#requests are open for a little bit

[hisokamywaifu]

guys i really need to write mahito smut

and for once i am motivated enough to do it

but

i dont have an idea lmao

so if anyone has good ideas for sub mahito smut, i am willing to take suggestions

[ryllen]

Look what came through the mail today! The letters & ( •̀ω•́ )σ 3 little gremlins from letterstoear.

Just wanna say i adore the flower stickers on the letters too much, they are that much worth mentioning.

[tuliptired]

hello! I don’t want to bother you but could you possibly right about old man Egon Spengler x fem reader?

Empty Pocket Waltz

Pairing: Old man!Egon Spengler/Fem!Reader

Not a bother at all! Firm believer that some pussy would've saved him

Better formatting on Ao3!!

You’ve been living in Summerville, Oklahoma for at least the last handful of decades. It was a cold and windy night when you loaded Callie into the backseat, before you and Egon left your lives in New York to save the world, supposedly. After starting from scratch in a gilded age farmhouse, sending a child off to college, meeting her children- it felt like more of a family dinner. Nevertheless, you were happy. And, despite the threat of constant doomsday for years on end, Egon seemed at a weird sort of peace. Every morning you wake up, you wonder what your future would’ve been like, if your daughter didn’t cry out in the middle of that argument. If he had never gone to hold her, and realize that this was a matter of your little family, as well as the planet.

That was then, in the confines of your miniscule apartment, paint peeling off the walls and water endlessly dripping out your taps. You took a long breath in, grateful for the abundance of fragrant house flora you had managed to keep alive. It was just you and the rolling farmland this morning, a silent little symphony as the sun beat down on your face. Not even the pan below you dared to make any noise.

Your moment alone was cut short by the gentle running of water, and later the creak of the floorboards that made up the steps. Egon had become a better sleeper in time. He used to insist on going in late, getting up early, taking care of Callie before you’d managed to open your eyes. But his old habits came crashing down after a while of falling asleep to gentle wind chimes, chirping crickets, pittering rain. And you found it adorable- his messy hair and soft pajamas seeing you off to your job in town every morning.

You felt a warm body at your side as you finished making breakfast. “Did you sleep well?” you asked, the question as familiar as he was. Egon didn’t answer, leaning his head on your shoulder while you carefully poured him coffee, one cream and four artificial sugars. Time may have altered his disposition, but never his tastes.

“Well,” you started, plating pancakes after he trudged over to the table, “I hope you eat as well as you sleep. We have a big day today.” you spoke excitedly.

Egon woke up a bit after a sip from his old and worn out mug. He puzzled over your proclamation, brow furrowed a bit. “We do?” he wondered, growing nervous in wake of your bright smile.

“Pruning day!” you announced, wrapping your arms around his neck from the back as he let out a soft groan. “And you’re gonna help out, because you promised your poor old wife with bad knees that you’d get it done. And because you love her.”

“Yes. And because I love her,” he said dryly.

You heard him sigh as you loosened your embrace around his shoulders. “The flowers aggravate my allergies and dirt gets stained into my clothes,” He paused. “Get me the shears from the mudroom, please?” A happy noise escaped you then before you buried your head into his hair. “Thank you, Egon.” Geez, did he always have this much hair? You could feel the white locks tickling your own scalp. “Ouf. Next item on the to-do list is a haircut.”

 Egon had been out there for some time when you emerged with a glass of lemonade. Watching your husband do physical labor under the sun was a fairly indulgent source of entertainment- but there’s just something about a man tending to a garden on his hands and knees that made your day a bit brighter.

“Since you’re working so hard,” you offered him the cup, a painted little thing that Callie had made in school, while you sip from your glassware. 

He didn’t seem to mind, shamelessly taking a drink. “Thank you.” He sat back on his haunches then, observing your mini yield. “You’ve got a lot this summer.”

“I know,” you marveled, taking a quick headcount of all your sprouts, shoots, and stalks. “It’s a pensioner’s dream.” 

If your grandson were here, and not up north- he’d undoubtedly be making fun of you both for your stereotypically geriatric source of entertainment. It had taken both you and Egon, the genius, ridiculously long to notice the acres upon acres of farmland at your disposal. Of course, this was after a sizable amount of stressing over what it took to adequately feed a growing child. So, you grew what you could for dinner, garden plot now confined to the side of your house as caring for it became hard.

You took refuge on a worn chair in the shade, legs crossed while your husband bent back down to work. You couldn’t help the pleased sound you made to yourself at the sight of him, pants hitching up to the midsection of his thighs and a bit closer to his skin than other bottoms you’d  seen him don outside. He’d gotten a little fuller over time, but you’d be a liar if you dared to say you minded. 

“Those shorts were a good decision, then?” you mused, low eyes still on his lower half. You nearly missed the look of offense he had as he looked over his shoulder. “Glad you’re bringing them back.”

“I have nothing else. We should put laundry on the list.” Egon stated. 

You rested the glass on your own thigh, condensation providing a little relief from the warmth permeating your spot in the shadows. “You have at least two pairs of sweatpants left. I checked,” you scoffed. You’d known him for so many years that you had no problem decoding his unvarnished nature, even if it was slightly annoyed. You knew he really wasn’t too upset at your ogling, or letting the chore slip your mind. And- he did wordlessly arch a bit further into the bush, a satisfied smile growing on your face.

After all his drudgery was done, you promised you’d find a way to repay him after a second shower. His hulking figure tracking soil around your hallways was enough for you to usher him into the bathroom and stay at the door until you heard the water run. 

He wasn’t very long, and you met back in your now-steamed-washroom to tackle his little salon treatment. “How’d this happen?” you murmured rhetorically, examining Egon from all angles while he dwarfed a stool. He always had refused to use the toilet for anything but its intended purpose, chastising you and your daughter whenever you dared to. In the rare times Callie looked to test his patience- Terrible Twos, she knew that a lesser loved doll or picture book could stand a swim in the porcelain, if it meant getting back at Daddy.

“I thought you liked my hair long?” Egon asked, covered by the fluffy towel you dried his damp hair with.

You brushed it back into its usual place. After a long time of being styled- probably since his final graduation, his hair seemed to compromise, curls finally growing in the way he had manipulated them to. “I do, but that was then,” you worked. “College-Egon was a different guy.”

He sulked a bit. “Elon’s wife lets him wear his hair long.” His uncharacteristic petulance was endearing to you, as you grabbed a pair of hairdressing scissors. These had saved Callie on many different occasions, most notably when you had come home to find her and her father locked inside the destroyed bathroom, trying every remedy in every cupboard and cabinet to remove something viscous and sticky that ended up on her from Egon’s lab. 

“Elon’s wife let him keep a family of foxes. She only put them out when they scuffed her china cabinet.” you laughed lightly, not yet removing anything from his head.

“I won’t take away too much. Just enough to not scratch me.”

He conceded. “You know best.”

“I know.”

You carefully clipped just shy of half an inch from the white that took over what once was brown. You had to admire its refusal to thin out, thick but light pieces littering the tile beneath you. Before he knew you, an old and apparently unkind barber down the street cut his hair. When the price of that looked too high for his parents, his father took up the job, and he wasn’t much of a step up. Once Egon was out on his own, people seldom touched his head, not even after his degrees were finished and he gave it a drastic cut. It always felt nice, being on the giving end of taking care of such a distinctive part of him. One he really never let anyone influence or alter, when given the choice.

A gentle snoring rumbling from him and the slight slump of his head drew you out of your focus when you took a step back to review your work. “You really are old,” you grinned, rousing him awake. You caught your reflections in the mirror. “Good?”

Egon gave you a nod of approval, sitting patiently as you brushed some of the stray white off his shoulders. “Good.”

You examined him once more, still not fully satisfied. Something was off. He still looked great- he always looked great. But you were skipping a step. Egon was nothing if not tolerant, waiting for you to finish your evaluation.

“I know,” you snapped. You didn’t give him much of a further explanation, dipping into the drawers of the sinkside cabinet and emerging with a razor. “Your beard.”

The very tall man nearly scooched off the stool. “I thought you liked it? You’ve never said anything before.”

You glanced down at the shaver in your hand. Shiny and electric- one of the first things you had ordered online, when that was a new thing. “Okay, maybe not these.” you placed them on the counter. “Come on, grandpa. Just a trim.”

You were lucky Egon trusted your judgment. So, you took the scissors and carved him back out, catching short strands with the equally as white towel.

“There you are,” you twinkled, proud of your cosmetology skills. You placed a loving kiss on his cheek, his own smile pulling at the muscle. In your little moment, he convinced you to let him paint your nails in thanks. Your husband. Egon was always handsome, before and after your pampering. But you reveled in the intimacy of routine maintenance with the one you loved.

“Darn it,” you closed the washer-dryer. Halfway through its cycle and it decided to start fussing again. “Egon?” you called, hoping he’d mess around with it again and finish drying your wet clothes.

And mess around he did. He turned knobs, moved pipes, plugged and unplugged things with increasing frustration. This didn’t show much but his stubbornness, but he really was a smart man. With a PhD. But this was one of his few intellectual weaknesses- “smart” appliances. It was one of the more newer things in the old house, an upgrade the handyman (Egon insisted he could fix the old one alone, nearly electrocuting himself before you put your foot down about it) who came from really far out of town to help you out had suggested. But, there was always something going on with it, whether that was your fault or otherwise. There was always a new fix, but not now.

Egon must’ve sensed your worry over the clothes still inside. “We can put these on the line to dry,” he reassured you, using some of his strength to push it forward and inspect whatever went on at its back.

“It’s gonna rain,” you troubled, peering outside at the graying sky. He was in his own, mechanical world, not hearing you as he assessed the faulty thing. 

“Egon?” You wrapped your arms around his middle. 

You could tell his ponderings didn’t stop at your touch. “Yes?”

“I know you can fix the car. And your proton pack. And my hair dryer.” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, which might have had a hint of pride.

“But maybe,” you cringed, “we should just cut our losses and take all this to the laundromat?”

He shot down your idea- because of course that was the wildest suggestion ever presented to him. “Why go all the way out there over something I can fix in an evening?” Egon reasoned.

“You know good and well it’ll take longer than an evening.” You had already started to sort soaked clothes into linen bags. “I’ll be lucky if I catch you leaving this room before the end of the week.”

“Then, by the end of the week you’ll have a working laundry room again.”

You placed one of your sodden delicates in his hands. “Everything’ll mold if we can’t get it to dry. And I won’t let you test any of it. We’re going.”

Egon grumbled, but followed suit, carrying the large bag of laundry to the car for you while you grabbed your mini bag of quarters. It was his silent compliance as he waited for you to buckle up that made you stroke his arm apologetically.

“I appreciate that you’re always trying to help. Remember what you did to Callie’s Furby?”

He nodded fondly. “The first to be able to talk back. She was terrified.”

“Well, she would fish it out the closet when she was mad. I never had to buy her a diary ever again.” you shrugged.

“Do you still like the jets I put in the bathtub?” he turned to you.

“Of course! You just never notice I have them on because you’re in there with me.”

The drive into town always took some time, bumpy dirt roads turning into proper asphalt after a while. Summerville was still a small town, so the laundromat was never as bustling as it could be. But your assumptions were proven wrong, as a dozen or so cars lined the curb. Either everyone’s washer or dryer started acting up, or the water company had a mass shut off.

Egon moved rigidly through the throng of people in the little space. These were the people, and some of their now-grown-children, who stared at him like he was an alien after moving his tiny family to a run down house all the way from Manhattan. You could somewhat understand their intrigue- the most exciting thing to happen around this place seemed to be community matters. But some of their rumors were outright laughable: you were on the run from the police (ironic if you considered how gossipy the town was), Callie was a monster he made in his lab (she played into that one when you went shopping), you were Soviet spies sent for espionage (fairly dangerous, considering the country was coming down from the Cold War and Egon was very visibly the child of two European immigrants). 

But, as years passed and no nukes were dropped and no infectious diseases spread from your daughter in school, Summerville learned you were here to stay. And they started to enjoy your presence, the few times you’d gone into town to run errands and with everything you did at work. You’d even gotten close to a family or two, evident in how a teenage girl sitting on one of the stand alone machines smiled at you.

“Hi, Mr and Mrs. Spengler,” Lucky waved. Her and Trevor had become close friends, at least the few summers he and his sister had spent while visiting. You had thought it wouldn’t stick- on account of the distance and the time it’s been since their last trip down here, but they managed to stay in contact. Very close contact, you’d been told.

“Hi, Lucky,” you returned, “how’s your mom?”

“She’s okay. She sent me here- ‘cause our washer won’t start.” 

“We’re in the same boat, then. Tell her: once ours works again, I’ll send Egon to check yours out, alright?”

Her grin grew, possibly at the sight of your husband's expression. He was used to you volunteering his skills in repair, though. It proved useful, in a town without any real mechanical service. Here, one just prayed they would never break down or lose power. But it was one of the ways you managed to clean up your reputation in time- Egon serving as an electrician, tow truck, or handyman whenever he wasn’t holed up in his makeshift lab. “Will do,” she nodded.

With that, her dad called her, and she was off. Not before complimenting your nails, though. You made quick work of loading your wet clothes, going through the motions. Halfway through, Egon stopped to pull something out of one of his wrinkled pockets.

It was one of your earrings, delicate and near tiny. “You fell asleep with it on.” he handed it to you.

Eventually, your laundry was done. And you didn’t even run through all your quarters. This called for a Coke from the vending machine- only a can, you both needed to watch your sugar.  The drive back was noticeably more jovial, you had clean and dry laundry, Egon had a new project to consume his time. He seemed to have multiple things on his mind, as he opened the passenger door for you.

“They’re calling today,” he said, almost anxiously. Callie had been calling you periodically ever since she went off to Ohio, of all places, for college. She had stopped after you came back from a visit once she had Trevor, and it wasn’t until after his father left that 1. You learned she had a whole other child not long before their split, and 2. He was an awful husband. After that, you made her promise to always check in with you, especially in the long stretches of time when driving up to Chicago just wasn’t an option. Egon’s been on top of her calls ever since, silently eager to see his daughter and his growing grandchildren. 

At some point, you found him in the living room, mulling around with the iPad you were given some time in the early 2010’s in order to actually see the people getting in contact with you. “You got it?” you asked, squeezing into your typical spot next to him.

He nodded, and soon your daughter was on the little screen. “Hey Mom, hey Dad.”

“Hi, Cal!” Egon had only waved, always a tad shy over the phone for the first few minutes. “How’s everything? How’s work?”

She seemed preoccupied with something offscreen. “Raining hard, here. Ceiling started to leak.”

You frowned. It was never fun to hear that your loved ones were struggling, even if they were small grievances like these. “Does your landlord know? It’ll only get worse as it gets warmer.”

“He won’t answer my calls,” she put her hands up, as if she was ridding herself of the problem, “we have buckets, it’s fine.”

“You know what we’re gonna tell you.”

“Do I?”

“Spend the summer here,” you urged, hearing her groan slightly over the phone. “It can’t hurt.”

“I can’t ask that of you guys. Again.” 

You gestured around the large, under-occupied house. “You lived here. You know how much space we have.”

Callie was silent, deep in thought as you continued. “We miss you. The other day I started wondering if Phoebe still needed Pampers.”

She sat back wherever she was sitting. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It feels like it! When you’re as old as we are, a day feels like a year.”

“Today has been quite a year,” Egon affirms at your side.

You sat forward on the little couch. “Even Dad agrees. He’s too shy to say, but he always wants to ask you for pictures. But he’s scared you’ll find it annoying.” Egon didn’t seem to be embarrassed, wanting to see the rest of his family as much as you did.

Callie spoke up then, eyebrows high. “I’ll send you pictures, Dad. Mom, I’ll…I’ll think about it, ok?” You’d take that, for now. Soon, Trevor appeared, waving at you both. 

You left Egon to have his time with the teenager. From the other room, you got snippets about a car show, some new friends he’d been making, a cut he got from trying to shave his legs- which was a little interesting. You can remember the first time he had held Trevor. The newborn was just happy to be alive, so awake for only being a few hours old. He took interest in everything Egon had to say, eyeing the shiny buttons of his shirt, the reflective frames of his glasses. In the private of the hospital room Callie was fast asleep in, he revealed to you that he was excited to watch a little boy in his family grow up the opposite in which he did: being allowed to play, get dirty, make mistakes.

It wasn’t until Trevor wondered aloud where you were that you peeked your head around the corner. After switching out with Egon, you settled into his warm spot on the sofa, tea in hand.

“Hi, grandma!” 

“Hi, Trevor. I see the leak was in your room.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. We have buckets.”

You smiled at that, chatting about more things- the show you were watching together, a recipe he was demanding you try, drama in school, before you remembered something. “We saw Lucky today. When was the last time you talked?” you gently probed.

Trevor brightened, if not reddened. “Last night. School ends later for us here so,” he swallowed. “But we’ve been able to talk every night.”

Your eyebrows rose. “Everynight’s an improvement.”

He waved you off. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression grew far away. “Is it that big of a deal?”

“She’s been asking when you’ll be back. Maybe you won’t miss her birthday this year.”

Trevor sat up straighter, so fast he knocked his knees against the underside of his desk. He didn’t seem to notice, while you winced on the other end of the phone. You asked if he was alright, but he was too deep in his head to notice. “Oh man, really? I got her a gift. Or a couple of gifts. I was gonna send it in the mail.”

You smiled knowingly. “More reasons to come here. Actions speak louder than words.” Trevor looked doubtful, brow creased a bit.

“What if she doesn’t like it? Like: ‘ohhh thank you Trevor, but that’s super weird. I’m getting a car but I can put the stuffed bear in the backseat’.” He must’ve gotten his anxiety from Egon- he sounded exactly like him in the days leading up to you being asked out. Or so Ray tells you.

“No chance. Every girl would like a gift from her boyfriend.” you shook your head.

Trevor looked at least a bit hopeful. “But, we’re not dating-”

“Mom said to let me on.”

You let Egon have a minute with Phoebe. They always had a special connection- there was no need for anyone to say anything because it was so clear. Trevor gave them their space, and you did too, and it was all okay because he’d been your little guy since birth, literally attached to your leg whenever he had the chance to hang out with you. And Phoebe holed up with her grandfather in his makeshift lab, learning and talking about anything they each had to offer. They really were cut from the same cloth, it was only natural. You can remember her delivery, too. The entire day was hard- feverish three year old, busy hospital, unhelpful and soon to be ex husband. Callie had to pretty much bargain for medical attention in the sterile room as her contractions got worse, let alone to get an epidural. Such an angry start in the world. But when she came, she was so peaceful, not even crying when she was brought out into the cold air. Precious is what you regarded it as, weird was the word buzzed around between NICU nurses. 

For the second time, in the dark of a hospital room while Trevor slept in his shirt, Egon barely whispered that, “she’s already different.” You knew exactly what he meant- and it was nowhere near bad. She was like him.

Phoebe’s room was messy as ever, but it was an organized mess. “Hi, grandma,” she greeted.

“Hi, Phebes,” you saw something round and white in her hands, “what’s that?”

She lifted it to the camera, fairly nonchalantly. “Our ac. He switched it off so I’m trying to jailbreak it.” Ah.

“When can we come back?” she added, clearly having thought about visiting a lot more than usual.

“Any time. You just have to convince your mom. Chicago’s getting boring?” 

Her eyebrows twitched once, the way Egon always does. “In the summer. And, if something happens to our house while we’re gone, the landlord’s responsible. Not us.” she explained.

That’s your granddaughter. “Smart girl.” You paused, noticing something different about her but not being able to place it. “Did you…get new frames?”

Phoebe paused in turn, pushing them up. “Are they bad?” she asked, brows knitted slightly. “I didn’t want to change them, but Mom made me.”

You smiled, “They look great. But, uh, what’s the difference?”

“These hinges are silver. The old hinges were nickel.”

That was definitely your granddaughter. Eccentric, in her own, special way.

Soon, Callie needed her phone back. As you all said your goodbyes, something popped into your mind before you reminded Phoebe that you saw Podcast and he wants her to call him back so they can play their game.

Phoebe scowled over her brother’s shoulder. “I’m banned. Tell him we have to find something else.”

Every time your family called, Egon happened to remember that the iPad had a game or two on it, and he was occupied until it was time to chorale him into bed. You waited patiently as he put it to charge, ready to be forgotten about for a while, and nuzzled into his chest when he returned to you. His sleeping clothes were always worn, but they always filled you with the familiar scent of him which you were much too happy never washed out. 

“Did you have fun?” you asked into the fabric of his shirt. Sure, it was a long and hard battle to condition him out of a gown and sleeping cap in the early days of your relationship, but you’d take what he give you.

He hummed in response. “Level 2801 on Candy Crush today.”

“One higher than Winston.” you gazed in the darkness at a familiar spot by the door, cracked ajar. Callie would wait for you both, as soon as she could toddle out of her bed and needed someone with her when she used the bathroom, or to console her after a bad dream. As she got older, it’s where she brought you both coffee on special mornings, and bounced on her heels waiting for approval to take the car. Callie’s spot. Perfectly between both of your pillows, if you drew a straight line, run a little ragged by bare feet, sneakers, and slippers. “What else?”

“Peter took something from my farm, so I put him and his dogs underground.”

You shut your eyes, though still enjoying your sleepy conversation. “That’s not very good conflict resolution.” He was quiet, and you assumed he had dozed off, you in his arms, until there was a tugging at your earlobe.

“What?”

“Earrings.”

“Thank you, Egon.” Your old man. This was a much smaller life than Times Square, Central Park, Ghostbusters. But it was your small life, with your larger-than-life husband, and you really wouldn’t have it any other way.

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Took me a while to figure out what I wanted to see you draw, but I think I got it now:

Would you be able to draw a character of your choice being "bear"-hugged by a Hildebear (haha see what I did there)? I feel like it might be excellent for comedy purposes, and I know how much you adore them :P

Thank you in advance :3

See, now you're starting to see why they're so cool, their arms were made for bear hugs :3 (surely your character would be inclined to agree, right? /s)

(but also, it would be a crime to miss an opportunity to draw Ralsei)

Thank you for the request! I feel closer to the Hildebears already :D

[parvulous-writings]

The Loop // Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish drabble(ish)

Warnings: Repeated main character death. Mention of gun wounds, and bombs. Spoilers for Operation Trojan Horse/MW3 Reboot's ending.

Words: 1.1k

Notes: What a hell of a fandom debut, eh? I have a few ideas similar to this one.... Ough... Lots of thoughts...  My requests are currently open! My request post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too! If you’d like to support me more, consider reblogging! I’d appreciate it loads!!

John wasn't entirely sure how long this had been going on for. How many times he had seen the same ceiling in the morning, the same people outside, had the same conversations over and over again. The first few times he thought it was just an odd, deja-vu fever dream. 'Okay, this time, it'll change. This time, it'll be tomorrow. This time, everyone will get to move along.' But, every time it was the same. He didn't know how many times November 21st had come and gone, only to come again the next time the Scotsman opened his eyes. He had lost count somewhere in the teens - which was god knows how long ago now.

Some days, he tried to do things differently, saying different things to those he came into contact with, taking different routes to the destinations he knew he had to be there for. But no matter what details he ended up changing, the day ended up the same way, every time. The Scot rubs his temple a little bit as he sits up, grumbling sleepily as he slowly wakes. He can still feel the violent thrum from what felt like moments earlier, his last few seconds of life before blacking out, and waking up here once more. He could swear that every time the loop restarts, the pain in his temple is even worse than the time before. He ran through everything that his pain addled mind would allow him to - all the details and points that he could remember;

The day would start with Laswell telling the team that Makarov and Konni group were in London, and plan to meet with a hacker. Whatever was on the drive in the hacker's possession - some sort of Trojan Horse virus - allowed Konni to control the trains under the city, that much Johnny had already managed to commit to memory. Makarov will board one of the trains, with intent to try and take over the channel tunnel. When they get further into the tunnel, through the numerous Konni operatives, he and Captain Price will find a guarded bomb. They'll manage to break through the remaining Konni operatives with the help of the Shadow Group, and then he and Price will start to work on defusing the bomb. The next few minutes - the last of Johnny's life - always seem to go so quickly. They're little more than a blur; the reserve Konni soldiers, the momentary stun of being shot by Makarov, the last stand, and then... Momentary pain... Nothing more, and restarting right at the beginning of that day again.

He had tried resisting before, that he could remember. Only once or twice, but he remembered. He had tried shoving Makarov away before he could take that first shot. The first time he had wound up with a shot to the abdomen because of it. It hurt like hell, but he thought he would be able to make it to the next day, with some medical help. But, of course, help never came - seemingly caught up at the other end of the Channel Tunnel. It was slow, and it was painful. He had hated it - and he had hated the panicked, dreaded looks on the faces of his teammates even more. They had tried to hide the direness and eventual hopelessness of his situation from him, but Johnny was no fool. Reckless at times, and certainly impulsive at others, but never a fool. It hadn't taken him as long to bleed out as it felt, but it was still too long. The only good thing about that whole day, was knowing that he had passed in Simon's lap, as the man tried his best to comfort him, in his own way. The second time had been worse - so much worse. He had turned earlier than the first time, anticipating the man's shot, but that had had catastrophic consequences. There was a yell from Price, and then, a bright, burning light. It only lasted for a moment, but by God did it hurt. It felt like his entire being was on fire - and for the briefest second, he could have sworn he smelled burning hair and fabric. Unfortunately that horrid stench had followed him through to the morning, sticking in his nose for the majority of that loop. He learnt from that; keep your attention on the bomb, Johnny. Keep everyone else alive.

A part of John wished that he could be caught in a loop of pretty much any other day. Hell, even some of his most humiliating defeats in his Under 21's football team would be better relived than this - perhaps the shame could be better dealt with than the knowledge that no matter what, no matter what course of action he takes, who he talks to, or what he tries to do to prepare himself, the day will always end with his death. It's set in stone, and to a certain extent, he's come to accept it. In any case, this last day allows him to think back on his life - and even though he can't change a single thing about it - about those good times. Joining the military. Pissing people off constantly as the perpetual F.N.G. Meeting Ghost - spending time with Ghost, even if the man was incredibly closed off. Finding a friend in both Gaz and Price, knowing that no matter the situation they had found themselves in, they had had each other backs. Even now, on this last day, even if the others didn't know it each morning, they looked after one another the best they could. If nothing else, Johnny knew that he could take solace in one thing:

In his last moments, he is surrounded by those he trusts most. Those he would have taken a bullet for anyway - he started to take the mindset that that was what he was doing here, taking a bullet for his team, ensuring their survival, and helping them forward. He could only hope that there were versions of his teammates out there that managed to move on from this day, who made it to November 22nd, and managed to give Makarov everything that he deserved. He supposed, though, that dying amongst his team, even if it hurt them emotionally, was the best thing he could have asked for, given the circumstances. Pushing this flurry of thoughts out of his mind, John took a deep breath, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

It was time for another day.

[skyafied]

hi there! i really liked your heavy redraws and saw you were asking for suggestions so may I ask for a little red Oktoberfest smooch or general fluff? pretty please 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Oh yes yes you absolutely may!! Thank you so much for the request and kind words, I’m so glad you liked them!!! I am shaking you and spinning around rn!! 💥

As for the Red Oktoberfest fluff-

I think they both express love in their own way!! I love old men yaoi!!! I also managed to dig up this very old WIP, maybe I’ll get around to finishing it sometime :’D

[cerealforkart]

i know requests aren't open, but just floating a lil idea down your way (especially after most recent DnDads episode)

the teens and Mr Peabody time travel adventures! (the ancient Peabody's Improbable History, from Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons)

or maybe just Link and Dood in that vein!

Had to look this show up before deciding to go a little overboard with this one. Anyways. Here's a cel from your favourite cartoon that didn't exist when your parents were kids

[garlicrrow]

if your deltarune requests are still open could I humbly request a Susie and kris just hanging out together... (if you want)

they watch the together a lot i think

[dollnightfall]

I dunno

[leavingautumn13]

If you're still taking requests for art, I'd love to see Scribe Haylen and/or Ellie Perkins sometime.❤️

and works!

now i'm thinking they'd get along...

[i-give-u--art]

My too silly’s Cassidy and Garret hanging out

so very silly

(art requests are still open)

[rockgodklav]

you have a tendency to touch your hair pretty frequently, how do you feel about someone else playing with it?

“Ah… I….”

“..suppose I do, ja. As long as they don’t pull the hair from my scalp, aha, I think I’d quite enjoy it.”

[motheatencrow]

i heard folks like this beast called slugcat ?

[fairyhaos]

good morning! just wanted to do a quick reminder that sending in a request but then going "...but if requests aren't open then just ignore this!! :D" does Not make your request okay.

the least you can do is check BEFORE clicking that ask button. not just tag on some line at the end of your request without actually checking if my reqs are open first. you all say that you like my work, but if you appreciate and respect me that much, could you at least actually act like it?

[parvulous-writings]

Hey! I saw that Bill and Ted were on the list that you write for, and I was wondering if you could do a Bill x Ted x gn!reader where y/n is autistic and they have a shutdown where they go nonverbal and everything feels uncomfortable (touch/sound/etc). Which in turn causes them to feel worse because now y/n feels like they're being a burden to their partners, but Bill and Ted will not let them believe that /Can be mostly fluff with a small bit of angst //you don't have to include this, but I do hc both Bill and Ted as neurodivergent, so if you want to input that you can 🌟

///This request does kinda stem from personal experiences, and I just needed some fictional comfort 😭

////Stay hydrated and I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/evening! 😊

Summary: Bill and Ted try to help you as much as they can whilst you have a shutdown

Warnings: Description of autistic shutdown, descriptions of overwhelming spaces. There's nothing too graphic or anything, though! Gender-neutral use of dude, that's just how they talk 0-0

Words:

Notes: I am so SO sorry this took so long - I was just determined to pour my heart and soul into this, as it struck me very deeply! I hope I can do this justice! Also trying out a slightly new format which is strange to me 0-0  My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!  Original character list - please request for these too!

not my gif

Somehow, the pair of music-loving young men had managed to convince you to go with them to a local concert. How they had coaxed you into it, you weren't entirely sure - their voices had overlapped so much and so many times that you weren't quite sure who was speaking when. "Listen, it's all going to be okay! I mean, it'll be loud, but you'll be with us, we'll cover your ears if you need it!" The shorter of the two, Bill, assured you. He was already clearly ecstatic, practically bouncing as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet. You hadn't even given a response yet, and he was already over the moon. "Yeah, you'll be with us!" Ted echoed, a huge, almost goofy smile on his face. Though the taller of the two seemed much slower in his movements, there was no doubt that he was just as excited as his best friend.

You had tried to explain that that wasn't always how it worked with your sensitivity, but no matter what you said, they always seemed to have an answer or a solution to every potential problem you presented them with. They were just so stoked at the idea you might join them to this concert - the event they had been waiting for months upon months to go to. The one thing that they had begged their parents to attend; that Bill had easily managed to cajole Missy to let him go to, and that Ted had somehow managed to convince his father that it wasn't anything nefarious, that he would be safe. They had already begun packing for you before you had a chance to properly consider - they were very sweet about it all, but your voice was very quiet compared to their overlapping chatter.

Three bags - backpacks - was what they ended up packing. "I think that should be enough..." Bill said to Ted, as the taller of the two was bringing more water into the garage from the house. "Are you sure?" Ted asked, "What if we run out of water? Don't want to ruin our throats, dude..." "I'm sure there'll be some there! Missy'll give us a bit of money, too..." Bill replied, starting to do up the backpacks, making sure everything was packed properly - maximising space whilst also ensuring that everything was at least somewhat secure, particularly the bottles of water. It simply wouldn't have done to have one of them burst in the bag, and soak one of your backs, especially when you were all going to be standing for so long. You stood there, awkwardly as the two friends rushed back and forth, making sure that everything was as they had planned. "Hey," Ted's voice broke you from a thoughtless daze. You blink a few times, and turn your gaze to him. "You okay?" He asks, his brows furrowed with boyish concern - he wasn't sure what was going through your head, but the worry was genuine, that much was clear to see.

You consider his question for a moment, before settling on your answer: "I'm... not sure...?" Ted is clearly puzzled by this response, so you fumble your way through a half explanation. "Well... I do want to go with you guys-" "You are coming with us!" Ted interjects, quite gleefully. "What I mean is, I... I'm really anxious about it- I've never done something like this before, I've never... been comfortable, with this kind of thing..." "Well..." Ted starts, trailing off for a moment. He must be trying to make some connections in his head. "Well, you'll be with us... " He repeats the mantra like statement that he and Bill had adopted since they broke the news to you that morning. "So, that'll help, right?" He asks - you had never been entirely open with the two about how some things would affect you in a drastically different way to what it affected them. Crowds overwhelmed you, excessive noise debilitated you and made you ever so irritated you, and change... Well, you had never let anyone but your family see the results and ramifications change had on you, but needless to say, it was unpleasant. Ted's quasi-reassurance came from a good place in his heart, but you weren't as sure that their presence alone would calm or aid you. You stay quiet for a moment, considering your options. Yes, you could refuse, and save yourself the potential overwhelming environment, but disappoint your friends... OR, you could risk it, make them possibly the happiest you've seen them in a long time, and it could all be okay. There was no way of telling. You sigh quietly, then offer Ted a tiny smile. "Yeah, I guess that could help...."

Before you had even entered the venue, there were hundreds of people, all swarmed together, bustling little bubbles of activity that you would rather avoid. Both Bill and Ted were in their element already, eyes widened with wonder and anticipation. This was what their whole lives had led up to so far. This moment - seeing a band in the flesh, and their excitement was starting to bubble up, with the evening barely started. You grab Bill's arm with both hands, pulling yourself close to him. He glances at you, and is about to say something - his mouth half open as the words begin to form - before he is interrupted by a cheer from one of the groups ahead of you, as the doors to the venue are finally opened.

Bill and Ted quicken their pace - they so badly want to get in there, find a good spot for you all. So eager are they, that they drag you head on into the flowing crowd. Bodies are pressed against bodies, all moving as one, never stopping. You're being pushed by people behind you, pulled by Bill, and by Ted. Your feet can hardly keep up - the minimal room to move not helping you at all. You stumbled along, with no choice in the matter. You feel your chest tighten - the night had only just set into motion, and already, it was starting to get to you. You tried to call out, to get the attention of one of your friends, but naturally your voice is lost in the sea of the rest. You try tugging at Bill's sleeve, and then Ted's - but because so many others had done the same in the last few minutes, that they didn't take any notice whatsoever. They keep pushing forward, dragging you with them despite your reluctance. It was all too much. You had no way to tell them, but it was too much.

You can feel your eyes start to almost glaze over as your voice dies in your throat. You can still see everything, but it felt... Far away, now. All of the noises that surrounded you blur and fade, becoming one distant and droning hum. You're rooted to the spot, though you're still somewhat aware of the fact that people are still knocking into your arms, shoving past you to make their way into the venue. It was a few minutes later, when Ted went to turn to you to say something about how totally amazing this was going to be, that they knew you had gone. Ted grabbed Bill's arm, shaking it violently to make sure he got his attention. Bill turned, brows furrowed, almost in annoyance as he pulled his arm away from his friend's grasp. "Dude, what-" "Listen - our trio's turned to two!" Ted exclaimed over the noise, grabbing Bill's wrist again. He dragged the curly haired teen back through the crowd, Bill struggling at almost every step. There was a flurry of questions from him: "What the hell do you mean, dude?" and "Why are we going back to the doors? We're going to miss it!" were the only ones that Ted managed to make out. He knew, that if Bill had realised you weren't with them, he'd be just as concerned as he was. Ted cranes his neck, scanning over the top of the crowd, looking for you. It's not as simple as it sounds: there are at least ten other people who he initially thought were you, but quickly came to realise they were not.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, they did find you. And, immediately, they knew something was wrong - of course, they didn't know exactly what, but, concert or no, they knew they had to help. "Let's try getting outside." Bill suggested to Ted, despite his earlier protestations that they would miss the show. When faced with the decision of your well-being and comfort, or a live show, it was a no-brainer. Carefully, trying not to startle you, they took your arms. You were almost like a ragdoll in their hands as they started to move to the back of the crowd, but suddenly you're pulling against them, resisting, trying to wrestle your arms from their hands. You'd snapped back to reality, feeling every sensation there was to feel; the overwhelming noise, the heat of so many bodies packed closely together, the tight grip of Bill and of Ted. You wanted none of it. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggle, and soon enough, Ted let's go, motioning for Bill to do the same. You draw in on yourself, holding your hands to your ears and looking down at the floor, trying your best to minimise the amount of stimuli your brain was taking in. It worked, to some extent. You feel a quick, but firm, tap on your shoulder - someone trying to get your attention. Your eyes dart up, mostly out of habit, to see Ted waving at you, his smile nervous and unsure. He beckons to you, silently calling you forward, and you shuffle slightly in compliance. It's difficult to move, but you register that both Bill and Ted are trying to help you get out of this situation.

Eventually, you're all outside, and Bill is trying to guide you to sit on the floor so you can rest for a moment, which proves extraordinarily difficult to him when he realises he can't touch you more than a tap. You both manage it though, and Bill and Ted sit either side of you, like they do ordinarily. You all stay quiet for a while - both of them expecting you to speak first, to say that everything is okay, that you're fine. But you don't. You just sit there, tears rolling down your face. Ted leans forward, waving a little to get your attention again, "You okay?" He asks, his voice quiet, unsure. You just turn your head towards him, unable to answer. You wanted to - oh how you wished to be able to! But... At the same time, speaking felt like it would be too much now. Ted didn't really know how to take your silence. Was it good? Bad? His eyes flitted to Bill, who instantly made eye contact; clearly they were thinking along the same line. There's a moment of tension, where the two boys seem to be mentally battling to see who should speak first. Bill eventually opens his mouth. "We're sorry..." He begins, "We.. We should have listened to you, about the concert and..." He trails off with a light sigh - not at you, but at himself. At Ted. They should have listened to you - should have arranged to do something else. You hear something rustle from beside you, and as you turn you see Ted offering you one of the bottles of water he and Bill had packed. "Drink, dude..." The dark haired boy urged. He knew you needed something, and that you may be in a state, but they both still want to take care of you, even if they were the main cause of the problem in the first place. Their hearts were in the right place, and now they wished to try and make up for their mistake. Bill wished that he had thought of your perspective a bit more, and sooner. He had been so wrapped up in his desire - which had practically become a need - to see this concert, that his mind could barely focus on anything else. His chest ached with the guilt of what he had brought on to you; he knew all too well what the overwhelm could feel like, and so did Ted. But their focus on the concert had thrown all other considerations out of the window, for both of them.

You shakily take the bottle from Ted, to find it already undone. You glance in thanks to him -unable to smile- before bringing the bottle to your mouth and taking the smallest of sips. It was all you could muster for the time being. "I have an idea!" Bill announced, a tad too loud for your liking, making you flinch. Bill notices, and winces too, giving you an apologetic look. "I was thinking..." His voice is softer now, more like a whisper. "We take you back to yours..." He points at you, "So that you can rest up... Y'know, sort yourself out and everything... We can stay if you want to, but-" He pauses, realising he's getting carried away with himself and starting to ramble. "And then..." He continues, back on his original train of thought. "When you're ready... You can come over to my place, and we can jam out." He gives you that trademark goofy little smile, all teeth and just reaching his eyes. There's a question teetering in your mind, bouncing around; one you can't yet voice. Ted, somehow manages to read your mind at that very moment; "Jam? You mean, we'll be using the guitars?" He considers for a moment, "I don't know... Your dad said he doesn't want to hear any bad playing anymore... and I'm not tryin' to say anything about your playing-" Ted turns to you, totally sincere, "But I don't think it's... Eddie Van Halen level yet, dude..." "Well, it can be with or without the guitars." Bill responds, "I mean, we've got the guitars to get to Van Halen's level." He shrugs, "And who cares what my dad says? It's not like he's there most of the time."

Ted considers his friend's words for a moment, his brows furrowed as if he had been posed with a very serious philosophical question, lips pursed in thought to complete the look. After a few seconds of this, Ted nods enthusiastically, seemingly satisfied with this answer, his grin returning. "It's settled then!" Bill announces with a grin just as wide as Ted's, and with the gusto of the old shining knights of yore. "We take our good fellow here," He gestures to you broadly with his hand, "Back to their dwelling for the eve. And then!" He points dramatically to the sky with one finger. "We shall wait to the morn... To jam!" You giggle quietly, and Bill's joyous face turns back to you, all teeth and smiles still. Ted's face lights up too, and the two boys meet eyes before doing their natural greeting to one another - an epic air guitar gesture that had become customary for them after so many years of being friends. It's not long after that, that the three of you are walking down the path to your home - taking up the entire pavement as you stand with all your shoulders practically touching, though the pair were careful to make sure that they didn't accidentally brush against you on the way back - they didn't want to upset you again. Bill actually nearly ended up falling into the road a couple of times because of this mindset, so ended up switching places with Ted. Then the same thing happened to him! The pair were laughing merrily at one another as they walked you down your drive. "I'll come see you at lunchtime tomorrow..." Bill says to you as you step onto your porch. "And then we can go pick up Ted on the way to mine, if you want to jam... If not, we could all hang out at your place, if you wanted?" Bill offered, and you nod slowly, "But you can tell us tomorrow, if you want, or later - if you can call?" Bill rambles a little, grinning at you. Though he still feels a bit guilty about the fact that his actions had upset you, he knew that you would all be able to work through it eventually; your reaction, to him and Ted at least, was perfectly natural. They may have had similar ones had they been put in a situation they had deemed unsuitable for themselves - Ted had certainly lashed out in the past because of the very same thing.

"But yeah, lunchtime tomorrow-" Bill repeats, "Don't forget!" He tells you, as if you ever would. With that, Bill and Ted scurry off into the evening air- the memory of the concert left behind and forgotten in favour of the plans the pair had started to make, in preparation for the next time the three of you got to spend time together, whether that be tomorrow, or even days in the future.

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Last drawing of my summer class, we were only given an hour but I think I made good progress (this was a test of sorts)

This will be the last time I'm studying under this professor, so I'd like to share his art page (I think it's neat to see how his approach to art has influenced my own)