#the 2ndone is something im drawing something for actually you'll have to wait

[butcher--bird]

"Hey. I got something for Spyke. A lil prezzy. Sicne I heard he liked meat andall."

*holds out a massive, raw, dripping chunk of bright-red steak, supported from underneath with both hands like a large heavy box. Its place of origin within the cow (or whatever the Splatoon equivalent of cattle is) is dubious, but probably passable as human-tier (or Urchin-tier) food if cooked, assuming it's even beef. Whatever it is, it's fresh, the kind of oversaturated red typically relegated to edgy Undertale OCs clashing against the soft, milky white of a thick outer ring of fat. A cross-section of bone sits firmly in the middle, a shallow divot of pinkish marrow visible within the larger, skateboard wheel sized circle of white. The thing resembles a live-action Flintstones prop, or the kind of cartoonishly exaggerated steak drawn by someone prompted to doodle the word "meat" in 30 seconds.*

"I found this thing and thuoght he might like it. Please give it to him!! <3"

*eyes the nearby table, a small and flimsy ordeal constructed from cheaply-veneered chipboard. Sloppily painted with translucent woodstain in a warmish mud brown, rubbery brushstrokes visible and edges left streaky and bare, the thing looks absolutely pathetic, almost pitiable. The entire table is pocked and marred with dents, scratches and cigarette burns, the legs held in by bulky Allen screws, one of them being propped up with several stacked chunks of torn cardboard. It looks wobbly, the kind of thing you wouldn't place a coffee on, and it better befits a suburban curb or a pondscum-choked roadside ditch than the room we stand in. Not worth repairing, not even worth burning due to the chemicals in the stain. Just a cumbersome piece of trash that would only be employed by the truly desperate, its one purpose better served by a stack of sturdy boxes.*

"I'll just set it down over there, okey? Thanksies!!"

*without waiting for a reply, I begin approaching the sorry excuse for a table, shuffling along straight-kneed like a penguin, my back and arms tensed and straining, yet just barely managing to support the weight of the printer sized hunk of meat, weighing similarly to a portly toddler, the kind usually seen holding a melty soft-serve in a Costco parking lot (or perhaps a MakoMart). My posture resembles a parody of a Buckingham Palace guard, but I maintain a strained, pressed-lips white person smile as I scooch over to the wobbly wooden affair, face red and jaw clenched but determined to not look like a wimp.*

*SCHLAP!!*

*in a swift and gleeful motion, relieved of my meaty burden, I drop the steak straight down upon the table, removing my hands from underneath it and allowing gravity to do the rest. Unsurprisingly, about a second after the slab of flesh makes contact with wood, slamming down upon a tabletop barely large enough to contain it, the table snaps in half, sharply bowing inwards as the top breaks clean in two, then being smashed flat again as it hits the floor, the legs shooting off with corners still attached. The table has been crushed. Bits and splinters of wood lay strewn about like a beaver just finished filming a mukbang, the blast radius of wooden confetti spanning about a metre. The steak, far more durable than the table, sits fully intact upon the now-legless tabletop halves, a dappling of reddish juices and milky fat droplets upon the floor the only indicator that a fall has even occured. After a momentary flinch, hands reflexively held up in the Thriller pose, I quickly take a breath, regain composure and turn to face you once more, my cheerful grin returning in an instant as if a mental light switch was flicked back on.*

"Oops! Sorry!~"

*After a few awkward moments of silence, I skitter away excitedly with a tumblrina giggle-squee combo, leaving you alone with the floor-steak and the splintery aftermath of a slasher film written by a pine tree, no trace of my presence remaining in the room but the mess, the smell of a dingy Claire's, and a distant ruckus of barking dogs (or whatever the Splatoon equivalent of a dog is) stirred up by the ear-piercing Krakatoa of roughly 45 lbs of raw meat slamming into a hardwood floor like an apocalyptic meteor.*

oh my fucinkg GOD.

this is the 2nd 'fanfic' i got in my askbox this week. when are you guys gonna start uploading to ao3?