can see why he likes it: it automatically makes you smile.

You sit in one of the booths, facing away from the door, and the kind waitress takes your order: chocolate chip pancakes and an English breakfast tea. The air conditioning is blasting, making you chilly. You tighten your jacket around yourself and sip the tea when it arrives, adding cream and sugar.

Cracking open the book, you cross your legs and lose yourself in the book. The restaurant has a calming aura, and you can feel the tea warming you from the inside. It’s fitting that Marcus loves this place, you think to yourself.

When the pancakes come not long after, you take a bite and almost groan in happiness. It’s absolutely delicious: Marcus was most definitely right. Disappointingly, you have to go to the bathroom about three bites in.

Even the bathrooms are cute, you discover. When you return, someone else sits a booth away,  another lone diner at this godforsaken hour of night, facing the door. You can see the back of what appears to be a man’s head, neatly trimmed brown hair and a brown leather jacket over their neck and shoulders. Sitting back down, your back to the other customer’s, you return to your book and continue to eat your chocolate chip pancakes.

The customer and waitress are talking, but you don’t pay much attention, too enraptured by your book. It’s quiet again after the man puts in his order, and you enjoy the soft jazz music that makes you tap your foot in time against the tile.

There’s a buzzing and the melodic sound of a phone’s ringtone; one of the defaults that a phone provides. Your heart skips a beat as you hear the man pick up. “Agent Pike.”

That can’t be your Agent Pike, can it? You turn and listen and realize it’s definitely him, from his voice and the way he holds himself and the stack of- of course, blueberry pancakes and a hot coffee set in front of him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. Let me write that down.” Marcus types something into his phone. “See you then. At the office? Good. Alright, see you.” He hangs up.

Standing, you tuck your book back in your purse and put the bag over your shoulder. With one hand, you grab your plate of pancakes, and the other grabs your tea. You set them down across from him and slide into the booth, grinning. “Huh. Agent Pancakes, here, in the middle of the night. How unusual.”

Marcus’s tired face lights up in excitement. “What?” He laughs, his eyes scanning your face. “Why are you here?”

You shrug and take a bite of his pancakes, sighing. “Had to see if they were worth the hype. I couldn’t sleep, you got me so excited.” The blueberry pancakes are absolutely fantastic, just as good if not better than the chocolate chip ones on your plate. “Damn, you were right.”

“Hey,” he laughs and pulls his plate closer to his chest. “Don’t touch my pancakes.”

You make pleading pouty eyes, frowning a little. “Can’t we share?” You tease. It already feels like you’ve known him for years, even though this is your first time seeing him in person.

Marcus sighs. “I suppose,” he says and rolls his eyes in sarcasm, pushing his plate back out so you can access it.

-

Marcus is beyond stunned, absolutely enraptured in how beautiful you are in person. If he thought he fell on that video call earlier, he’s now reached the very bottom of that cliff, the impact of your everything stealing the air from his lungs. God, he wants nothing more than to kiss you right now, on those lips coated in blueberry juice and maple syrup.

The two of you spend quite some time so there, just talking and continuing the conversation where it left off before. The waitress refills Marcus’s coffee twice and your tea once. “So who called you when you were sitting alone?” You ask him as you bring the white porcelain mug to your lips, sipping at the creamy tea.

He sighs. “Guy I work with, his name’s Patrick. He’s a douchebag, I can’t lie,” he says with a chuckle, and his heart flutters at the way you give a soft laugh back. “Just telling me the details. I leave in about 6 hours. I’ll be in Singapore for a couple of weeks.”

“Singapore?” You exclaim, eyes wide as your fork clanks against your plate. “You better be able to contact me.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I’m going undercover. I can’t.” He sighs, and he dares to reach out and touch you, to reassure you that he’s there and himself that you’re real, that you’re right there. “Will you wait for me?”

Your heart melts, from an already slush-covered river to a rushing rapids. “Of course, Marcus.” It makes his heart skip a beat. You’ve called him lots of nicknames, but never his real name. Something is painfully intimate about it. “I like you a lot; why wouldn’t I?” You ask, shrugging as if it’s the simplest thing. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder.”

When you finish your meals, Marcus picks up both tabs, despite your protesting. “Can I walk you to your place?” He asks as you both stand and adjust your jackets.

You nod and take his hand. The lights of the city are seemingly extra dim tonight, leaving the street lights to illuminate your beautiful face as the two of you stroll along. You have all the time in the world, don’t you? It’s 1:30 in the morning. You’re both already evading sleep desperately. A little more time together can’t hurt.

His hand never leaves yours, his fingers lacing through your knuckles. You chat quietly, as if you could wake the sleeping city from the peaceful blue drone of a weeknight morning into its daily splendor of horns and hordes of speedy pedestrians.

Marcus bumps your shoulder with his, making you stumble a little to the side and laugh as you look up at his gorgeous face. His face reflects the love you’re both feeling, almost giving the city around you a pink glaze of warmth from the rose-colored glasses you must have placed over his eyes.

The walk draws to an end, as you stand at the entrance to your apartment building. Marcus’s body looks so soft and inviting, and you dare to wrap your arms around his neck and hug him to your chest. “I don’t want you to go, Agent Pancakes,” you murmur into the soft skin of his neck, which is starting to get a shadow of stubble.

Marcus kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t move either, prolonging this time you have together before he can’t see you. “I don’t want to go. I’ve never wanted to stay here more than I do now, but I have to.” His arms wrap around your waist, strong and safe.

Lifting your head, you look up at him, your noses practically touching from the proximity you share. The world feels like a bubble around you two, like some impenetrable one-way material that makes it so if Marcus leaves now, he can never come back. “Well, it’s gonna be a long time, a month or two,” you say with a sad smile. “We’ll have to begin again.”

Marcus shakes his head, his brown eyes almost welling with tears. “There’s no one else I’d want to begin again with.” With that, he looks in your eyes, the question hanging there. Wait for me?

Always, you respond silently by pressing your lips to his, kissing him slowly in the orange glow of your apartment building’s entrance. He kisses back, his lips tasting of coffee and maple and blueberry, yours tasting like chocolate and tea.

You squeeze your arms tighter around him, getting on your tiptoes to be as physically close as you can to him. He has one hand on either side of your rib cage, holding you there as he kisses back with all of the passion and love he has.

It can’t last too long or he’ll never leave. He won’t be able to. He breaks away after a few moments, his lips close to yours. He presses your foreheads together, arms encircling you again. “I have to go. I have to be at the office in an hour.”

You lift your head and your brow furrows in confusion. “Then why did you take so long to walk and eat with me?” You laugh quietly.

Marcus shrugs. “Didn’t want to leave you yet,” he admits, his eyes trained on yours. He gives you one last painfully gentle kiss. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more,” you say with a sad smile. “You’ve been my distraction lately. Whenever I’m bored, I text you.”

He sighs, the confession increasing his frown. “I’ll be in an entirely new place, without you.”

“But I’ll be here, in my same old life without you in it.”

The words punch a hole through Marcus’s heart. It’s true; he’ll have new distractions, new things to do. You’ll be here with a Marcus Pike-shaped hole in your heart. He kisses your forehead, the wheels turning in his head. “If you get a call in the next few weeks from an unknown number, be sure to answer it, okay?”

You nod and smile softly. “You need to go. Go.”

He nods and his hand squeezes yours. “I can’t wait to begin again with you.” With that, Marcus Pike, Agent Pancakes, whatever you want to call him, the man you’re highly suspecting might be your soulmate, walks off into the slightly chilly D.C. night.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic

[multiplefandomsblog]

“Offer”

request; Can I get an imagine with Kokichi with an artist S/O who wants to paint him but he keeps flustering them with suggestions of a nude painting of him?

warnings; kind of suggestive, mention of nudity, cussing, mutual pining i think, i made it kinda crack fic, reader has an ultimate talent(artist), not edited too well, ended it weird like always, kissing, lowkey making out tho- 

note; wow i wrote way too much- but hey, i still hope you enjoy this!

word count; 1.9k+

You walked around the school, looking for Kokichi to ask him to be your model.

Although you have sketched Kokichi several times before, you felt you needed to ask him face-to-face so he could just stay still in his goddamn chair instead of changing positions every 5 seconds and ruining your half-done sketch. And so, you went off to go find the boy, finding it surprisingly hard to catch him. 

“There you are! I was looking for you-” You puffed out a sigh of relief, clutching your art supplies close to you as you saw your purple-haired classmate. Not a second after he caught sight of your figure jogging towards him, he had started taunting you. 

“Oooooh, hey S/o, you seem mighty happy to see me, hm? I wonder why that is…” He took a funny-looking step towards you, voice laced with an interrogating tone.

He had that strange smirk on his face, and not the one you liked. N-not that you liked his smile! In consequence of staring at him and sketching him constantly without his knowledge—or so you thought—, you have become almost a master of reading his mood and expressions. 

“Don’t get any wrong ideas, I just wanted to ask you if I could paint you.” For a small moment you swore you could see his expression twist into one of shock, before quickly melting back into his shit-eating grin. “Well of course you would! I’m the ultimate supreme leader, after all.” He acted as if he wasn’t just gob-smacked a second ago.

You beamed up at him, you had been in a small art block for a while and the moment you saw Kokichi, you knew he would be the cure to it. And so, you were ecstatic when he said what he said, “So you’ll do it?” You jumped a little too high, and spoke a little too eagerly.

“Mhm! —but with a catch, of course.” Your face dropped, you should’ve known the little fucker would try and get something out of you. “Nishishi!”

Unsure if you even wanted to know, you asked carefully, “W-what’s the catch..?” Your voice laced with caution, brain suddenly being reminded of all the pranks and blackmail he had fucked everyone else over with in the past. Knowing him, it could vary from, ‘Eat a bug.’ to, ‘Survive a knife game against me!’ 

But what he said was definitely worse than the former, and the latter. 

“You have to paint me fully-nude.”

… It was suddenly very quiet, the echo of his insane remark, bouncing off the walls. The silence mostly coming from your side—then again, what did you expect? Painting Kokichi would mean the end of your art block and a painting of Kokichi, like, c’mon, but painting Kokichi nude would mean- Well, you weren’t sure what it meant; hence, the silence.

Impatient and somewhat annoyed by the silence, he poked at your shoulder, “So? Are you gonna paint me naked or not?” You stared at your shoes, too afraid to make eye contact with the boy you were now thinking of... naked. 

“... C-can’t I just paint you normally?” He pouted, a comedically high whine erupting from his throat as he replied, “But that’s no fuuuuuun!” 

“Don’t you want to see your ultimate supreme leader, whipping out his wang?-” You shoved his face away from your warm one, “Y… I mean n-no, no!” Your tone weak before getting loud and defensive as you caught yourself before all hell broke loose. 

You felt your stomach drop as you thought about the possibility of Kokichi knowing you wanted to see him, and I quote, ‘Whipping out his wang’, Kokichi would never let that one go. 

“Aw man, well I guess you don’t wanna paint me theeeen.” He slowly stepped away, a pout on his face as his back faced towards you. He hummed circus music as he teetered on his feet, balancing on one foot at once as he ‘walked’ away from you agonizingly slow, obviously waiting for you to tell him to come back. 

“Koki-” In a flash, Kokichi had been by your side, dragging your hand to god knows where. “You have me convinced! I’ll let you paint me because I’m suuuuuch a nice guy. Nishishi!” Although you should’ve asked where the both of you were going, you felt knowing the catch was more important, “B-but what’s the catch?” 

Kokichi kept at his speedy pace, yet he answered with a voice that still had so much energy in it, “Aww, I’m hurt you think there’s a catch, do you not trust me that much?”

Silence.

“Meanie... but yeah, you were right to suspect me. The catch is.... “ He drum-rolled on your palm, “You just have to kiss me for payment!” He slowed down a bit to send a cheeky smile your way. You almost tripped on your feet as you heard him, “What!? Bu-” 

Kokichi quickly interrupted you, “Uh-uh, don’t try to pretend you don’t wanna. I know you have nooooo problem kissing those little sketches of me when you think no one is looking~” His voice quieted down sinisterly as he spoke, the evil smile spreading across his face once more. Although he had been wearing an extremely thick mask of a smile to hide his true feelings, anyone would’ve noticed that small blush on his upper right cheek. Anyone.

“You saw that?” Kokichi cackled at your agitated and flustered face, “Nishishi! Don’t worry, I’m the only one that knows. After all, no one finds you interesting enough to actually notice that.” You furrowed your brow at the subtle hint he had given you, “But you did-” 

Kokichi put on a teasing smile this time, “That was a lie! I didn’t see anything with my own eyes, I just assumed you have and so you helped me confirm it! Nice job on fucking yourself over, S/o! Nishishi~!” You rolled your eyes, you liked this guy?

Well anyways, it didn’t seem to matter whether you questioned your feelings for the liar, as you finally made it to where Kokichi had been dragging you to. You watched as Kokichi skipped away from you and hopped on the bench, surrounded by moss and other wild plants. 

“Ta-da! When I first saw this place, I immediately thought of you! You know, because you’re a nerd who likes cliché art settings.” He grinned, posing on top of the bench, “How’s this? Nishishi! Don’t answer that, I know this is perfect.”

 ... He looked like an idiot. But a cute idiot.

Suppressing a laugh, you gestured downwards to guide him down from his strange pose, “U-uh, maybe you could just, sit down? Like a normal person, I mean.” He sneered at you, before reluctantly sitting down, “You’re so boring.” The way he sat on the bench reminded you of a child who had just gotten denied candy. 

Smiling in relief, you quickly took a seat on the bench opposite to him, bringing out your supplies excitedly. Despite the pout on Kokichi’s face, and the grudge he wanted to keep, the way you so excitedly took out your canvas made his heart melt as well as his attitude. 

In the corner of your eye, you swore you could see Kokichi’s genuine smile, albeit it was lopsided but it still made you flush. Without thinking, you spoke, tilting your head upwards to look at him better, “You should smile more, you’re really pretty like that.” He… his mind blanked for a second, his façade fading away slightly to reveal a genuine expression of shock.

He quickly gained his composure back, “Um, okay? I always smile, are you blind?” Despite his passive-aggressive reply, you couldn’t find any reason to be mad, although you should’ve been. You smiled fondly and shook your head, diving back into concentration towards your canvas.

--

After an hour of pointless conversation, flirting, and calculated strokes of your brush, you were satisfied with the result. “... Alright, I’m done.” Kokichi sighed exasperatedly as he stood up and stretched, “Finally! I was afraid my limbs were going to freeze forever in that position.” You stared at him accusingly, “You didn’t even stay still the entire time. At one point, you did a fucking cartwheel-” 

Kokichi slid on over you, leaning over your seated figure to peak at the painting of him. “Lemme see!” He reached for the painting with his pale hands, causing you to jerk the painting away from his reach. “It’s not dry yet! Just look, don’t touch.” You scolded, unamused by his pouty expression. “You’re no fun S/o-chan, but okay. I know how much you like to be in charge~” He teased, before finally laying his eyes on the painting he stayed still one whole hour for. 

You felt your anxiety rise at his silence, “... Well, d-do you like it?” Although you were pretty confident in your ultimate talent and skills, for some odd reason, you felt extremely nervous when you showed it to Kokichi. 

You were confused as to why your hands were shaking, you’ve shown your artwork to galleries, museums, the harshest art critics in the world! So why the hell did it matter so much to you if this one boy liked it or not?

“I think it looks super handsome! And by it, I mean me. Nishishi!” He grinned, “I look good in everything after all.” You scoffed, you couldn’t believe you actually expected a genuine compliment from Kokichi, of all people. 

“Hey so, it’s time for your payment you know?” Payment... what? You looked up at him in confusion, big fat crocodile tears sprung out from his eyes, “Waaaah! I can’t believe S/o forgot our deal!” You flushed again as you were suddenly reminded of the kiss. 

You sighed tiredly, “You were serious?” He glared at you, “I’m always serious!” You gave him an accusing look that screamed, ‘You know that’s bullshit.’ But sighed defeatedly for what seemed like the umpteenth time. As you stood up to walk up to him, you set your painting down nearby.

Squirming underneath his expectant gaze, you leaned in torturously slow until your noses were nearly touching, your eyes were glued to his lips nervously. You kind of just… stood there, waiting. Waiting for him to take initiative, as he usually does. “... You know, You’re kissing me, right? Not the other way around.” His voice was lower, quieter than usual, and you could feel his breath within each word.

He smirked at your awkward shuffle towards him, finding your averting eyes and flushed face extremely endearing. Though Kokichi would never admit it, deep down he was nervous too- But of course, he refused to ever admit that reality. Even to himself. 

“I-I know that! I was just… preparing.” He hummed a skeptical ‘Okay’, standing patiently for the kiss you owed him. Letting out a shaky breath, you quickly pressed your lips on his, before immediately pulling away. Well, you tried pulling away. Kokichi gripped your collar, eagerly going in for more. His lips enveloped yours roughly, he could feel you trying to back away and so he just decided he had to go even harder. 

Once he pulled away, he saw your lips puffy and swollen, and face completely dazed. You wanted to ask him why he stopped but he interrupted you before you could, “You know, I never said you had to kiss my lips, pervert〜” Your eyes widened at his statement, “It seems you’ve been wanting this for a while, huh?” You didn’t say anything, only fuelling his fire. 

“Nishishi! You’re so obsessed with me, it’s adorable~” You took a defensive step back, “I-I am not!” He suddenly leaned his face dangerously close to yours, grinning sadistically as he heard your whimper. “You shouldn’t lie, you know? Especially not to me.” He leaned in next to your ear, catching your earlobe between his teeth and biting gently. 

“Anyway!” You snapped out your daze as he barked suddenly, “The nude painting offer still stands, you know!” He yelled out, walking away from you, strangely.

[gallifreyanwriter]

To Dean, The World's Greatest Rat

Dean gets turned into a fucking rat during a case. That's it that's the premise. Inspired by @westernwoodblogs's rat Dean controlling Jackles art, sorry my beloved but I went and wrote it anyway <3

Sam Winchester was hungry. And tired.

They’d come into town just around midnight, following the news of some mysterious disappearances, after a grueling six-hour drive. Dean, who somehow still had a reserve of energy, had gone out to go get them some late-night burgers–an hour ago. Sam was starting to suspect that he’d charmed his way into some waitress’ bed, again, and was going to come back unbearably smug tomorrow morning.

He sighed. Typical.

He thought about going out himself, trying to scrounge up some dinner from some open-late diner, but–he was too exhausted from the drive to even think about that.

So he laid down, stomach rumbling, and just went to sleep.

He woke up, disoriented, to the skittering sound of little feet.

He groaned. He hated when the motels were rat-infested. Oftentimes it meant he would be finding rat poop in at least one of his bags in the morning, and he really wasn’t looking forward to finding out which one it was gonna be.

He just turned over, and tried to block it out. He didn’t have any food in the motel, no thanks to Dean, so hopefully it would get bored and race off to some other room.

But then he heard his bags rustling. Was it trying to get into the duffel bag? Good fucking luck, there was nothing edible in there except for the salt rounds. He felt a little sorry for it, in a way.

Then there was a crash.

Sam jerked upward with a “hey!” and turned on the bedside light. The goddamn rat had tipped his entire backpack over somehow, spilling its contents all over the table.

The Ouija board fell out of the largest pocket and slid down the table like a kid on a slip n slide, stopping only inches from tipping over the table’s edge.

His favorite pen rolled, and rolled, and fell to the floor with a clatter.

“That’s it,” Sam sighed, getting out of bed with more force than necessary, “I’m killing that little bastard.”

As he approached the table, he saw the rat racing across the Ouija board, in a panic.

He paused. In the dim light of the early sunrise, he noticed that its movements weren’t erratic at all. It was running in a shallow triangle formation, stopping briefly at the same three spots, over and over.

The same three letters.

S.

A.

M.

Sam blinked. Of all the things he had seen as a lifelong hunter, this…well, it wasn’t the weirdest, but it was certainly up there.

“Uh. Hello?” Sam asked, clearing his throat. Would the rat understand him?

The rat froze, turning its snout up and staring at him with beady eyes. Its fur was a deep, rich brown, and its dark eyes regarded Sam with interest. It slowly walked its way down to the bottom of the board, and tapped out 5-2-8-3.

Okay. This was a rat that knew him. A rat that knew him very well.

“Okay,” Sam said, to the fucking RAT, “Okay, yeah, that’s my birthday. I’m listening. Who-who are you??”

The rat paused, then scurried back up to the letters.

D.

E.

A.

N.

Sam’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“Dean??” he asked, bringing his face right down to the table, trying to recognize anything about the little brown rat in front of him as his formerly-human brother, “Is that…is that you??”

The rat trundled miserably along, up to the top corner, and tapped the YES with great reluctance.

“Wow,” Sam said, blinking hard, “What-what the hell happened?” asked Sam.

Dean let out a tiny huff of air, whiskers twitching, and scurried around the board, painstakingly spelling out-

W-I-T-C-H-E-S

Sam sat back with a sigh.

“Something tells me that this might be related to the, uh…’disappearances’, on the news,” Sam said.

Dean raced back into the corner and slammed his little rat hands on the word YES, over and over.

“Fine! Fine, I get it.”

Sam rubbed his eyes, trying to will himself to be more alert.

“It’s so WEIRD to use the Ouija board to communicate with something that’s alive,” Sam said. Dean paused minutely, and smacked his little paw on a few more letters.

A-L-L-W-E-I-R-D

“Yeah, probably more for you than me, Master Splinter,” Sam chuckled.

S-T-F-U

“Okay, okay,” Sam said, hands out defensively, “Let’s-let’s just figure this out. Did you see the witches that did it?”

YES.

“Did you see where their hideout was?”

Dean paused, scratching his face with his hind leg.

NO.

“Okay. Where-where did they get you?”

Dean walked the board with great concentration.

D-I-N-E-R

D-O-W-N-T-O-W-N

“O-okay,” Sam said, “Okay. That’s the last place you saw them?”

YES.

“Hokay,” Sam said, grabbing the Impala’s keys, “Well. Looks like we’ve got a pretty good lead.”

As Sam walked around the table, Dean let out a squeak.

“What?” Sam asked, annoyed.

T-A-K-E-M-E

“What? You can’t drive,” Sam drawled, “And, you have to stay hidden. How am I gonna smuggle you, a rat, into a restaurant??”

Dean scurried across the board, slapping his paw insistently on each letter.

H-A-T

“What?” Sam asked.

Dean fluffed his little body, and went back to it.

Tap, tap, tap.

“R, A, T, A,” Sam muttered, as Dean raced across the board.

Tap, tap, tap.

“T, O, U, I, L, L-aw, fuck you,” Sam said, throwing his hands down in frustration, “That is not how that works!”

If a rat could smile smugly, Dean was certainly doing that.

H-A-I-R

“Shut up,” Sam said irritatedly.

It was a weird experience, knowing that a rat was laughing at you. Sam pretended like he didn’t notice, and went to get changed.

-

Sam steeled himself, and stepped out of the Impala. He took a steadying breath, sweating in his fake FBI suit, and adjusted the bottom of the coat.

An indignant squeak came from his inside pocket.

He pulled one lapel inside and looked in, seeing the unhappy black eyes of Dean Winchester, the rat, staring back up at him.

“Sorry, Dean,” Sam whispered, “I don’t like it either. But you gotta stay in the know, and out of sight, and this is our best option.”

Dean squished himself down into the pocket a little more.

“Just…be quiet, and try not to move too much. I got this,” Sam assured him.

Sam cleared his throat, and strode inside, trying to appear more confident and less literally-hiding-a-rat-in-his-pocket.

“Hello,” he greeted the nearest waitress, “Kathy” according to her nametag, “I’m, uh, Agent Hendrix, I’m investigating the missing persons case.”

“Oh good,” said Kathy, heaving a sigh of relief, “I was starting to think that we’d never get any attention on it. Have you found anything?”

Dean squirmed in his pocket.

“N-not yet,” Sam said, “That’s why I’m here. This is where they were last seen, right?”

She cocked her head. “No? Bob was last seen at the tackle shop, and Joanne disappeared near the library. That’s all the way across town, on the edge of the woods.”

Sam winced as his misstep sent a shockwave through his body. Dammit.

“Oh,” he said, “Okay. Thank you.”

“No problem,” said Kathy, “Now, do you want something to eat?”

“No, uh-” Sam said, feeling Dean thrash inside his pocket. “I mean-I mean, yeah, actually. Can I get a burger? To go?”

“Sure thing, honey,” Kathy said, walking back to the kitchen.

Sam sat at the counter, flitting his eyes around the sparsely populated diner. Could any of those people be a witch?

He pulled his lapel open, just a little bit, and turned slowly on his stool, allowing Dean a 360 degree view of the entire restaurant.

“See anyone familiar?” Sam whispered.

Dean shook his head, his little rat nose moving from side to side.

“Damn,” Sam said quietly.

One of the nearby patrons was looking at Sam curiously. Sam shot her a grimace of a smile, knowing full well that it wasn’t a great look to be talking to the lining of his jacket.

So when Kathy came back with his burger, wrapped up in a paper bag, Sam paid as quickly as possible and all but raced back out the door.

-

Back in the Impala, Sam let out a breath. You win some, you lose some. He pulled Dean’s jacket off the passenger seat, revealing the Ouija board. Dean crawled out of his pocket and stood in the center of it, while Sam busied himself with unwrapping the burger and taking a ravenous bite.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, chewing rapturously. It was pretty middle-of-the-road, a serviceable burger, but hunger really was the best spice.

Dean squeaked indignantly, prompting Sam to take a look at what he was saying with the board.

G-I-V-E

“Fuck off, it’s my burger,” Sam said, “Go get your own.”

Dean leveled him with a look, and tapped out R-A-T.

Sam sighed. “Fair enough,” he said, and tore off a piece of the patty. With cheese, because he was a good and thoughtful brother.

Dean grasped it between his little rat hands, and consumed it greedily.

Sam sat back as he ate his burger, watching Dean nibble at his piece. If Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say that this was just an ordinary, if fairly well behaved, rat. There were absolutely no identifying marks on Dean’s rat body that would indicate his previous human form.

He wondered, how many others were out there, unable to contact their loved ones.

He hoped he could change them back, too.

If they hadn’t been caught in a rat trap yet.

-

Back at the motel, Sam brought out his laptop, allowing Dean to type his thoughts onto it between research sessions.

SMOOTH MOVES BACK THERE.

“Great, thanks,” muttered Sam, grabbing the laptop back and opening his Hunter Resources bookmark folder.

BEING RAT SUCKS.

“I bet,” Sam said absentmindedly, clicking through to an old hunter resource page on witch-related spells.

“Well, good news,” Sam said, looking down at where Dean was sitting on the table, “It says here that human-to-animal transmutation spells have to be maintained, or the effects will immediately reverse. That means they’ve probably got some sort of…active spell, somewhere nearby.”

Sam cracked his knuckles. “Now our job is to find it.”

Dean laid down on the table, next to Sam’s laptop, and rested his head on his paws.

-

“Sam,” came Castiel’s voice, inches away from them.

“Cas!” Sam said, startling out of his research reverie, “What are you doing here?”

“I heard Dean’s prayer,” Cas said, looking around the motel room, “Where is-”

He looked down at the rat on the table, studied him for a moment, then looked back up at Sam.

“Sam,” Castiel said slowly, “Why is Dean a rodent?”

“How did you know that was him?” Sam asked.

Cas shrugged. “It’s the same soul,” he said, as if that were a normal thing to say about a person.

“O-okay,” Sam said, “Well. There’s been some disappearances in town, which is why we stopped in, and…well, there’s some…evidence, that there are two witches that are turning people into rats. We don’t know why, or exactly where they are, but…I’ve found a few places that are likely hideaways, that we can go check out.”

Dean squeaked, and wiggled his whiskers.

“Dean says that if you stuff him in your pocket one more time, he will, and I quote, ‘bite your sorry ass’,” Cas said, using air quotes around the distinctly Dean phrase.

Dean and Sam both froze, and turned their heads to fix their collective gaze on Cas.

“Wait. You can understand him?” asked Sam.

Cas nodded in the affirmative.

“I can communicate with most living creatures,” he said, shrugging, “Even if they don’t always desire to communicate with me.”

Dean squeaked insistently.

“Yes, I understand the urgency, Dean,” Cas said to him, quietly, “There’s no need to shout.”

He squeaked even more.

“He said that there were two witches, that threw some powder in his face,” Cas said, “One was a red-haired man. The other was a…”

Cas frowned at Dean, but continued.

“A ‘smokin’ hot lady’,” Cas said, “With, and I quote here, ‘an ass that wouldn’t quit’.”

They both looked down at Dean, who shrank back into the table.

“That’s…not helpful,” Sam sighed.

“Indeed, Dean. This is not a good way to differentiate between women,” Cas admonished, “Everyone’s standards of beauty are wildly variant. You know this.”

Dean ‘spoke’ some more, to an intently listening Cas.

“She was blonde, pale skinned, and wore glasses with green frames,” Cas recounted dutifully.

“That’s better,” Sam said, typing furiously.

He searched up a few maps of the town, and began to cross-reference. Beside him, Castiel leaned down and placed a finger on Dean’s furry head.

“Fascinating spellwork,” he murmured.

Sam turned away from the two of them…being weird again, and studied the Tourism Center’s online map.

“So get this,” he said aloud, “The library is on the edge of town, directly next to the path that takes you to the lake. Bob was last seen at the tackle shop, on his way to go fishing. Joanne disappeared by the library. AND, look who is listed as the town’s librarian?”

Sam turned the screen so Dean could see the photo of the blonde woman with green glasses, going by the name Mrs. Peters.

Dean took one look at her, and nodded his head.

“I think that’s our best bet,” Sam concluded.

Dean commandeered the keyboard, typing out NICE WORK SAMMY.

“Then we should go,” Cas said, moving to stand up.

Dean thrashed and squeaked, giving Cas pause.

“For what reason would you want to sit on my head?” Cas asked.

Dean squeaked a little more.

Cas shrugged, and picked Dean up carefully, placing him on top of his head.

“This is a bit ludicrous, even for you,” Cas said, rolling his eyes as far up as they could go.

Dean gripped a handful of Cas’ hair in each of his front paws, and pulled.

Nothing happened.

“Ouch,” Cas said, deadpan.

Dean slumped.

“You really thought that would work?” Sam laughed.

Dean squeaked, racing down to Cas’ shoulder.

“He says ‘Shut up, Sammy’,” Cas relayed.

“Yeah, I didn’t really need the translator for that one,” Sam said under his breath, “Your turn to carry him, Cas. Let’s go.”

-

On the ride through the city, Dean stayed with Cas in the passenger seat. He wandered around Cas’ legs, climbed through the sleeves of the baggy trenchcoat, and finally fell asleep in Cas’ lap.

“This is most unusual behavior, for Dean,” Cas noted, “Do you think the rat’s instincts are taking over his complex human mind?”

“Maybe,” Sam said, glancing over then back at the road, “if that's the case, I really hope we find these witches fast. Maybe you should try petting him. Rats really like that.”

Cas raised a hesitant hand, and brought it down onto Dean’s fur, smoothing it back rhythmically.

Dean seemed to fall into an even deeper sleep, at that.

-

Sam pulled into the library’s disrepaired parking lot, and shot a glance at Cas. Who knows what they were about to walk into?

Dean’s body was a liquidy kind of relaxed as Cas lifted him up, setting him inside one of the trench coat pockets.

Cas nodded at Sam, and they swung open the Impala’s doors as one.

Walking through the library’s double doors, that same woman on the website sat behind the desk.

“Hi! The library will be closing shortly, but can I help you?” she said, with a chipper air.

Sam sighed, and cut to the chase.

“You turned my brother into a rat,” he said, marveling at the absurdity of the words as they left his mouth, “I need you, to undo your spell, and change him back.”

A look of fear skittered across her face, and she stood up abruptly, arms braced against the countertop.

Sam’s hand tightened around his gun.

The tension rose, and crackled in the air, as the two of them stared at each other.

Finally, she broke, sitting back down with a sigh.

“It was an accident,” she admitted.

Sam loosened the grip that he had on his gun.

“What?” he asked, thrown off-kilter by the de-escalation.

“It was an accident!” she said, “That spell was supposed to be a memory wipe spell!”

Sam grimaced in surprise, looking at the rat sticking out of Cas’ pocket, and back to the witch.

Dean squeaked a little.

“Dean is asking how on earth you could have ‘fucked that one up so bad’,’” Cas helpfully translated, as he picked Dean up and placed him on the table.

The witch looked from Cas to Dean, confused, but shook it off.

“I don’t know,” she said, voice breaking, “We couldn’t ask for help! My husband and I have been ostracized from our coven.”

She shuddered.

“That’s a long story. We are trying to live a normal life,” she said, looking back up at Sam, “But the people in this town can be nosy, and we still do use magic from time to time, and…”

She let out a heavy sigh. “I just wanted them to forget what they saw.”

She walked around the counter.

“And we kept the spell going because…we didn’t know what else to do,” she sighed, pulling a bowl out from underneath the counter. The contents burned bright blue.

She tossed some powder into the bowl, and the blue flames leapt higher.

Sam took his chances, and took a cautious step closer to the counter.

“Listen, uhm-” he said, gesturing toward her.

“Clarion,” she whispered.

“Clarion,” he repeated, “I know a thing or two about…unintended consequences.”

He swallowed hard.

“But…if you try to hide from ‘em…it’ll just get worse, and spiral more out of control, and you’ll never be able to live your normal life,” he said, taking another step.

She stared at him intently.

“Undo the spell,” Sam said, “And…what ever comes next, you’ll handle it. Give Bob, and Joanne, a-and my brother, their lives back.”

He leaned against the counter, bracing his hands around the bowl.

“If I can come back from mine,” he said, staring into her eyes, “You can come back from yours.”

Clarion drew in a deep breath, and blew out the flames.

Dean suddenly grew, with several agonizing pops, back into his normal human shape.

His ass naked, normal human shape, laying across one of the library tables.

“Ughhhh,” he groaned, standing up, “That hurt like a sonofabitch.”

Sam averted his eyes.

“Dude,” he said, “Your whole dick and balls are out.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” Dean said, covering himself with his hands.

“Anybody got a spare shirt, or something?” he asked.

“Humans and their modesty,” Castiel said, shrugging out of his coat, “Here.”

Dean gratefully accepted, cinching the belt tight around his waist, and Sam finally looked up.

“Nice to have you back, brother,” Sam said, clapping him on the trench-coated shoulder.

Clarion sat back heavy in her chair, looking around her library with tears in her eyes.

“Hey,” Sam said, “You’ll be okay.”

She shrugged, and gave a watery smile. “It will be nice, to not blow my arrowroot supply every single day.”

Castiel approached the counter, peering into the bowl.

“Your ingredients were combined in the wrong manner,” Castiel said, “The lamb’s blood and arrowroot were supposed to be combined, before you set it aflame.”

Clarion’s mouth fell open in shock.

“H-how do you know that?” she asked.

Cas shrugged. “It’s all molecules,” he said.

“Ahh, it’s best not to question it,” Sam said in her direction, shaking his head.

“Guys? Much as I love a happy ending,” Dean complained, tightening Cas’ trench coat around him, “I’d like to leave a little more to the imagination here.”

“Thank you,” said Clarion.

“No problem,” Sam said, and they walked out of the library.

-

Dean insisted on driving, and Sam wasn’t going to argue.

“You know what?” Dean said, once they got on the road, “It’s kinda nice, not to have to clean up a body.”

“Wish all our hunts would end up like that one,” Sam murmured.

“Y’know Sammy, violence isn’t always the answer,” Dean smiled, “Only most of the time.”

He drummed on the impala’s steering wheel a little bit, flexing his human hands.

“I’m starving,” he announced, “Let’s go round up some grub.”

“Oh, that burger wasn’t enough for you earlier?” Sam joked.

“That little crumb?” Dean said, affronted, “That was smaller than my head! My RAT head!”

“It was the size of your little rat brain,” Sam countered.

“Hey!”

“I don’t understand,” Cas said, “Rats are extremely intelligent.”

“You hear that, Sammy? Rats are extremely intelligent,” Dean said, with argument-winning glee.

“I wouldn’t have known the difference, between you and a natural born rat, if I didn’t know your soul so intimately,” Cas continued, and Dean sobered.

Sam laughed, a full-throated thing, as Dean continued to process that sentence.

“No difference between you and a natural-born rat,” Sam said, “What a compliment.”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean said, pulling the coat tighter, as they drove back up the road.

[ajoblotofjunk]

OKAY SO. I wondered previously about getting one of three scenes from my fic La belle fleur sauvage drawn by @knifeears​. Then I thought: “what if I asked her to draw all three scenes instead!” And Knifeears did not scoff at or block me in what would have been well-justified annoyance! 😄

INSTEAD. SHE DID THIS???? Like a goddamn boss.

Look. at. this. gorgeousness.

As I told her this morning, the more I look at it, the more it unfolds. The way they grow physically closer together across the triptych. The daylight to sunset to sunrise coloring that matches the journey of their relationship. How Jaime is kneeling in the first one and they’re both kneeling in the last. Their F A C E S my god. I swooned at the romantic kiss in the last panel.

I literally could go on and on about all the details - see how dented and old Brienne’s armor looks in the first one?? The complexity of Jaime’s journeyman outfit in the second??? The flow of her dress????? Their swords??????? Each individual scene has so many small and perfect things to call out and then the way they all work together - when I tell you I covered my mouth with my hands when she sent me the final version I am not lying.

I’m so happy to be able to share this, because Elloise is so freaking talented. My goodness. My JB Week contribution is going to be me staring at this art all week, sorry not sorry. I hope you enjoy it, too. 

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

AIGHT Y’ALL I wasn’t tagged but I’m doing this anyways because f u c k  i t

It's the year 2021 and you're obsessed with The Karate Kid. How are you feeling?

Deadasss weird as fuck, my dude. Like...out of all the things I could’ve predicted happening in our lord’s year 2021, it definitely was NOT getting hyperfixated on a hammy gay ship with a punk and a nerd from a goddamn karate soap opera. And yet...here we are??? I will never understand hyperfixations, my guy. But I’ve met a lot of really cool people in this fandom, so I can’t really complain.

Did you grow up with TKK or are you new to the series?

I have never seen a single Karate Kid movie in my entire life. When I was a kid, it looked kinda dumb so I never got into it XD But then I saw my roommate watching Cobra Kai on Youtube Red one day (he has every streaming service known to man) and I was hooked. And...here I am!

We gotta do the basics. Favorite character:  

Literally EVERYONE except for Kreese, Yasmine, Kyler, and Tory, sorry stans

Okay but if we gotta pick, Johnny Lawrence is my Problematic Fave. Also I love my boy Daniel, he’s trying his best!!! And Amanda LaRusso, we stan a queen!!!

Among the kids, definitely Miguel, with Demetri as a close second. I also love Sam, Aisha, Moon, and Hawk (pre- and post-Bastardization Arc, anyways XD)!

Favorite ship:  

Take a look at my username and take a WILD FUCKING GUESS lmao Yes it’s Eli/Demetri because DUH, every interaction they have is so fucking gay and Eli fucking saved him!!! And came back to him!!! And betrayed the world’s most terrifying dojo with a WAR CRIMINAL SENSEI all for Demetri!!! And how Demetri was willing to forgive him for everything at the drop of a hat because he always had faith there was still good in his best friend??? That’s TRUE LOVE motherfuckers. Please let them kiss in Season 4. I will sell you all of my limbs. Sam/Miguel is a close second because they’re cute as shit and it’s just so lovely to see two people so unapologetically smitten with each other. They are in LOVE, and I will RIOT if they break up again!!! Keep Sam and Miguel together 2k21!!!

Underrated character:

SAMANTHA LARUSSO!!! The amount of hate my girl gets for acting like a normal teenager and fucking up occasionally JUST like the rest of the cast makes me want to start punching things. She cares SO MUCH about her friends!!! And she loves the shit out of Miguel!!! She hasn’t always been the best friend but you know what??? Neither has Hawk, and we still forgave his ass!!! Also LET HER BE FEMININE but also kick utter ass, my god!!! Femininity should not be synonymous with being weak, y’all! ALSO DEMETRI, like yes, he likes to complain and occasionally run his mouth, but guess what else he likes to do??? Never give up on the love of his life his best friend Eli Moskowitz and refuse to lose faith in him no matter how much of a little shit he’s become, and I for one think that’s very badass of him. Also the way he takes care of Eli pre-Cobra Kai in his own snarky bastard way makes me absolutely Weak and needs more appreciation. Like the dude has charisma and COULD have probably made other friends and left Eli behind if he wanted, but did he??? No, he wants the weepy loser with the lip scar in the polo shirts and dorky sweaters and will protect him as much as his wimpy ass is able!!!

Underrated ship (don’t say therapy, lol):  

Among the adults, Daniel/Amanda!!! Like maybe I just don’t watch that much tv, but it seems kinda rare to me to see a happily married hetero couple, and it’s just nice to see a married couple who genuinely love each other and where there’s not like...lingering resentment or some shit. I feel like this ship gets overshadowed by Lawrusso a lot (which like--okay, fair!!! Daniel and Johnny do have a ridiculous amount of chemistry, and the gay undertones are undeniable, so I get it), and it makes me kinda sad. I do love Lawrusso, but I don’t like when Amanda has to get her heart broke for it to happen, you feel? Among the kids, honestly YasMoon. Like I really love the idea of Yasmine trying to better herself because of Moon’s influence on her and because Moon like...inspires her to be a better person, I guess? With their pretty strong friendship, it just makes more sense to me for Yasmine to get a redemption arc through Moon than through Demetri. ALSO girls DO often pull the whole “mean girl” shtick to cover up being closeted lesbians, and Moon IS canonically bi, so it could work!!! I just think this one could be a really interesting Friends to Lovers take, and could make a really nice coming-out arc for Yas. And MoonPiper too, honestly!!! Like they only got 5 seconds of screentime so I understand WHY it’s underrated, but I still love what we DID get and loved that there was a canon gay ship (even if only for 1 scene lmao). I’m really excited to potentially see more of them in Season 4!!! Please, I’m begging!!!

Wax On, Wax Off or Sweep the Leg?

Sweep the Leg because it will always be deeply hilarious to me how Demetri took note of the first move Eli ever used on him and spent presumably weeks perfecting it OUT OF SPITE just to get him back with it at the soccer game MONTHS later. Just goes to show how OBSESSED Demetri is with Eli and their little karate rivalry which is just NOT straight, I’m sorry

Which of Daniel’s dumb little outfits is your favorite?

There’s something so funny about this pretentious little fuck walking around in fancy suits once he becomes a #SuccessfulBusinessman, and still occasionally trying to do karate in a full-ass suit (take THAT, Tom Cole’s boba!!!) I’m also a big fan of how he looks in his gi with his little headband. Still killing that look as a 40-50-something!!!

Character from the films you most want to return, who’s not Terry Silver:

Tbh I have still never seen a single Karate Kid movie (they took them off of Netflix, RIP), so...I don’t really care if they bring anyone else back??? I’m invested in the characters we already have in the show, I don’t need some rando from the movies to make a cameo to have a good time XD The only character I really wanted them to bring back was Ali, and they already did, so like...I’m good??? That’s all I really needed, I can die in peace now XD

Scene that lives in your head rent-free:

Basically any fluffy Elimetri scene, but 5 in particular: ~Miguel first meeting Eli and Demetri at the lunch table, and Eli looking at Demetri like he hung every goddamn star in the sky ~Demetri going off at a terrifying, “unhinged” karate sensei on the first day of Cobra Kai because he made fun of Eli’s lip and Demetri is not about that shit ~ELI STEALING DEMETRI’S NACHO AND SMIRKING AT HIM, LIKE EXCUSE ME SIR PLEASE BE A LITTLE LESS HOMOSEXUAL IN FRONT OF YOUR GIRLFRIEND ~Eli yanking Demetri onstage during Valley Fest to hold a board, and Demetri being visibly like...extremely turned on when Eli breaks said board ~ELI SAVING DEMETRI DURING THE CHRISTMAS FIGHT, ELI APOLOGIZING, DEMETRI AND ELI KICKING COBRA ASS TOGETHER AKSBDCUWYVCBU

Will Anthony LaRusso ever be relevant?

I hope not! He’s kind of a funny meme character to pop up now and again but I don’t think he deserves a serious plotline when there are so many more interesting characters to follow.

You live in The Valley and are forced into the karate gang war. Which dojo do you join?

Miyagi-Do because Cobra Kai would eat me alive. Also I’d probably straight up get stuck and die in that cement mixer, if I even made it that far XD Besides, being salty that your friend who you have a crush on likes martial arts better than you and starting martial arts to impress them but also being too lazy to join anything TOO intense is a Big Mood and I am certainly not speaking from personal experience here, no sirree

What’s your training montage song?

"Shut Up and Drive” by Rihanna for a weight-training and bicep-flexing montage, “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons for a more intense punching-and-kicking-shit montage. I don’t know why this is, I just feel it in my heart.

It’s the crossover event of the century! Which TV show are you combining with Cobra Kai for an hour-long Saturday night special?

*Briefly panics because I don’t actually watch that much TV and most of the stuff I do watch is fantasy/sci fi shit that absolutely would not work for a CK crossover*

Hmmmm okay but ACTUALLY

You know what would be fucking funny as hell would be an It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia crossover. Allow me to elaborate: ~The Gang goes to LA on vacation during the height of the Karate Dojo Wars. They literally can get barely anything done without all these goddamn karate-fighting teenagers getting in the way. ~They are all very annoyed by this. Even the most obscure of tourist attractions is eventually intercepted by karate fights. ~Mac tries to join Cobra Kai because he sees all this karate fighting on, and wants to unquestionably prove both his badassery and masculinity. Both Johnny and Kreese are like “Wtf are you doing here? Aren’t you like 30?” ~Mac gets a planet-sized crush on Johnny after all of 5 minutes and endlessly gushes to the gang about him. The gang mercilessly roast him about this and about how much of a pathetic loser with his life together in no way whatsoever Johnny sounds like. They proceed to have exactly 0 self awareness about this. ~The Waitress is in town visiting family or something, and Charlie is stalking her, as per usual. However, every time he’s about to go up and talk to her, a pack of battling Miyagi-Dos and Cobra Kais throwing punches and kicks everywhere blocks his path. One times, Mac is among one of these packs and Charlie is like “???? He didn’t get kicked out of that teen karate dojo yet???” ~Seeing how much the Kids These Days seem to like fighting, Charlie drops by a local high school to try and sell Fight Milk to the kids doing karate. Only Kyler and Brucks buy into it, and subsequently get the entire West Valley High wrestling team sick. Charlie is inevitably arrested, as Counselor Blatt thinks he’s selling the kids drugs. ~Dennis makes a plan to have sex with every hot chick he can in Los Angeles. He meets Ali on a dating app post-divorce, and inevitably tries to bang her. It doesn’t work. ~Frank crashes the rental car, and inevitably the gang ends up at one of Daniel’s dealerships. Dee quickly takes a liking to Daniel and is like “Watch, assholes--Imma homewreck this guy’s marriage.” She starts frequenting the dealerships to attempt to flirt with Daniel, until one day she walks in on him having sex with Johnny in a back room and she’s like “Is that the guy from Mac’s goddamn dojo?!?!” ~Dennis, of course, tries to sleep with Amanda. Amanda is not having it, and rebukes him in the most snarky, Amanda-esque way possible. Dennis is just like “Oh not AGAIN--the women in this goddamn diva city have too high of standards!” ~Later on, the gang is at the beach and Dennis spots the blonde lady he went out on an ill-fate date with, and decides to give it another shot--that is, until he sees her go up and kiss another woman and he’s like “IS THAT THE LADY FROM THE CAR DEALERSHIP??? STUPID-KARATE-KICK-COMMERCIAL’S WIFE?!? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME.” ~Dee complains to Dennis about her lack of luck getting laid, and Dennis is just like “Oh come ON, is everyone in Los Angeles gay???” Smash cut to Hawk and Demetri having sex, Moon and Piper making out, Bert and Nate holding hands, Chris and Mitch doing oral, and Amanda, Ali, and Carmen having a threesome. ~Frank tries to scam Kreese into buying cheaply-made karate equipment for his dojo. The gang ends up having to leave LA because Kreese is quite literally plotting all of their murders.

For tagging, uuuuhhhhhh @jackonthelongwalk @soe-leo @max-eagle-fang @cc-tinslebee @backawayfromthegay @asphodel-storm do the thing, if y’all haven’t yet!