#these goobers mean the world to me

[s3lkie2sato]

oh my cod

[mister-anomaly]

HELLO TUMBLR DOT COM i feel like yall would greatly enjoy this byler scribble for my friend's st christmas prompt list <3 (check them out at @/nickfromguesswhohateclub or @/corrodedkas on twt !!!! theyre so cool and funky i luv them /p)

[maskeddiany]

self proclaimed professional

[todayisafridaynight]

are there ships you particularly like outside the obvious [ minedai , arasawa ]

have you heard of this funny lil thing called masadai

[illdothehotvoice]

It should be noted that whenever I'm like "Oh I like to think Sans and Papyrus hop universes trying to find Gaster or whatever" I'm not saying it to be like "I think they're so cool and edgy and-" (which is fine and valid) but more in th sense that it's about them finally settling in UT's universe and accepting whatever happened and moving on because they finally found a place where they belong and 😭

[bylertruther]

i only follow 40 blogs of which maybe <30 are actually active (this is a generous count) and sometimes i think to myself hm.. maybe i should branch out... find some other brothers in byler out there to bless my dash.. and then precisely .00002 seconds after i do that i end up seeing takes so bad it gives me immediate -75 hp damage and a poisoned effect that knocks off an additional -2% every ten seconds and makes my vision turn increasingly red at the edges as it goes in and out and that perilous journey always ends with me blocking 89743984739 people so that i never have to witness anything so heinous ever again. and then. and then a week passes and i do this all over again for whatever reason </3

[universewolfpup]

(The color game) Yellow, orange, midnight

<Incorrect-FNaF-quotes

AWWWWWW I FEEL SO LOVED DKSHSKSH

thank you for bein my fren :3c

[sanchoyo]

ik i said i wanted to do at least 2-3 personal solo zines this year aside from the one i already put out but im having such a hard time deciding on a topic?? 'random art zine' or 'sketchbook zine' feel too random kadhfkj. and the only thing ive been MEGA into lately have been my own ocs but making a zine with them would feel weird..also very niche lmao

[athena-theunicorn]

How come httyd has all the best romantic lines?

"You're as beautiful as the day I lost you." I literal classic.

"Astrid, you have me, no matter what. Okay, whatever that means, whatever you want it to mean. I am with you. There will always be a Hiccup and Astrid. Always." I sobbed. Cried real tears when I saw this for the first time.

"And, yes, I've thought about it a lot, I always thought it would be perfect." "This seems pretty perfect to me." "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"It's my betrothal gift to Astrid. It means we'll be together forever." He's such a romantic omg.

"You've always been there for me, and I want to always be there for you. I love you Astrid Hofferson, with everything I have, and I always will." Bros so SMOOTH.

“But with love comes loss, son. It's part of the deal. Sometimes it hurts, but in the end, it's all worth it. There's no greater gift than love.”

"I can't imagine a world without you in it." He's literally a goober HOW does he have this RIZZ.

LIKE??? HOW COME THESE TWO GOOBERS GET THIS? HOW ARE THEY SO DAMN SMOOTH! I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE OMG.

[bensolosbluesaber]

Nowhere to Run: Part 2 (Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader)

Read Part 1 Here

Pairings: Miguel O’Hara (Spider-Man 2099) x Spider-Woman!f!reader

Warnings: Miguel helps reader through a panic attack (descriptions based on my own experiences but not necessarily perfectly written down), mentions of isolation and isolation-related trauma, references to child loss, scars

Summary: Living in Nueva York and working with the Spider Society is pretty great... except for Miguel O’Hara, the man who injured you, saved your life, and now refuses to speak to you. Luckily, Peter B. Parker loves interfering in Miguel’s life, so when you’re at your lowest, it’s Miguel who is there to help you through it. ~ 2,200 words

Angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending

A/N: This is still dedicated to the Miguel O’Hara editors on TikTok as well as the people leaving the comments. There are light spoilers for AtSV (I made up an ending for BtSV since this is set after that).

--

Two Months Later…

Miguel O’Hara kept his promise. His Spider Society ran all kinds of tests, searching for an explanation for the rapid evolution that provided your the ability to travel the multiverse. Best they could guess, you had been close to the epicenter of your world’s implosion, close enough to absorb some of the energy leaking from what was essentially a black hole devouring the universe.

Another Spider-Woman had given you a more advanced goober - no, gizmo - to keep you from glitching and destabilizing the place they called Nueva York. It was Miguel’s home, she’d explained, and the home base of the Spider Society that kept watch over the multiverse. You’d started volunteering for missions with them, happy to be doing some good. It made you feel like a hero again, like there was a point to all the sacrifices that led you here.

But you hadn't seen Spider-Man 2099 since he dropped you off at a Nueva York hospital and huffed an order to “make sure she gets stitched up, and for god’s sake, get her some food.” That was two months ago.

--

“I can’t believe you bring a kid here.” You waved to Mayday who was sitting on her dad’s lap and trying to steal his food with her webs. For some reason, Peter had given her a web-shooter… as if toddlers weren’t difficult enough.

“Neither can I, honestly. But she loves these guys. Especially Miguel.” He frowned and took a bite of empanada. “She’s borderline obsessed with Miguel actually. I think it’s because he has such climbable shoulders. It’s good for him to see her too.”

“Meaning?”

“Ah nothing.” Peter waved off your question.

An awkward pause filled the space between you and Peter B. Parker. Just ask him, you told yourself.

“Is Miguel avoiding me?” Blunt. Right to the point.

“Ummmmm…” He drug out the word for far too long, looked to his daughter for help, seemed to remember she couldn’t do more than babble random sounds, and then sighed heavily. “Yes. He feels bad about…” Peter gestured broadly to you. “About a year ago we had a little situation with this kid - I mentored him. Good kid. Smart,” Peter added proudly. “This kid, Miles, made Miguel rethink a lot of things. We started handling anomalies... differently, a bit more gently.”

“He calls this gently?” You touched your scarred shoulder.

“Ummmmm… no.” Peter scooped Mayday out of the air where she was now dangling from the ceiling. “You freaked him out pretty bad. I mean you are a huge anomaly. Dangerous. He sort of, uh, how would those kids say it? Oh, yeah, he ‘went off the deep end.’ You should hear him tell the story.”

Mayday babbled incoherently.

“Yes ma’am, it does all seem a bit romantic when he tells it doesn’t it?” Peter cooed to Mayday then grinned at you.

You blinked once. Twice. Romantic?

Mayday went zipping away. Peter stood and sighed.

“Gotta get this kid, but I’m sending him to see you.” He took off after his daughter who was expertly navigating a minefield of other Spider-People (and animals). “Promise!” Peter tossed over his shoulder.

You seriously doubted Peter B. Parker would be able to convince Miguel to talk to you. And that was just as well because by the time you made it back to your room, it was turning into one of your bad nights. It was illogical. How could you could be fine for and suddenly a panic-stricken nightmare-ridden mess one random night? But then, the human mind is an enigma even to itself, the traumatized mind even more so.

It happened when you walked into your room and found yourself suspended in complete darkness. You followed the same routine every night, but today was different. Blackness surrounded you and closed in. You could see nothing, not even the hand in front of your face, and something tightened in your chest, clamped down on your lungs. For a second, you had control of the thing, were reaching for the light switch. Then you were spiraling.

Your mind was no longer in your safe room in Nueva York surrounded by the Spider Society who had taken you in and protected you and even become your friends. No. It was trapped in the silent and endless darkness of a collapsed universe, utterly alone, smothered in deafening silence. Your breath came in rapid, shallow pants, and you stumbled back until your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sat down on the soft mattress, drew up your knees, wrapped your arms around yourself, bowed your head, and tried to breath through it.

Caught in your panic attack, you didn’t even hear two familiar voices arguing, or see the light from the hallway fall across the room as the door was pushed open, or notice the shadows that loomed in the doorway.

“I know what you’re doing, Peter,” Miguel snarled.

“I’m not doing- why’s the door open?”

Miguel noticed you first. The dim room was the perfect environment for his sensitive eyes to make out your hunched form and trembling shoulders. In an instant, he was kneeling in front of you, an act that confirmed every one of Peter B. Parker’s suspicions. He watched for a moment from the doorway before taking a step back and closing the door with a click. Miguel had this under control. He was sure of it.

--

A deep voice, gravelly as if it were being drug over stones whispered your name. It wrapped around you, held you tight, and pulled you above the thrashing waves. That crushing feeling in your chest relaxed ever so slightly, and finally, you managed a deep breath. Then a second. It’s okay now. The worst is over.

After the third breath, you looked up and searched the dark room in a search of the voice’s owner.

Two dimly glowing red orbs shone in the darkness. You knew exactly one person with red eyes. Slowly, your own eyes adjusted, and the broad outline of Miguel O’Hara materialized. He wasn’t wearing his usual vibrant suit, just a dark colored sweater. Even kneeling on the ground he was still tall enough to be eye level with you. The two of you stared at each other for a long second before Miguel slowly raised a hand and... and brushed his thumb across your cheek?

What was happening? All you could do was blink stupidly at him, but when you didn't shy away he brought his other hand to your face. He smoothed his thumbs over your cheeks. He was wiping away your tears so gently and with such concern it seemed impossible. His hands were soft, softer than they had any right to be, and those dangerous claws that had done so much damage to you earlier were nowhere to be seen.

“You’re safe. You’re here with me.” Miguel’s voice was so commanding; he was obviously accustomed to giving order, but that actually made it more reassuring. “I’m here.”

I’m here. For some unexplainable reason those words reassured you more than anything. You didn't even think, just did. You slid forward on the bed and buried your face in the broad muscles of Miguel’s shoulder. His sweater was as soft as anything you could have imagined, and his warmth seeped through the fabric. He smelled like fresh laundry and something more woody and musky.

Miguel haltingly wrapped his arms around you, awkward at first, before he pulled you in closer. He held you like that for several long minutes, running his hands across your back and drawing small circles with fingers until your breathing synced with his. 

Since coming to this place, the most physical contact you had with anyone was the occasional hug or handshake or Mayday crawling up your arm. Before that it was Miguel holding you in the rain while he sucked his venom - you had confirmed that it was venom - from your body. Before that you had been trapped in a collapsed universe or on the run. Before that... well, being Spider-Woman was a lonely job.

To be held like this was the most comforting experience you had in longer than you cared to remember. You didn’t want to let go. Even when you realized that in this position Miguel was kneeling between your legs you didn’t let go.

Eventually, he shifted with a quiet huff. You pulled back immediately. What were you doing? Miguel definitely didn’t want you all over him. What could you have possibly been thinking, using the man who actively avoided you for comfort?

Miguel stood and stretched. You looked away, suddenly self-conscious.

“Thank you. I’m okay now,” you muttered.

That was an obvious lie. The man tilted his head as he gazed down at you. He knew what this loneliness was like, how it felt to have wallowed in solitude for so long that you forget how to feel anything but alone. His eyes shifted to your shoulder where a tank top did nothing to hide the four long scars he had left in your skin. You tracked his gaze and immediately tried to cover them with your hand.

“I’m okay,” you repeated, hinting that he could go even though part of you - an insane, irrational, needy part of you - wanted him to stay.

Miguel ran his fingers through his wavy brown hair with a sigh before sitting down, uninvited, on your bed. Next to you. He sat down next to you. On your bed.

Miguel O’Hara was handsome. You never denied that, especially now while he was inches from you smelling the way he smelled and radiating much needed warmth. The temptation to lean into him was strong, but not strong enough to override your embarrassment that he, of all the Spider-People, had seen you at your lowest point.

“I thought you were jumping through the Arach- the Spider-Verse with bad intentions. I had no idea you were running… from me.” The explanation came out of nowhere. Miguel turned to look down at you. “You had the potential to cause a lot of damage, and I panicked. I forgot you’re one of us, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.” Another long pause. “My claws have never poisoned anyone before.”

The apology was genuine, you could hear it in his voice. Some invisible barrier between the two of you shattered then.

“Are you saying you didn’t mean to kill me with your venomous talons, you only meant to seriously maim me with your regular talons?” You could feel a smile growing as you tried joking with him.

Miguel looked back at the bed spread. Should you? Was this a good idea? You threw caution to the wind and leaned over to bump your shoulder against Miguel’s.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve all made mistakes. Glad I was threatening enough to scare you like that.”

“That’s not what- okay.”

“You can look at them. If you want, I mean.” You nodded to your scarred shoulder.

Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, Miguel smoothed a finger over the scars. They were deep and jagged, but had healed rather well all things considered. His hand on your neck startled you for a moment before you realized what he was doing. Four tiny scars from his fangs still decorated your skin, and he was tracing his thumb over each one.

Miguel felt you swallow, realized what he was doing, and then froze. A single second stretched into an eternity during which you could confront every thought racing through your head. He’d chased you for months, but he had a good reason. He’d hurt you. Then he saved your life. There was that thing Peter said about Mayday being good for him. And Miguel’s sad eyes and ever-present frown. And how warm he’d felt while he held you. And the ripples of muscle across his entire body.

He’d kept his promise not to send you back. And he was handsome. Handsome and sad. So instead of pulling away and kicking him out and going back to avoiding each other, you leaned into him.

There was nothing awkward about Miguel’s movements this time. He wrapped an arm around you and maneuver you both until you were laying down, curled up against his side, head on his shoulder, his arm around your waist.

“What is going on?” You whispered.

“I’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Miguel whispered back.

“Okay, but why?”

“Because... because I know how it feels to lose everyone and have no one to hold you.”

You looked up at him then. He was staring at the ceiling, some memory you couldn’t see dancing across his eyes. Peter said Mayday was good for Miguel then refused to answer any more questions. The frown lines. How ferociously he protected the multiverse. Mayday was good for Miguel. Mayday. The kid.

It hit you then, and it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. Miguel had lost his family, probably in circumstances not too different from your own. You wanted to know everything about the Spider-Man with the fangs and venom and the saddest eyes you had ever seen. Not now though.

Already, you felt sleep tugging at the edge of your consciousness, a sense of safety and comfort brought on by Miguel’s presence.

“You could stay until I wake up,” you offered drowsily and splayed a hand across his chest. “If you want.”

Miguel ran his fingers lightly over the back of your hand.

“I think I might.”

--

A/N: There is a teeny tiny potential for an 18+ Part 3. No solid plan yet, but possible. Thanks for all the love on this fic!

My Masterlist

--

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[findafight]

Ohhh fic where Steve and Robin and Dustin and Erica all casually make funny little haha jokes with each other about getting tortured/almost caught by the Russians under Starcourt because they all have that shared trauma and had many a long late night calls reassuring each other they're alive and playing dnd together and fulfilling lifetime supply of icecream obligations.

They do this because sure the rest of the party knew there were Russians under Starcourt but everything they went through in that basement was sorta...forgotten in the aftermath of literal flesh monster. And with Hopper dead and the Byers moving, there's so much happening that whatever happened to Steve's face (lost another fight...) and why he and Robin went from mildly antagonistic co-workers to codependent goobers who couldn't go literally a day without seeing the other or what made Dustin always ask if Erica was going to come for party hang outs are all sort of brushed under the rug. Not a big deal, really. Bigger things happening after everything.

And they cope together and scoops troop is a weird little section of the party no one but them really understands. Robin and Steve are attached at the hip and to a lesser extent so are Erica and Dustin (but they'll never admit it), and they all have mini gatherings together.

So, the casual mentioning of starcourt and specifically what went down with the Russians is commonplace for them. (Erica is quick to remind them she saved their asses, and are they so lame they need her help again? but she smiles and Steve and Robin just laugh and give her a big hug.) And somehow, they forget that not everyone really knows what went down before July 4th 1985.

And I want them to do it in front of everyone. I want them to have their stupid "this was so fucked up but we're alive and we got through it so now we have to laugh or we may never stop crying about it" banter at a big "we saved the world again!" Barbecue. I want the rest of the folks there to go silent and them not to notice.

I want someone to mention Steve not getting a black eye this time, congrats! and Robin going "the only reason why I didn't get one last time was because the Russians said-"

And Steve, who is lying with his head in her lap, reaches up to gently cup her cheek and says in a terrible Russian accent "don't worry, we will not ruin your pretty face!" (everyone is quiet around them, they do not notice)

She laughs. "And punched me in the gut a few more times. I peed blood for like, three days."

Steve goes "ewwww" only to be pinched by robin.

"you peed blood too, dingus. You got it worse than me and my pretty face."

He giggles and opens his hand up for a high five "pissing blood buddies, hell yeah!" And shifts in her lap. "But they bruised my pretty face. Rude."

"aww. It's okay, Stevie, your face is still so pretty. Prettiest boy in Hawkins."

"thanks Robin."

"at least Dustin and Erica got us out before they started ripping out fingernails." She shudders.

"or used the bonesaw"

"mmm. Unfortunately not before we got funky truth serum drugs though."

He leans up, looking at the two "y'all couldn't have been a bit faster?" But he's smiling, teasing. A well worn joke.

Dustin and Erica respond simultaneously with "I'm missing bones, Steve, what do you want from me?" And "I was ten and my legs were short as shit. Beggars can't be choosers." Respectively.

It is at this point an Actual Grown Up butts in.

"what. What do you mean ripping out fingernails?"

Robin and Steve look towards Joyce, who asked.

"like. To interrogate us? Because we just kept saying we worked for scoops even with the truth serum."

"because they thought we had to be superspies to get into their creepy lair and not a bunch of kids."

"mmhmm"

Hopper jumps in "wait. You were tortured by them?"

Robin and Steve give him eerily similar looks that express how obvious the answer to that is.

"yeah, duh."

"I don't go looking to get brain damage every year, you know."

Hoppers eye twitches. "Why didn't you say anything?"

[s3lkie2sato]

thank you for taking care of me and being so sweet and so soft and so kind. you make me feel so at ease even when things feel so out of control. you are so gentle with me and i swear i could just cry and melt and become putty in your soft hands

if i could grasp the stars and lay them in your gentle hands, i'm sure they would rejoice. what i wouldn't give to see the twinkles from them in your eyes.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Well, that’s upsetting.”

Keith rubs his eyes in the vain hope that when he opens them again, the scene in front of him will change.

No luck.

Still a pile of ashes.

“So when you said you made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town way in advance…” Lance starts.

“I did so before the building burnt to the ground, yes.”

Lance’s mouth twitches. “And you didn’t, like, call to confirm, or anything.”

“I didn’t think I had to! There was — in what world could I have predicted this?! It’s not like anyone did a news report on it!”

Lance says nothing for a second, tapping away at his phone. Keith turns his attention back to grand scene of disappointment in front of him, wondering if he can maybe get his deposit back.

Probably not.

“Says here it was burnt down two weeks ago by three former employees who were fired for attempting to form a union,” Lance says, flipping his phone over to show Keith the screen. “If that makes you feel better.”

Keith glances at the article. “…It does, actually. Good for them.”

Lance laughs, tucking his phone away and then leaning over to press a kiss to Keith’s cheek. He grabs their hands, twining them together and carefully pulling them away from the ruins of the restaurant. “It’s okay, babe. I appreciate the gesture. Let’s head to my apartment and watch movies; Hunk’s gone till late so we can bang on the couch if you want.”

“What?” Keith protests. “No!”

Lance pauses, frowning. “You love banging on the couch.”

“No, not that.” He squeezes their hands together so Lance doesn’t get the wrong idea. “That’s great. I just mean…I feel like we always just chill in your apartment. It’s great, and there’s no one I’d rather hang out with than you, but I wanted to do something. I had plans. I wanted to treat you.”

A close lipped smile appears on Lance’s face; small, like he’s trying to contain it, making his nose scrunch adorably. He glances down at his sneakers, kicking slightly at the concrete, and his ears are delightfully red. He looks embarrassed and pleased — maybe Keith’s favourite expression on him.

“Alright,” Lance says eventually. He squeezes back. “Let’s go somewhere. Got any other fancy-schmancy places that aren’t burned down? We’re dressed for it, at least.”

Keith frowns, trying to think. It’s true that they’re both decently dressed up — Keith is wearing the slacks that make his ass look fat as hell and Lance is wearing his least scruffy converse — but Keith genuinely can’t think of a single fancy place that will let them in on such short notice on a Friday evening. The best place he can think of is the particularly well-maintained Dairy Queen on the other end of town, and that won’t cut it. Not that Lance would mind (he likes to be treated but has made it abundantly clear that he just likes spending time with Keith), but they’ve just done that before. Keith wants to do something special.

He brightens as the idea dawns on him. It’s no high-dining, but he knows Lance will like it.

“C’mon. Get in the car, I’ve got an idea.”

Lance grins. “Aye-aye.”

He lets Keith open the door for him, although he does roll his eyes (Keith knows his goober romantic ass is preening on the inside), and messes up Keith’s pre-set radio stations the second he has his seatbelt on.

“You could just plug in the aux, you know,” Keith grumbles as he carefully pulls onto the street.

Lance waves a dismissive hand. “The music is more enjoyable when I know I’m inconveniencing you later.”

“You’re such a brat.”

“You’re so in love with me that it’s embarrassing for you.”

Keith sticks out his tongue, but doesn’t argue, because he can’t. Instead he reaches over and grabs one of Lance’s hands again, listening idly as Lance hums along to the radio.

Twenty minutes later, Keith pulls into a massive parking lot, stopping a couple spots away from a silver minivan.

“Costco?” Lance questions, looking out the window like if he stares hard enough the building in front of him will change. “Why are we at —”

“Be right back,” Keith interrupts, leaning over and pecking his boyfriend on the lips. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Lance trails off, confused.

Keith dashes off without a backwards glance, ducking in through the exit doors so he doesn’t get asked for a membership card.

Twenty minutes later, he rushes back out of the building, getting to his car as quickly as he can. He taps the passenger door gently with his foot, hands full, making Lance jump.

“We you trying to hotwire my car again?” he asks as soon as he opens the door.

Lance shrugs unapologetically. “You took too long. I got bored.” He squints at Keith’s bounty. “Did you buy…six hot dogs?”

“And two drinks!“

Lance’s brows crease, torn between amused and exasperated. “That’s nearly a pound of hot dog meat each.”

“Yup.”

“We’re both gonna fuck up a bathroom tonight.”

“Most likely.”

“Those things cost less than a dollar. They’re probably made of possum.”

“And they’re delicious.” He waves a hotdog enticingly at Lance. “Come sit on the hood with me.”

Finally, a grin breaks out on Lance’s face, wide and toothy and fucking breathtaking. “Okay.”

He steps out of the car, following Keith over to the front of the vehicle and heaving himself up on it. Keith sets the food and drink beside him, then digs out his keys and steps back.

“Hold on a sec,” he says.

Lance picks up a hot dog and unwraps it. “Absolutely not waiting for you. Hurry up or I’m gonna eat your hotdogs, too.”

Completely aware that Lance is not kidding, Keith sprints to the trunk, unlocking it and digging out the supplies he needs. He slams it shut and sprints back, hopping on the hood next to Lance and fluffing the blanket he grabbed on top of them, making Lance nod approvingly.

“Nice touch.”

Keith sets the other item he got in front of them.

Lance squints at it for several moments.

“A…megaphone,” he says slowly.

Keith nods. “Yes.”

“That you just…have in your trunk.”

“From pride,” Keith explains. “Pidge likes to sit on my shoulders and make fart noises at protestors.”

“Ah, makes sense.” He pops the last bit of his first hot dog in his mouth, wasting no time to open the second. “And you have brought it out because…?”

Keith unwraps his own hotdog, using it to point at a guy in horrible (even by Keith’s standards) cargo shorts who is abandoning his shopping cart in the middle of the street. “Figured you might like to heckle some assholes as you devour your possum meat hot dogs.”

Lance lights up. He carefully sets down his hotdog on the blanket, then picks up the megaphone the way a mother might pick up her newborn baby.

“Keith,” he says seriously, “this might be the best date I have ever been on.”

Keith grins. “I’m glad.” He takes a long, obnoxious sip of his soda as Lance gleefully turns on the sparkly rainbow megaphone and holds it to his mouth.

“Excuse me, Cargo Shorts,” he shouts. Cargo Shorts jumps out of his skin. “You are being a massive jackass. Please return your cart to the cart area.”

Cargo Shorts scowls at him.

“There’s a big red sign that says ‘Cart Return Area’,” Lance continues, unbothered. “In case you’re having trouble reading that, it’s the big cage with other carts in it, to your left, good sir.”

Cargo Shorts looks like he’s debating stomping up to Lance and strangling him. He glances at Keith, who glares harshly at him, and then wisely reconsiders, stomping his way to the cart return and then stomping over to his obnoxiously massive pickup truck.

Lance turns to Keith, beaming. “Seriously. This is the best. I love you.” He leans over and places a smacking kiss to Keith’s cheek, making an exaggerated ‘mwah’ noise. Keith turns his head to catch him in a real kiss.

He tastes like hotdogs. Keith is sure he does, too. It’s nasty.

He doesn’t care.

“Can’t take credit for it,” he says, polishing off his second sandwich (are hotdogs sandwiches??). Lance winces at his full mouth, but doesn’t say anything. “Shiro took Adam to do this very same thing many years ago. It’s where he proposed, actually.”

Lance looks at him in disbelief. “And that worked for him?”

Keith snorts. “He’ll never admit it, but Adam is down bad. He always has been. He likes to say his proposal had that small town charm that made him say yes, but everyone knows it’s just because it was Shiro who did the asking.”

Lance opens his mouth to say something, then he notices a woman who’s trying to leave her cart in the middle of a disabled parking space. The megaphone is on and wailing faster than Keith can blink.

“Absolutely not, lady! Keep ‘er moving! Yep! That’s it! Cart goes to the cart return area! Just like a matching game! There you go!”

He sets the megaphone back down as the lady huffily returns the cart — as if she has been so wronged — and turns back to his meal, poking his straw into his soda cup.

“You better not have a ring in your pocket, Kogane,” he warns. “It might have worked for your brother, but I’ll tell you right now I’m gonna say no. Absolutely not.”

Keith blinks at the subject change, then laughs a little too loudly, unable to hide the slight hurt bleeding through his voice. They haven’t talked about marriage yet, sure, but that seems a little…final. A little like the mere idea is ludicrous.

They’ve been dating for two years now. Keith has been subtly looking for a way to get Lance’s ring size. Is it really so strange for them to want to make things official in the eyes of the law?

“‘Cause I want the whole nine yards,” Lance continues, oblivious to Keith’s crisis. “The secretive bullshit, the talking to my parents, the cheesy speech. I know you have it in you. I am hereby forbidding the small town charm. I love you, and I also love being treated like I’m hot shit.”

“You are hot shit,” Keith says reflexively. Then the rest of Lance’s rant finally clicks, and he grins, wider than he knew he was capable of, turning to his boyfriend. “You want to get married?”

“Obviously,” Lance scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he’s avoiding Keith’s gaze and his cheeks are just slightly red. “Doofus.”

“Hey. Lance. Sweetheart. Look at me.”

Keith wipes his hand on a napkin the reaches out and rests two fingers under Lance’s chin, gently turning his head so they’re facing each other. “Look at me, my love.” He waits a second, heat pouring off his boyfriend’s face, for those brown eyes to flick up and meet his own. “I want to marry you too, you know.”

Lance rolls his eyes. His mouth twitches. “I know. I borrowed your laptop the other day and you had a tab open for a jewellry store. Coincidentally, my grandmother’s ring has gone missing, and I know I didn’t lose it, so.” He clears his throat. “I’m a size six. I’m rings. In case you were wondering, for no particular reason.”

Keith grins. “Noted.”

“This doesn’t count as a proposal. Or as me saying yes.”

“Noted.”

“I want you to kiss me now.”

“Noted.”

“If you say ‘noted’ one more time I am going to fucking say no when you ask me for real.”

Keith hesitates.

“Do not,” Lance orders.

He bites his lip.

“Keith, I fucking swear to God.”

“Noted,” he says, laughter bubbling out of him, and Lance is whacking him repeatedly before he can even finish.

“Okay! Okay! Stop! I’m sorry! Stop!” He grabs Lance’s hands, pushing him back and pinning his wrists against the window.

“Cut it out,” he murmurs, leaning in close.

“Make me,” Lance whispers back.

Keith does. Or he tries to. He closes the gap between them, pressing their lips together, but both of them are smiling too widely to kiss properly, giggling nonstop, chest shaking and bumping with the effort, skin covering in goose flesh.

Keith hates giving his brother credit for anything, but Lance is right — this is the best date they’ve ever had. Not-proposal and all.

———

based on this post (seventh slide)

[zooliminology]

Update/What's in the Future

[Hey guys, you probably have noticed that this is going to be likely the longest dry spell of real Zoolim content in a while. I apologize for this. Life has gotten in the way of a lot of things.

-I'm an art student in college, and last semester I didn't take any art classes so I was basically free to do whatever, but this semester I've taken three studio art classes, which are all very intensive and in honesty I would not recommend it! If you're a studio art student stick to 1-2 studio art classes a semester so you don't go insane please! I'm currently absolutely SWAMPED with work right now. -The Golbo video and the video that is imminently due this Tuesday (that i am writing this post about instead of working on) are the results of my New Media class. Considering the ten thousand million fucking art assets I have to draw for these it's been very time consuming (still want to do it though.) -A lot of life things have happened to me recently, not to be super personal but a family member of mine is sick and my living conditions are not the absolute Best, so it's been taking a heavy toll on my health.

All of these combined, especially the studio classes part because I've been bled dry of creativity energy relating to zoolim basically, has caused this dry spell basically. My hopes are that after the semester ends (which is soon) I'll be able to work on things more. I feel bad about not working on it more but I have to draw things other than zoolim to literally stay sane because it's a lot.

So I guess that leaves us with one question: what's in the future?

Well, a lot of things... maybe? I'm a little dry on entity ideas right now but i have a few, and I'd like to revisit some entities more and expand on them. And while I enjoy the videos and the non-entry ideas I have for material, I would also like to continue the 'traditional' paintings and entries. So I hope I can work on that alongside other things! I also have more ideas for videos, but considering how I have to do nearly all of the work, aside from the narration (thanks Darvinos) any video production will likely slow down dramatically after the semester is over. Until my next New Media class at least, but IDK if it will let me make the same shit.

I also have some deeper lore and a story semi-figured out, along with characters (you ever wonder who's taking the pictures? not the same person who's writing the captions!!!) but they would be hard to implement in this tumblr blog organically, so maybe they'll show up in some videos. I've thought of asking more people for help for this purpose, though I'd need to work out completely how that would work, and the moment that zoolim becomes more than some backrooms world i work on mostly by myself will become scary.

Sorry that this post is a big ramble, I hope yall understand and I swear the Longlegs video will come out pretty soon, it will be worked on again right after I post this lol. But please take care, and thank you for all the support you've shown me so far. It truly does mean a lot to me. I've said it several times but I'll say it again, I never imagined this shitty little art project about weird goobers in the backrooms would get so much attention lol.

ok end of post]

[bones4thecats]

Hi!!!! Are you taking requests? If you do, ca I request overblot boys (+Kalim) with Kyojuro!reader like their S/O?

Finding Out About Kyojuro Rengoku! S/O

Type of Writing: Request Name: Finding Out About Kyojuro Rengoku! S/O Characters: Any Twisted Wonderland Character Requester: @kanroji-san

A/N: This is themed as a full-on angst, since it is mainly centered around when Rengoku (SPOILERS FOR MUGEN TRAIN) dies. By the way, instead of doing multiple different characters, I did a piece that is neutral to any character in Twisted Wonderland. I hope this ended up good, have fun crying, lil bubbles🫧

P.S: C/N means {Character Name}

⚠️ TW: Demon Slayer Mugen Train Spoilers and mention of death ⚠️

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

Kyojuro Rengoku! Reader ; Finding Out From Tanjiro

🫧 C/N knew that your job was something you held near and dear to yourself, so who was he to deny you going out on a mission that could save hundreds?

🫧 He awaited by Pomefiore's lightly-grown forest that you both would walk through as you spoke about either your previous mission or some random things happening with your master, Kagaya Ubuyashiki, or your fellow Hashira

🫧 Looking down at his phone, C/N smiled at the photo of you and him hugging, your arms holding the man up as if he was nothing while Nezuko snapped the photo from above

🫧 Hearing a knock on the door made him put the device down and call for the person to come in, and seeing Tanjiro there made him cock an eyebrow

" Tanjiro? What do you need? " " It's… about Y/N… " " What about Y/N? " " They- they died… "

🫧 His eyes snapped open as he looked at the young slayer, and he could feel his heartbeat begin to race as his mind soared. He had to be lying. You were about to jump out from somewhere, right?

🫧 Right…?

🫧 Oh lord…

🫧 The sound of someone falling against the grass of the calm environment made Tanjiro snap his head up in shock at the sight

🫧 He was crying… and his wails. It sounded straight out of a nightmare…

" I'm sorry, Mr. C/N " " What- what did they say… when they passed…? " " They told me, 'Please tell my one and only love, C/N, that he must pave his own path and be the person that I fell in love with, and tell him that I love him. More than anything else in this world.' " " That cheesy goober… "

🫧 Tanjiro snorted as his tears began to lighten up and watched as Nezuko walked up to C/N and handed him a large piece of clothing with a flame-pattern on the bottoms

🫧 It was your haori…

" We figured you'd want something of theirs… " " …Thank you, Tanjiro. Really, thank you… "

Little did he know, a figure invisible to all stood behind him and smiled gently before hugging the (color)-haired male tightly from behind, saying the words that they always wanted to say many times

I Love You, C/N...

[gaypyro]

I am starting to suspect Bonney is not actually an adult.

So, Scans for the new One Piece chapter have come out, and outside of me loving the 9 Goobers accompanying Kizaru and Saturn on this endevour; one thing. Bonney might not be in her mid 20s.

Big thing that stuck out to me was Saturn basically saying"Oh she's just a kid what can she do". Which is a very weird take to have about any of the worst generation. The fact she is crewless and has been for 2 years might play a part of it; but even still thats a weird belief to hold of a 22 Year Old Devil Fruit User. If she was secretly actually a kid (And likely was captured for a bit by the WG to blackmail Kuma) then it would make a lot of sense. The fact her actual age has a question mark and her fruit has been unnamed causes more confusion about her age and abilities, but we know she was probably not older then 25, deff not older then 30, pre-timeskip do to Kumas age then being 45 means she probably isn't using her fruit to appear younger. Furthermore

When she showed up at the start of the Arc she was both unconscious and in the ocean, which may have reverted her into her "Natural" state. The fact her clothes actually fit her very well as a child instead of being like, several sizes to small is also weird; but that could just be explained as Bonney planning ahead for age shifting. Bonney also acts a lot more like a child then an adult, regularly gorging herself, being terrified of insects, and breaking down crying over what she knows is a Pacifista, not actually Kuma, and begging Luffy not her hurt her Daddy; a term normally reserved for children (Adults calling people Daddy has... other connotations).

It's starting to look more and more likely Jewelry Bonney is actually like, a kid; and we don't know when Kuma started working for the World Government, but probably withing the last decade since Sentamaru was around early on and he was 18 at the start of the series. I could see her being between 8 and 13 years old.