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coridallasmultipass · 9 months ago

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brocal for the ship bingo?

The OTP to end all other OTPs... (Man. This wound up being basically Cori's Masterpost of BroCal. AKA... this got long and has some images, since I realized I can post my own art directly instead of just a text link to it lol.)

Wasn't actually expecting this to wind up with a bingo? But I got basically 2?? (Will explain the lighter heart later.) This is A LONG post, and definitely gonna get SUGGESTIVE, bc man, am I obSESSED with BroCal. I'm just gonna go thru each checked box, since I don't know how else to structure this post lol.

Read More to save ppl's dashboards:

I want them to make out with blood: OKAY. I HAVE A WHOLE THING PLANNED FOR THIS CONCEPT. I AM NOT GOING TO GO INTO DETAIL ABOUT IT JUST YET BC I ACTUALLY WANNA WRITE IT. I'm obsessed with this one fanart of Bro licking Lil Cal, and it spurred on an idea I outlined and really wanna write: https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/739969858334294016/hiiii-mutual-i-am-secrecy-asking-if-u-have-anymore

((Sorry for the plain text links, Tumblr app is NOT cooperating with me right now to add hyperlinks. I'd post the image directly if that one was mine.))

Basically, I just really need to see Bro and Cal making out with blood in their mouths, and I started a whole convoluted, unrelated outline in order to make that hapen. It'll probably just be a really short thing that ends at the uh climax, since otherwise it's gonna end up sadstuck. And I don't like sadstuck lol.

Undeniably t4t: Bro and Dirk are always trans for me, and Lil Cal's got that uh... what percentage did I calculate it out to be? 13% of Dirk is in Lil Cal [ My shitpost calculations: https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/746702663327072256/i-ran-out-of-tags-rambling-about-this-so-im-just ] so Lil Cal is at least 13% trans because of that much of Dirk being in him, plus however you feel about the other components being trans. LMAO this is ridiculous to type out. Moving on.

EDIT: FUTURE CORI INTERJECTING WITH A:

"Lil Cal Top Surgery Healing Progess: Day 1"

Terrible for each other affectionate/derogatory: I don't even know where the affectionate/derogatory split occurs. I multiship BroCal as both Bro/normal puppet Lil Cal and as Bro/evil juju puppet Lil Cal, and whatever combination in between or outside of that. Terrible in that Bro is so obsessed with Cal that he doesn't have normal relationship/social skills and uses Lil Cal as both a crutch and motivator alternately, in a terrible cycle, or maybe rather... spiral. And also terrible in that Bro is caught in the allure of playing the role of puppeteer while also being a puppet for the darker parts of Lil Cal, whether he actively knows it or not. (Honestly though, I feel like it's dismissive if you try to blame all of Bro's faults on Lil Cal like this tho, which is why I tend towards liking Lil Cal as just a regular puppet a lil bit more. Or at least, a regular mildly supernatural puppet since that can be a little more entertaining if Cal can get into mischief while no one's looking or give off the vibes of his mood more directly, rather than like entirely inanimate or 'just LE, trapped in a puppet body.' Again, I like all of these concepts.) ((I mean that can also be a whole post of its own, like, by the time Bro gets ahold of Lil Cal, are any of the other components still alive in there? Like, are ARquius and Gamzee still in there or did Caliborn kill and consume them entirely? Idk how it works, man. This is why I like Lil Cal as his own person, maybe just influenced by the feelings of the others. LaCroix: CalGamARquius essenced water. Lil Croix.))

They need to get weirder with it: YES YES. 1000% YES. I need entirely shameless Bro doing entirely shamless things to Lil Cal. I want them inseparable and doing unspeakable things to each other. I want Bro taking full advantage of Cal having a puppet body and all the intimacy that comes with making repairs and being elbow-deep in stuffing.

Playing with them like dolls cute/psychological torture: This is the same divide as with the 'terrible for each other' point, so I'm just gonna go with the cute one, since the torture one is self-explanatory. I want them fucking married. Like. Full mushy cute romance type of relationship that Bro has never felt for any of the people in his life (cough aromantic cough). I made this comic not too long ago, and I often fondly look back on it, because I adore the concept of Bro being lovey and romantic and everything out of character around Lil Cal because he feels safe and loved and comfortable around Cal:

[ https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/750602227910131712/brocal-4-lyfe-so-i-had-this-idea-of-dave-being ]

I made a post a long, long time ago (not gonna link that one bc it was personal and I was being very obviously mentally ill ["C'mon, like you're not being obviously mentally ill while typing paragraph upon paragraph about BroCal still in 2024 like 10 years later??" Fair.]) But the gist of it was that, like, having objectophilia or objectum sexuality is like, from an outsider pov, it's a way to express love to yourself. You filter all your self-hate through the object you love, and you get back unconditional love in return.

Lil Cal is never gonna hate Bro, no matter what Bro does. As a regular puppet, Lil Cal doesn't have the capacity for hate. And so that only brings them closer, since Cal is never gonna reject Bro for any reason. (Back to being a crutch. RSD is real, and Dave is probably a big trigger for that since he's not on the same wavelength of weird as Bro [not blaming Dave, obviously, this is a post about BroCal].) Bro can experience receiving positive attention from Lil Cal, without feeling 'fake' or uncool by expressing that same attention or affection directly to his own self. (Things are always done through multiple layers with the Striders, aren't they?) ((And I'm not saying Lil Cal doesn't love Bro, or that their relationship is just pretend - it's real, I'm just like, 'What's going on behind the curtain in the mundane situation?/ How is the relationship appealing?' Lil Cal luvs Bro 5eva 4 lyfe and that's a hard fact. Could cut diamonds with that shit.)) Example: maybe Bro is dealing with a bout of body/gender dysphoria and is trying to take out his frustration with working out, and it's not helping, even if he's powered through a set better than normal. Then, he notices the way Lil Cal is watching him, and he can feel the excitement seeping off Cal. He can sense the echoes of a wolf-whistle ring out through his mind, and it's like. Okay, none of that shit from before matters, he's got all the validation he needs right there in Lil Cal. Maybe flex in Cal's direction, Bro?

Oh, so back to being cute: isn't it wonderful how the template maker phrased it as 'playing dolls'? But yeah, I want all the mush and everything. Bro has a whole wardrobe for Lil Cal for every minor event that occurs in the Strider household. I want them going on genuine dates. Maybe even... holding hands. Bro blushes for the first time since he was 16. He even gets to take Lil Cal with him when he goes out to DJ or put on a show. Not to mention the whole website business. (I've talked about Cal's role in that before, but I'll mention it in a moment...)

They will die in a heart shaped pool of blood: I mean, kinda did happen, even tho Lil Cal didn't perma die right there. I don't think this one needs any explanation, since it basically happens in canon.

'You should see the other guy...': Okay, so. About 11 years ago, I had a really great idea. About how smuppets enter this world. I expanded on it in the following more-recent post (adult only content lol): https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/741683686717669376/back-in-the-day-my-friends-called-me-insane-when-i

To sum it up, whenever Bro makes a new smuppet design, he then gives it a video debut on his website, where uh, Lil Cal births the smuppet like it's a horror movie scene, fake blood and poly-fil gore all over the place as the smuppet crawls out from the viscera. Bro then gets to play aftercare by lovingly and gently cleaning up and restuffing Lil Cal as they get to admire their new creation and rake in the dough lol.

So it's technically not a 'you should see the other guy' kinda situation, but it does involve one of them being... idk what word would describe it. Injured by the other? Usually a character loses a fight and says this to act like they got out of it better than the other guy, but... We could have someone knock on the door during the filming of a scene like that, and Bro has to answer it with fake blood up to his elbows, and be like 'You should see the other guy.' (But obviously, that's a terrible idea and would cause more trouble than it's worth... Maybe worth it for a persistent door to door salesperson, though.)

Though, I guess I should also say, I'm not opposed to Bro beating on Lil Cal in or out of the bedroom. Or in the case of animate Lil Cal, Cal choking out Bro. In or out of the bedroom, lol. Depends on the situation, like I said I will ship this ship any which way. But my preference for animate Lil Cal is to be like a totally normal puppet around Bro (or mushy in-love with Bro) and then evil-murder-puppet towards anyone else in Bro's life, like a... toxic yaoi guard puppet. (New Phrase Achievement Unlocked!) Bro brings home another guy to have sex, who tries to stay the night due to the late hour, but the guy wakes up shortly after to see Lil Cal standing there with a knife in the dark, eyes glowing red. Panic ensues when the guest screams and freaks out, and by the time Bro's got a light on, grabbing his sword, ready for a ninja vs ninja fight (bc an intruder would've had to bypass all the traps), Lil Cal is just innocently splayed across the desk chair, no knife in sight. Relevant post (well, the caption on the post too, saying how Bro can't seem to hold onto any relationships besides Lil Cal):

[ https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/741830516962164736/i-want-you-so-youre-mine-always-selfishly ]

Uh, lol, also Cal choking out Bro in the bedroom, adult only drawing: https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/754328907438800896/i-wouldnt-wanna-be-my-ex-when-he-found-out-who

Thinking about them always and forever: Listen. My Tumblr as proof, I've had BroCal on the brain for at least 11 years at this point. Definitely longer, since I first started reading Homestuck. I fucking love puppets and dolls and plushies and I always have. Man, if I hadn't deleted Tweets (automated app I used to do, and I couldn't choose what to save) from when I was in high school, you could've seen me @ ing my fave band when they were taking lyric suggestions on a fan-inspired album, where I was telling them 'make a song where the theme is puppets' and, while I don't know if they saw that or took the suggestion (they had responded to me before bc they weren't huge yet), there is indeed a song titled "Puppets" on that album, and it was my favourite song on there. Point is, I was fated to ship BroCal before I even knew it existed.

Sicko 2 sicko communication: I mean, does this even need explaining? Bro and Cal aren't just on the same wavelength of freaky, they're the fucking source of the wavelength, and it's causing a feedback loop between them. And it does as feedback does, which is, it amplifies with time. (Going back to the spiral symbolism here, lol.) ((Actually, time can play a symbol here, too, I guess, but idk how to word it, I'm starting to run out of steam.))

Let them have a happy ending: God, I need this so badly. I know Bro's story ends in Homestuck, but like. Pls. Someone needs to officiate their wedding. Currently placing the dreambubble order, but I can't organize a wedding by myself. OH speaking of. In that lil comic I did above, where Bro is accepting Lil Cal's proposal, I had the Natural Born Killers wedding scene in mind. I was gonna draw that as a follow up, but I think I have too many WIPs going. Just two people on the run, saying "I do" in a scenic but completely ordinary roadside location. Idk why, I keep going back to that movie for things related to Bro (I mention it in a very important scene in a longer WIP I've been writing, as something Bro watched and internalized as a kid lol.) It's not the best movie lol. Anyway.

The devotion omg: I feel like I have already gotten my point across about this, but let me reiterate:

[ https://coridallasmultipass.tumblr.com/post/735842968450269184/in-the-name-of-iconic-magical-girl-anime-ill ]

Bro and Lil Cal absolutely beat the shit outta Jack Noir before he gets prototyped. And even then, they fight together till the death, like. C'mon. Nothing more romantic than fighting a losing battle side by side. Also, like, Lil Cal having his own protective chest for safekeeping as seen in the Strider living room? Like, you don't just have a protective case for any old thing, especially something meant to be handled, especially something that is regularly used to smack other things/humans. What I'm saying is, Lil Cal is durable and resilient, and yet, Bro still has a case for transporting Cal safely. Oh, wait, I just thought of something funny, what if Lil Cal goes feral like a cat, and basically the chest is like a cat carrier so Bro can drive without being constricted lmaoooo, I've been typing for hours can you tell?

Kind of homophobic: Listen. I HAD a Cal. Took him to college. Staked my claim on the top bunk bc I am royalty. Proceeded to not have anywhere to set my water cup and had to use a cardboard box as a table up there. Spilled water. Melted Cal's sharpie-drawn face. And then proceeded to cry. I have a WIP of Lil Cal 2, but that requires actually remembering to work on him. I wanna do better by the pattern, too, since I rushed to finish the first. I have all the material! I have the project started! So it's just a matter of reordering my WIP priorities, honestly.

Where is all the fucking content?!: For realzz. I was actually venting about this the other day (didn't end up posting it), but it's like, either there's no BroCal content, or there IS BroCal content, but I can't reblog it for reasons I don't want to get into on this post. I'm dying of thirst in the ocean, basically. Whatever. This just means I need to make more BroCal content myself, which I am more than happy to do. I've just had a rough past few months, so I'm glad I got to type all this post out, and hopefully I can get back to creating soon.

Last one! I hope this one makes up for the absurd length of the post, it's prob my new fave idea I just came up with on the spot.

[TW drink spiking by a stranger mentioned in this.]

Committing atrocities as their silly little activities: I think we all know what this means, but I am going to ignore that elephant with my special x-ray vision. Because this is a BroCal post. I'm digging deep to the meat and bones of this. Honestly, this could go multiple routes, it depends on how you take your Lil Cal.

One could place emphasis on the 'guard' part of the, ahem ahem, toxic yaoi guard puppet. Maybe someone is actually trying to harm Bro, and Bro legit can't do anything for reasons outside of his control - let's say his drink got spiked a while after he invited a stranger home that he thought was chill. As Bro gets shoved down on the futon, his memory of the night is only a few flickers. Familiar orange plush, roiling around above him like a dancing windsock. Flashes of Lil Cal's face all distorted and stretched wide like a funhouse. J-Lo and Ice Cube on the TV. But when Bro is finally able to fully wake up in the morning, everything is as if he just got home alone last night and passed out on the futon. Cal looks totally normal and content tucked under Bro's warm arm. Except when Bro gets up, there is a pair of shoes too big to belong to him at the door. Maybe Bro knows. Maybe instinct tells him to run. Maybe he does, but he's running towards Lil Cal, every time.

#apologies for being entirely unhinged about brocal. this isnt even the half of it #the-meat-machine #asked #praying my internet posts this in one go in the correct format. rip to everyones dashboard if it doesnt #im not turning on my pc to correct it if i cant fix an upload error from mobile #homestuck #brocal #otp5eva #stridercest #long post #Cori.exe #Post.exe #im like staring at my phone scared to hit the post button bc if tumblr has a fit then idk what ill do #and its like okay i could just put my phone down and go to sleep.#but what if tumblr decides to post it AFTER IM ASLEEP AND CLOGS EVERYONE WHOS FOLLOWING ME'S DASH #if that readmore doesnt save where its supposed to... (has happened before)... i am genuinely so fucking sorry.#oh oKAY WAIT compromise. ill save it as a draft first so the bulk of the upload happens privately in case something goes wrong #bc knowing my internet and how i was fighting hyperlinks last night and today that still wont work. something is gonna go wrong #fingers crossed the draft saves tho i dont wanna copy all this shit from the 'in case of emergency' screenshots i took lol #anyway i really need to get ready for bed fuck lol literally took me hours to type this and its not even polished ughh #toxic yaoi guard puppet #omg tho 'lil cal top surgery' idea had me dying when i remembered theres canon cal sewn up like that #i gotta remember to post that separately tmr #i got this post draftes and gna post now. im seeby #oh wait #puppets #suggestive #striders #man if i wish i started w the last point but i dont have the energy to reorder everything #nini im going seep 4r this time

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moth-yknowtheartist · 4 months ago

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MOTH.

(Gem says hi. She is also losing her mind with me.)

ehehehheehhe

#did you have fun with the remember episode while i watched severance #yay!!!#puppet history #puppet history spoilers #its fascinating to see more and more “let's kill the horse” posts flood my dashboard as a result #-ch

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gemscales-and-tea · 2 months ago

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He seriously just confused as hell because he has no idea what everyone else is talking about.

Seriously, what was a wedding!

#dashboard commentary #Y'all are confusing the local puppet!

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saltycryptid · 2 years ago

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At the strangest, and yet most predictable, point in my timeline. I am now officially a Supernatural Watcher, a Fan even. Y'all got me--y'all GOT me. I made it through the first three seasons and honestly im chewing on the floorboards abt season 4. 💥💥💥 ◉_◉ 💥💥💥

Not enough time to finish my 10,000 wips, yet enough time to dream of new ones with new blorbos. Embarrassing is what this is, embarrassing!

#Roach's Rambles #special shoutout to whoever reblogged that post about Dean's daddy issues that got me started #and the one who put that exquisite castiel finger puppet art piece on my dashboard that gave me strength to keep going #Roach Review: It's completely incomprehensible to me whatever the hell the writers are on #but i am looking nonetheless

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brokentoys · 2 years ago

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i understand that tumblr wants to pull in the disgruntled twitter users but like. i just don't know how i feel about the new layout. it's not bad, per se. but... it's also just twitter, and them completely copying something else just kinda makes me lose some respect or whatever. like all originality out the window.

#( 🧩 ✧ INFERIOR PUPPETEER ✧ | OOC )#// i have a tab from yesterday open - so i still have old dashboard #// but rn i see it when i open new tab / refresh my dashboard

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anotherhumanpet · 8 months ago

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Fire.

Everything's on fire.

No. He's on fire.

He should be alarmed by this, but--

It's nice, warm, safe. Better than the cold touch.

Vorkith is chattering away, afraid to approach the holy flame and unsure of what to do, but... Dennis isn't afraid. Not as much, anyway.

#dashboard commentary #aonokumura #prehistoricandroid #NPC: the bois #puppet saga #v: Blue Exorcist

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foggysilverfeathers · 1 year ago

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Fake HC 10 dashboard mayhaps??

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☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

Reminder to love yourself! Smell the trees! Everything will be okay in the end 😊 ☀️

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

nvm gem ran out of pickles im depressed again

🐟 gemstone Follow

I RESTOCKED THIS MORNING HOW HAVE YOU ALREADY SOLD ME OUT

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

1,930 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 126 without a mending book

27 notes

🚂 scars-axasqottles Follow

uM hey @.hpo-official could i ask why you havent' received my messages?/? Every calsl Ive made just puts me on holdd

⬜️ hpo-official-948204deactivated

Sorry about that, sir. Admin error. I'll speak to my manager.

🚂 scars-axasqottles Follow

...hELLO?

🌸 joel-beans Follow

lmao they deactivated what a loser

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

Remember there's a person behind every poor worker! I see you bullies in the notes

🐟 gemstone Follow

@/mending-book-fanatic is a hermit permit office spy confirmed??

2,441 notes

🌸 joel-beans Follow

Guys everyone agrees that purpur is cheap and beautiful and godlike and everyone should go buy it right now this second *sweats*

�� supreme-judge-bd Follow

I feel like I'm missing something...

🌸 joel-beans Follow

SHE HAS EYES EVERYWHERE BDUBS

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

Joel!

🌸 joel-beans Follow

If I don’t respond within the hour assume she got me

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🎩 symmetrical-minister Follow

anyone know a good shop for ethically-sourced wood?? i normally shop at big wood but ive heard things about a mafia :/

🪓 big-salmon Follow

That is absolutely NOT true!! If anything you should be targeting the crypto scheme at Big Wood,,

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

aaaand this is why you should never trust businessmen in red suits

🪓 big-salmon Follow

says the one compensating with a massive HOURGLASS of all things

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Actually @.big-salmon Xisuma_voyd made a really well-explained video here going into detail about all of the shady elements of Big Wood, it's worth a watch.

🐟 gemstone Follow

To answer the original question OP here are some safer (privately owned!) shops :)

Gem's Moss Shop (azaleas for sale which can be bonemealed)

Bdub's Bamboo Shop (bamboo wood is a good eco-friendly alternative to your typical spruce or oak)

The Purr-purr bus (if you're okay with having slightly more exotic trees, from the End)

Hope this helped! <3

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

Why would you pay diamonds for less when you could just pay a few grains of sand for the best quality wood in the shopping district? You people confuse me

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

actually the Purr-purr bus isn't ethical at all!! ive heard they blackmail people into giving them sails!!!

🐟 gemstone Follow

*sales

🌲 supreme-judge-bd Follow

SHUDDUP

☀️ pearlescent-post Follow

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🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 131 without a mending book

34 notes

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

day 164 without a mending book

🐍 puppet-master Follow

Grian you know you can get free mending books at the cat cafe right

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

it's not the same

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

I need to be able to smell the breath of the sea between its sodden pages

🎣 mending-book-fanatic Follow

continue along the same path and you'll soon be facing villager unions

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🔥 tongo-tak Follow

Friendly reminder that not everyone wakes up at 2am, so please tag your Pearldle spoilers for at least a few hours!!

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skill issue tbh

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🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

hallo how flirt with pretty girl time sensitive question

🌺 git-gorgeous Follow

sell them something

🔥 tongo-tak Follow

bribe diamonds

🐍 puppet-master Follow

kill them

🇸🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

okay will do!!!!

��🇪 death2diorite85 Follow

wait

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🐍 puppet-master Follow

Happy pride month to lgbtqia+ people of all ages, genders and sexualities, you're all so valid and so loved <3 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️ ❤🧡💛💚💙💜

🐟 gemstone Follow

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

I'm making a rainbow beacon for pride, come look for it! i'll be with it by my husband @ renthedog's hole all week

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

*HOLE

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

*HOME

⌛️ d0ctorm77 Follow

WAIT I ACCIDENTALLY TAGGED IT

🐾 renthedog Follow

um.

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🌸 joel-beans Follow

etho is just kakashi on maple syrup send post

🌸 joel-beans Follow

almost forgot to add important additional difference! etho is also obsessed with me

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#ravenrambles #hermitcraft #hermitblr #fake dashboard #tw unreality #unreality #dashboard simulator #fake posts

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skythealmighty · 9 months ago

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why am i just now finding out about thisisnotawebsitedotcom i feel a little stupid.. then again i dont have the Book of Bill so maybe im lucky to know about it ???

#rocket talk #gravity falls #miss this show. anyway twink cipher fuckign jumpscared me

(3 notes)

👓 the-nerdiest-glasses Follow

Why Flatland counts as an object show: an essay

Keep reading

🔧 warp-pipe-sfx Follow

Why Flatland does NOT count as an object show: a rebuttal

Keep reading

⛓️ chainsaw-massacres Follow

why flatland isnt an object show: its a book + movie you assholes

#this argument is fucking stupid its just flatland

(3,821 notes)

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020 asked: Im going to tear apart your circuitboard until its broken irreparably

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

lol ok have fun w that 👍

also do u know any recipes for roasted pumpkin seeds the internets failing me rn and im cooking a big dinner for me and my bf

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Oh yeah sure https://www.jessicagavin.com/how-to-roast-pumpkin-seeds/#wprm-recipe-container-35845

🔘 join-my-evil-polycule-deactivated08142020

Wait why am I telling you this go die I hate you

🌈 super-rainbow-epic-computer Follow

thx for the help!

☝i-date-iconic-posts Follow

Date of origin: November 3rd, 2021

(216,025 notes)

❌ mephonex-deletes-your-favs Follow

~~Welcome to MePhoneX deletes your favs!!~~

I'm mod Xav (the only mod rn - -"), here to cause trauma to your favorite characters :)! PLEASE keep in mind that submissions will take a while to get to, because I have to photoshop out the limbs + background or even completely recreate someone's object if they're transparent!

The background flag is in the header and the X (recreated from an image of MePhoneX) I overlay on top is the profile picture if you want to make your own :) just @ this blog and I'll reblog it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~❌~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RULES ABOUT SUBMISSIONS:

NO INANIMATE INSANITY CONTESTANTS. I would like to avoid Apollo's Dodgeball thanks (plus it's insensitive)

No algebralien or algebralien-adjacent characters! I love those guys too I get it but I honestly don't have a good method of 'deleting' them planned. Feel free to do it on your own time though!

If someone asks me to take down a submission with them in it I will do it without questions. This is for a variety of reasons, but I think you get it.

Alright, that's it! Have fun :)

#not xed out #mod xav #pinned post #your fav is #your fave is #mephone #mephonex #inanimate insanity #ii2 finale

(681 notes)

📁 sticky-note-hit-post Follow

has anyone else wondered why this spaghetti code webbed site can connect across DIFFERENT UNIVERSES??? or is that just me

(2,416 notes)

🦀 thesamepictureofbaxtereveryday Follow

follow for the same picture of my crab every day!!!!! look at him :D

(3 notes)

anonymous asked: greeny how does it feel to be technically a higher being than most other people on the site

🟢 greenyguy Follow

sir this is a wendys

#i didnt order an existential crisis today :(

(37,102 notes)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

todays liveblog!! B)

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

knife and suitcase made it to the finale!! hell yeah so proud of them

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

balloons talk with suitcase didnt go so well :/ i hope they can get some alone time without anyone else so they can like talk properly next time

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

mepad???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

oh i think the finale challenge is happening

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

baseball looks worried but lightbulb's brushing him off :|

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

ojs backing away from paper??? wh

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WHJDT THE FUCK

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

WAIT I HAVENT SEEN SOAP IN A WHILE WHERE IS SHE???

🎤 screamintothemic Follow

OH GOD

#mics ramblings #SOAP???!??

(11 notes)

anonymous asked: evil woman are so hot <3 i will do whatever you want queen

🌐 dr-who-could-never Follow

Awwww, this means a lot to me, anon! Could you find Film Reel for me and doxx him? That would be really helpful <3

#He's been evading me #It's really annoying #Hard to take over the world when I have to worry about him 🙄

(6 notes)

🥄 only-a-spoonful Follow

WHY DO I KEEP GETTING SENT ASKS ABOUT PREGNANCY?!

#I'M GOING TO QUIT TUMBLR AT THIS RATE.

(47,284 notes)

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

if this fuckass hand keeps showing up at the edge of my vision i'm going to hit something

📗 journal-of-secrets Follow

#maybe hes in love with you

what the hell is wrong with you.

#unreality #fake dashboard #rocket talk #roc save #osc #object shows #osc community #object show community #twisted turns reboot #twisted turns #the daily object show #tdos #inanimate insanity #paper puppets take 2 #ppt2 #ppt2 osc #greenyguy

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schmilsson · 8 months ago

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dashboard simulator

mutual 1: [image of paul mccartney looking normal] such a sweet little polite mouse who lives in a forest. i need to do unspeakable things to him

mutual 2: 📸 carrie fisher and paul simon dancing #she should have been on tumblr

mutual 3: [beautiful fanart of 60s musicians as women]

mutual 4: even though graham nash was the woman of csny you cannot deny neil's feminine qualities

mutual 5: back in the torture vortex nightmare labyrinth again. mike nesmith just had a horribly awkward conversation with paul mccartney

mutual 6: [reblog of old man yaoi poll] #i am going to kill those puppets and then myself

mutual 4: [reblog of old man yaoi poll] #guys this isn't funny

mutual 7: [reblog of old man yaoi poll] #VOTE BRUCE/CLARENCE NOW OR DIE. GO MY SCARAB!!!!!!!!

mutual 8: [picture of john lennon looking normal] aaauuuughhh john......

mutual 1: john, paul, and silly love songs: quote compilation [readmore]

mutual 9: [clip of joan baez performing] #it's so over

mutual 10: the important thing to understand about head (1968) is the way the central theme of exploitation under capitali

mutual 11: the monkees gave me head and all i got was this stupid time loop

mutual 3: [long post full of photographs and quotes about and by george harrison]

mutual 12: frank zappa: what if it was called freaky canyon

#wizardspeak

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pankowcrumbs · 1 month ago

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Pissed off X Bucky Barnes

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Bucky POV-

The chair creaked beneath me, the ropes around my wrists digging in tight. Blood had dried on my cheek, crusted along a split lip. My head pounded, and there was a metallic taste in my mouth that wasn't just blood it was rage.

They'd caught me off guard. Sloppy. I'd been walking back from the damn bakery a baguette in one hand and my phone in the other, texting Y/N about whether she wanted red or white with dinner. I never saw them coming.

Now I was in some rusted-out warehouse that stank of oil and mould. My captor a man with slicked-back hair and a scar running across his jaw like a lightning bolt paced in front of me with a swagger that grated on every last nerve.

"James Barnes," he drawled, tapping the butt of his pistol against his palm. "The Winter Soldier himself. Never thought you'd be this easy."

I let out a dry chuckle, ignoring the way my ribs ached. "You're not the first to think that. Most of them are dead now."

He grinned like he thought I was bluffing. Poor bastard.

"Here's how this is going to go," he said. "You're going to tell me the access codes to the Stark safehouse files. Or I start removing fingers."

I leaned back as best I could, giving him a slow once-over. "Yeah, see... that's where you cocked up."

His smirk faltered.

"You think I'm the dangerous one," I said calmly, eyes locked on his. "But you just pissed off my wife."

He snorted. "And what? She's going to call the police?"

"Worse," I said, letting a ghost of a smirk curl my lip. "She's a sniper."

The guy chuckled. "You're bluffing."

I shrugged as much as the ropes allowed. "Not many people cross Y/N and live to tell the tale. But go on, keep waving that gun. Maybe she'll make it quick."

He laughed again, louder this time, turning away from me.

And that's when the bullet ripped through the window.

The glass shattered with a high-pitched whine, and the man dropped like a puppet with cut strings, blood blooming across his chest. I didn't flinch. I just exhaled.

The silence that followed was deafening. My eyes flicked to the broken window, a neat, clean hole left in its wake.

A minute later, boots crunched over broken glass.

And there she was.

Y/N stepped through the warehouse entrance like a damn movie star rifle slung across her back, holstered sidearm at her hip, hair pulled back in that no-nonsense way that made my heart stutter even now. Eyes sharp. Confident. Lethal.

"Took you long enough," I said, grinning through the pain.

She gave me a once-over, lips quirking. "You look like shit."

"Still prettier than the guy you just shot."

"Debatable." She crouched beside me, pulling a knife from her boot and slicing through the ropes in one smooth motion. "You good to walk or do I need to carry your dramatic arse?"

"I'll manage," I muttered, rubbing my wrists. "Though, if you're offering a piggyback..."

She rolled her eyes but helped me to my feet anyway, one arm steady around my waist.

"You let them catch you with a baguette in your hand?" she asked, raising a brow.

"I was trying to surprise you with dinner."

"Next time surprise me by not getting kidnapped."

Despite everything, I laughed.

We moved quickly through the warehouse, her eyes scanning for more threats. I'd seen her in action before, but something about knowing she came for me stirred something deep in my chest.

Once we were outside and the cool night air hit my face, I paused. "You really shot him through a window?"

She smirked. "Two hundred metres. Crosswind."

"Marry me."

"We already did, genius."

I grinned, limping toward the SUV she'd clearly boosted. "Still. Would again."

She opened the door for me. "Next time someone nabs you, can you try not to flirt with the kidnapper?"

"Jealous?"

"No," she said, pulling the door shut once I was inside. "Just bored of cleaning blood off my boots."

As she climbed into the driver seat, I watched her profile in the glow of the dashboard lights. Strong. Unshakable. Mine.

I reached over and took her hand. "Thanks for coming for me."

She squeezed it. "Always, Buck. Always."

And as we drove off into the night, leaving the mess behind, I knew one thing for certain:

No one in their right mind would ever dare come between me and Y/N Barnes.

Not if they wanted to live.

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chutefullofholes · 4 months ago

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568 word not-sunday thank uuu for the tags. blue ticket brady fic part 2 snippet beloooww (: gale cleven my sweet pin cushion barbie...

///

“It was mostly her idea when I brought John home,” Gale said, voice edging on drying up. “Told her she didn’t have to do that, didn’t have that kind of obligation to either of us.”

Johnny pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, looking out the window.

“If you cared about her,” he started slowly, pausing to exhale through his nose. “Then you’d have shown her the door instead of letting her choose.”

His words landed sharper than he’d intended, and he didn’t think he regretted it.

Gale's jaw clenched.

Without a word, he jerked the steering wheel right, pulling the car so suddenly to the side of the road that Johnny found himself throwing a hand out to brace himself against the dashboard.

Gale reached across him to shove open the passenger side door for him the second he stopped.

“Out.”

Johnny turned his head slowly. Gale's fingers were trembling where he’d returned them to the wheel, breathing coming fast and uneven.

“Huh?”

Gale’s knuckles started to pale. “You heard me,” he snapped, voice clipped. He didn’t look at him, just looked straight ahead like he wasn’t even there. “Get outta’ my goddamn car.”

For a moment, Johnny just sat there, staring at him.

The bite of the wind when he did get out curled up against his cheeks with a sting. He wasn’t exactly surprised when Gale didn’t drive right off, opting to keep staring straight ahead at nothing.

When a couple minutes had gone by, he leaned against the open door frame, one arm propped up on the roof.

He could see Gale looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but he still didn’t say anything. Johnny’s breath came out in a puff of white when he shook his head with a dry laugh.

“Not so far I can’t walk back, you go on,” he said and took a couple steps back, boots scraping against the gravel.

Still, nothing.

His fingers twitched at his sides, and he could feel the pressure building behind his ribs.

“You wanna know what I think though?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. “I think you’re a coward, Buck.”

That did it.

Gale wrenched open the driver's side door with a force that made Johnny step back, rounded the front of the vehicle and punched him square in the jaw. His teeth rattled with the force of it, his head snapping back from the impact.

Pushing his head back forward, he shook it off, rubbing the side of his nose. His face stung, but nothing felt too crooked.

Gale just stood there, chest rising and falling like he was hyperventilating but no sound came out. His body locked up like he'd been yanked up on puppet strings when Johnny shoved him back against the side of the car.

His shoulder twitched after a second, but no other reaction came.

“I was there when you laid Bucky out, know you can hit a man like it means something, huh?”

He inched forward intending another shove but stopped short when Gale's face crumpled all at once, and ragged sound tearing out of him, sounding something akin to a wounded animal. Shoulders jerking, his breath hitched again high and sharp in his chest, and he was crying. Gagging on his sobs wet and ragged like a little boy.

This sure as shit wasn’t what Marjorie must’ve had in mind when she’d decided they needed to talk- Johnny figured.

#the father turns his face away #gale cleven #john brady #mota

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retroactivebakeries · 1 year ago

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You okay? You only reblogged salt your stink once

And yet, with that one single stink, the threat of the multitude is made clear. I could reblog it a thousand times, if I so desired, could turn the dashboards of all who follow me into an endless cascade of incomplete puppet-foam and disquieting implications. Really, people should be praising me for my restraint and saint-like temperance more often.

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morgan-va · 7 months ago

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Chapter 2: Unpacking Surprises (Serial Designation N x Reader)

Masterlist

The truck’s engine rumbles to a stop as you pull into your apartment's parking lot, illuminated by the harsh glow of flickering streetlights. You cut the ignition and sit there for a moment, staring at the dashboard. The faint rattle of the crate in the bed had been a constant companion during the drive, a steady reminder of the headache waiting for you.

Dragging yourself out of the truck, you stretch, muscles stiff from a long day of doing more than your job description ever promised. With a sigh, you glance at the massive crate resting snugly in the truck bed.

That’s when it hits you.

It took a forklift—an actual forklift —to get this monstrosity into the truck. You don’t have a forklift. You don’t have anything even remotely forklift-adjacent.

“What the hell were they thinking?” you mutter, raking a hand through your hair. “Did they just assume I’d, what, conjure one out of thin air?”

You circle the truck, assessing the situation as if staring at it long enough will magically make it solve itself. It doesn’t. The crate sits there, smug in its immovable glory, mocking you with its sheer size and weight.

For a moment, you consider just leaving it there. Tell corporate it wasn’t possible. Let them figure it out. But you already know how that conversation would go—more meetings, more paperwork, and probably a passive-aggressive email about “teamwork” and “finding solutions, not problems.”

“Stupid box,” you grumble, kicking the tire of the truck for good measure. It hurts more than you’d like to admit, but the minor pain feels oddly satisfying.

You glance around the lot, half-hoping for a neighbor to miraculously appear with a helpful suggestion—or, better yet, a forklift. But the place is quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic.

With a resigned sigh, you cross your arms and glare at the crate.

“Well, this is just great. ”

Hours. It takes you hours .

Sweat drips down your brow as you finally, finally , manage to wrestle the crate into your living room, collapsing into your armchair with all the grace of a puppet whose strings have been cut.

Your arms feel like jelly, your back is screaming, and you’re pretty sure you’ve aged a decade since starting this herculean endeavor. The last vestiges of daylight are gone, replaced by the dim glow of your table lamp and the mocking presence of the crate, which now sits squarely in the center of the room.

You don’t even want to think about the mechanics of how you managed this feat. Muscle? Maybe. Brains? Doubtful. Determination? Sure, let’s call it that.

The point is, it’s done. The crate is inside, and you are alive, though barely.

You tilt your head back, letting out a long groan as you stare at the ceiling. The whole apartment smells like sawdust and frustration, the perfect ambiance for a wasted evening.

“All this for what, exactly?” you mutter to no one in particular.

Your stomach growls, reminding you that dinner was sacrificed in your epic battle against the crate. Pizza delivery crossed your mind at some point, but the thought of explaining your predicament to the delivery person—“Oh, ignore the massive box, it’s just ruining my life”—was almost too much to handle.

You glance at the crate, still panting from the ordeal. It looms over you, a silent, immovable monolith, utterly indifferent to the suffering it caused.

“Hope you’re worth it,” you mumble, dragging a hand over your face.

For now, though, the idea of prying it open feels like too much. Your limbs are lead, your mind is fried, and all you want to do is sit there and pretend the past several hours never happened.

The crate can wait. Whatever’s inside isn’t going anywhere.

After a long moment of staring at the ceiling and pretending you don’t exist, you sigh and reach for your phone.

“Fine. Pizza it is,” you mutter, swiping through your go-to delivery app with the efficiency of someone who’s done this far too often. Large pepperoni, extra cheese, and—what the hell—breadsticks too. You deserve this.

The app pings with an estimated delivery time. Thirty-five minutes. You glance at the crate again, towering like a monument to your bad decisions.

“Guess that’s enough time to deal with you,” you grumble, hauling yourself out of the chair with an audible groan.

You shuffle toward the corner of the room and grab your trusty living room crowbar—the one you’ve inexplicably had for years but never thought would actually come in handy. It’s a little dusty, but it’ll do the job.

Approaching the crate, you give it a final glare before wedging the crowbar into the seam and prying it open. The wood groans in protest before finally giving way, a satisfying crack splitting the air.

What you don’t anticipate is the avalanche of packing peanuts that spills out the moment the lid gives way.

“Are you kidding me?” you yell, jumping back as the flood of foam pellets cascades into your entryway. It’s like someone took every bad packing decision ever made and stuffed it into one crate.

The peanuts spread out in a chaotic wave, sticking to your socks, clinging to the walls, and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

“Of course. Of course ,” you mutter, tossing the crowbar onto the couch as you wade into the mess.

Shoving handfuls of peanuts aside, you finally get a glimpse of what’s inside. The faint outline of a humanoid figure, wrapped tightly in industrial-grade padding, lies in the center of the crate.

“Here we go,” you sigh, rolling up your sleeves.

You grab onto the padding and start pulling, your frustration giving you the strength to tug the heavy mass free of its fortress of foam. Packing peanuts scatter even further across the floor, but you’re beyond caring at this point.

Finally, with one last heave, the contents of the crate are freed. You step back, hands on your hips, surveying the now-empty crate and the still-wrapped figure in the middle of your living room.

“Well, at least you’re out,” you mutter, brushing foam off your shirt. “Hope you’re worth it.”

The doorbell rings, startling you.

“Perfect timing,” you say, heading for the door. Pizza first, drone later.

The door swings open, and a gust of cold evening air rushes in, carrying a flurry of packing peanuts out onto the doorstep. You don’t even flinch as they swirl around your feet and scatter into the night like tiny, foam escapees.

Standing there is the pizza delivery driver, a confused-looking kid holding your order in one hand and a receipt in the other. Their uniform is crisp—well, mostly crisp—but that doesn’t stop a stray packing peanut from clinging to their sleeve.

“Uh... your total is—”

You don’t wait for them to finish. You shove a crumpled wad of cash into their free hand and grab the pizza box with the other.

“Thanks,” you mutter, though it’s unclear if you’re addressing them, the pizza, or the universe at large.

“Uh, do you need—?” the driver starts, holding up the cash.

The door shuts with a solid click before they can finish.

The driver blinks, looking down at the money in their hand, then at the now-closed door, and then at the packing peanuts littering the doorstep—and their uniform. One stubborn pellet clings to the brim of their cap like a mocking badge of honor.

“...Okay,” they mutter to no one in particular before trudging back to their car, still holding the cash and brushing at their sleeve.

Inside, you set the pizza box down on your cluttered coffee table, ignoring the fresh layer of packing peanuts now adorning the floor. You glance at the still-wrapped drone sprawled in your living room and sigh.

“Dinner first,” you tell yourself. “Then I deal with... that .”

You sink back into your armchair, flipping open the pizza box and grabbing a slice. The comforting smell of melted cheese and grease does wonders for your mood.

For now, the packing peanuts, the mystery drone, and the fact that your living room looks like a warehouse explosion can wait.

Settling back into your armchair, pizza slice in hand, you grab the remote and navigate to your comfort channel on YouTube. There it is: the same documentary on dog breeds you’ve watched at least ten times. It’s a classic—a calm, soothing narration about Golden Retrievers, Border Collies, and other furry companions you’ll never afford on this salary.

The video starts playing, filling the room with the soft tones of the narrator explaining the origins of Labrador Retrievers. It’s a balm to your tired mind, a rare moment of peace in an otherwise chaotic day.

Chewing on a greasy bite of pizza, you let yourself sink into the familiar rhythm of the documentary. Golden Retrievers take center stage—loyal, intelligent, endlessly friendly. You smile faintly at the thought of how much better your day would’ve been with a dog like that around.

Meanwhile, in the entryway, the faintest whir of power surges through the room.

The figure you had wrestled out of the crate lies motionless for a moment longer, the glow of its internal systems softly flickering to life. Neon-white eyes flicker open, scanning its unfamiliar surroundings. Servos hum quietly as it shifts slightly, its metallic joints groaning under the heavy industrial padding still wrapped around it.

But you don’t notice. The narrator is now talking about Siberian Huskies, and you’re too busy nodding along to random facts you’ve already memorized.

The drone tilts its head slightly, its gaze locking onto the back of the couch where you sit.

“Known for their remarkable endurance and striking eyes, Huskies are popular among—”

Thunk.

The sound is subtle—just the drone trying to sit up and misjudging its balance, causing its arm to hit the floor.

You glance over your shoulder, briefly annoyed, but all you see is the mess of packing peanuts still scattered in the entryway. Shaking your head, you return to the video, muttering, “Need to clean that up... eventually.”

Behind you, the drone freezes, its eyes dimming briefly as it processes your presence. Then, it carefully starts removing the layers of industrial padding wrapped around its frame, each motion slow and deliberate.

The narrator is now discussing Dachshunds, but you don’t hear a word of it.

The sound of crinkling industrial padding finally breaks through the calm hum of the video. It’s too deliberate, too mechanical to be a random shift of packing materials.

You pause mid-bite, glancing toward the entryway again. At first, you don’t see anything unusual—just the mess of peanuts and the crumpled remains of the crate. But then you spot movement.

There, sitting amidst the chaos, is the drone.

Its neon-white eyes glow softly, locked onto you with a strange, unblinking intensity. Its metal frame is sleek yet slightly scuffed, its design somehow giving off an oddly professional yet approachable vibe. It’s dressed... well, oddly —a black blazer and matching pants, a gray blouse beneath, complete with a black tie. An armband sits snugly on its left bicep, and a black construction helmet tops its head, slightly askew from its recent escape.

For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other. The drone tilts its head, curious, the motion almost dog-like.

“Uh...” is all you manage to say.

Before you can figure out whether to yell, run, or demand an explanation, the drone perks up, springing to its feet with surprising energy.

“Oh, hi! You must be my new... um...” it pauses, blinking rapidly as though searching for the right word. “...Supervisor? Handler? New friend?”

You blink at it. Did it just say friend ?

“Whoa! Look at all these peanuts!” it says suddenly, crouching down to grab a handful. It tosses them into the air like confetti, its face lighting up with unrestrained glee. “It’s like a party! Is it a party? Am I late? I hope I’m not late. That’d be super embarrassing for a first impression.”

You set your pizza down, your appetite rapidly evaporating. “What... what are you doing?”

It pauses mid-peanut toss, tilting its head again. “Oh, sorry! I should probably introduce myself first, huh? I’m N!” It places a hand on its chest and gives you a clumsy bow, nearly losing its balance in the process. “Nice to meetcha!”

You blink at it again, still trying to process the whirlwind of words and energy.

“...You’re the drone they sent me,” you finally manage to say, your voice flat.

“Yup! That’s me!” N straightens up, grinning brightly. “They told me I’d be working with someone super capable and awesome, and—oh, wow, is that pizza? It smells amazing! What kind is it?”

“It’s—wait, no, you’re a robot. Why do you care what kind of pizza it is?”

N gasps, looking genuinely offended. “I don’t need to eat it to appreciate it! Pizza is, like, one of the coolest things humans ever made. Right up there with dogs.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache coming on. “Okay, listen. I don’t know what they told you, but I’m not... whatever you think I am. I don’t even know how to—”

“Oh, don’t worry!” N interrupts, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m here to help you. That’s what I’m for! You don’t have to know anything . We’ll figure it out together!”

Its enthusiasm is almost contagious��almost. But you’ve worked here long enough to know better than to trust anything JCJenson throws your way.

Still, as you look at N, practically vibrating with excitement in your living room, you can’t help but think: this is not how you expected your weekend to go.

Your gaze shifts back to the chaos in the entryway. Packing peanuts are everywhere , scattered like confetti at the saddest parade ever. You sigh, rubbing your temples as the day’s frustration builds.

Then, you glance back at N, who’s still standing there, beaming at you like you’re the most fascinating person in the world. He’s got energy. He’s clearly not going anywhere.

“Might as well put it to use,” you mutter.

“Hey, uh... N,” you say, gesturing toward the mess.

“Yes, new friend?” he replies, practically bouncing on his heels.

You blink at the title but let it slide. “You see all those packing peanuts? Could you... maybe clean them up? I mean, since you’re here and all.”

N gasps, placing a hand over his chest like you’ve just given him the greatest honor in the world. “Of course ! Cleaning up peanuts! I’m on it !”

Before you can react, he drops to all fours with a metallic clink and starts scooping handfuls of peanuts toward the crate he was lying in minutes ago. His movements are fast and frantic, like an overenthusiastic puppy chasing a ball.

“This is so funny!” he chirps as he works, pausing to hold up a handful of the foam bits. “Humans use peanuts for packing! I didn’t even know peanuts were part of your packing culture. That’s adorable!”

He pauses, inspecting one of the packing peanuts closely, then—without warning—pops it into his mouth.

You freeze mid-step, staring at him in shock. “...Did you just—”

He chews thoughtfully, the faint sound of plastic crunching coming from somewhere in his mechanical frame. His eyes widen, and he makes a pleased noise. “Oh, wow! Salty and crunchy—wait, no, not salty. Just crunchy. Is this a new flavor of peanut?”

“N,” you interrupt, holding up a hand. “Those are not edible.”

He freezes, mid-reach for another one, tilting his head at you in confusion. “They’re... not?”

“No,” you say, half-exasperated, half-amused. “They’re foam. For packing. Not food.”

N’s expression shifts to something resembling disappointment, like a child told they can’t keep the stray puppy they found. “Oh,” he says, setting the remaining peanuts in his hand down carefully. “Well, they look kind of tasty. You know, in a fun, quirky way.”

You cross your arms, watching N tilt his head as if still debating whether or not the packing peanuts might secretly be delicious. His hand hovers near another piece of foam, and you decide to intervene.

“N,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose, “just... don’t eat anything that didn’t come from a kitchen, okay?”

He brightens up immediately, saluting you with an enthusiastic grin. “Got it! Only eat things from kitchens! Thanks for the tip!”

You nod, satisfied for all of two seconds before your brain catches up with what you just said.

“Wait,” you blurt, holding up a hand. “No, scratch that. You’re a robot . You shouldn’t be eating anything at all!”

N freezes, blinking at you in confusion. “Oh, right! I guess that makes sense!” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “But, uh... what if it’s really interesting? Like, hypothetically?”

“ No eating ,” you reiterate firmly, pointing at him for emphasis.

He nods, looking appropriately chastised, though his gaze does linger wistfully on the pile of packing peanuts.

You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”

“Hey,” N says brightly, already back to scooping up the foam into the crate, “at least now I know! Mistakes are just learning opportunities, right?”

You huff out a laugh despite yourself, leaning back against the couch. “Sure, N. Let’s go with that.”

Watching him diligently clean up the rest of the mess, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve just signed up for the strangest babysitting job in history.

And the weekend isn’t even close to over.

Settling back into your chair, you grab the slice of pizza you’d hastily dropped earlier. It’s lukewarm now, but you’re too exhausted to care. You take a bite, letting the familiar narration of the dog breed documentary fill the silence as you try to decompress.

The buttery voice of the host is halfway through a segment on Golden Retrievers, their floppy ears and wagging tails parading across the screen in all their glory, when a shadow shifts in your peripheral vision.

“I’m done!” N announces cheerfully, his glowing eyes wide with pride as he stands in the entryway, the last of the packing peanuts corralled back into the crate. “It was super fun, by the way! Cleaning is kind of like a game if you think about it!”

You glance at him, raising a brow, but before you can respond, you notice his gaze has shifted.

He’s staring at the screen.

The Golden Retrievers frolic in slow motion, their soft fur rippling in the breeze. N’s eyes seem to glow brighter, transfixed by the scene. His smile widens to a point that almost feels too sincere for a robot.

“Wow,” he says softly, his voice filled with awe. He doesn’t look away as he speaks. “Are these... dogs?”

“Yeah,” you say, a bit caught off guard by his tone. “Golden Retrievers.”

“Golden Retrievers...” he repeats, as though savoring the words. “They’re so cute ! And fluffy! I didn’t know they could be so fluffy!”

You take another bite of your pizza, unsure how to respond. It’s not like you’ve ever had to explain dogs to a drone before.

N suddenly turns to you, his enthusiasm practically radiating. “Can I sit and watch with you?”

The question catches you completely off guard, and you nearly choke on your crust. “Uh—what?”

“I mean, if it’s okay!” N quickly adds, holding up his hands. “I don’t want to intrude or anything, but the dogs look so interesting, and I’d really like to see more of them! Oh, do they do tricks? Please tell me they do tricks!”

Your brain stutters, trying to process his rather innocent excitement. You eventually manage a shrug. “Uh... sure, I guess?”

“Really?” His grin somehow gets even wider.

Before you can say anything else, N plops down on the carpet in front of the screen, cross-legged like a kid at story time. He leans forward slightly, his eyes glued to the Golden Retrievers bounding across the screen, wagging their tails and fetching sticks.

You glance at him, then back at the screen, wondering how this became your life.

“Well,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for another slice, “at least someone’s enjoying themselves.”

As the documentary continues, the warm, familiar narration begins to blur in your mind. The host goes on about coat colors and temperament, their voice smooth and rhythmic, like an old lullaby.

You sink further into your chair, letting the tension from the day melt away. The soft glow of the screen flickers against the walls, and the occasional cheerful bark from a Golden Retriever is oddly soothing.

N, still cross-legged on the carpet, doesn’t make a sound. He’s utterly captivated by the dogs on-screen, his glowing eyes wide and unblinking.

Your own eyelids start to feel heavy. The last thing you hear before sleep claims you is the narrator explaining the ideal care routine for a Golden Retriever, their voice fading into the comforting hum of background noise.

The room grows quieter, save for the faint sound of paws splashing in a creek and N's soft murmur.

“Good dogs,” he whispers to himself, his gaze still fixed on the screen.

And with that, the day finally comes to an end.

As you sleep peacefully in the chair, N moves quietly around the room. His eyes glow softly in the dim light as he notices your plate, abandoned with half-eaten crusts. He picks it up with careful hands, carrying it to the kitchen, his movements as smooth and precise as ever. The sound of water running for a brief moment is the only disruption in the silence.

After he’s finished washing the plate, he turns back to you. The TV still glows faintly, the soft sounds of the dog documentary now lost in the stillness of the room. N doesn’t hesitate. He picks up a blanket from the couch and gently drapes it over you, making sure you’re tucked in just right.

He pauses for a moment, watching you sleep, the soft rise and fall of your chest. A small, almost imperceptible smile crosses his face.

“Good night,” he whispers, barely above a breath.

With that, he powers off, the room growing still and quiet, your only company the gentle hum of the world outside.

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