#tiny robot frog

[alpacaradio]

TINY ROBOT FROG ON THE MOON

[thechaogardencafe]

@zac-attack2008

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[zipzapzopzoop]

Meet the Robinsons as vines (part 2)

[rachelexists]

Just a glittery little fr-obot

[revelboo]

laying my coveted collection of three (3) muppet dvds down at your feet/general offering table. my soul for some bluestreak, if you wanna. if not then enjoy the muppets- but! i never knew they did cover songs for stuff like "got my mind set on you" by george harrison and kokomo until recently!! or that bluestreak brought "the muppets take manhattan" with him onto the lost light!! idk i really like the mental image of this giant sci-fi robot next to kermit the frog, not doing anything in specific or whatever, just... vibing. if some cybertronians think humans are like weird protoforms, i cant help but wonder what they think of muppets, ykwim??? either way, have a happy new year!!

Blue needs some love and he’s such a goober sometimes. I can see him absently humming Rainbow Connection

Where I Belong Pt 10

Bluestreak x Reader

• Carrying you back to his quarters, he absently rubs a servo against you and warms when you hook an arm around it to hug him. “Sorry about worrying you. I didn’t want to bother Ratchet and it wasn’t really that bad. I’ve seen worse and-” Trailing off when you look up at him. Because he knows he’s rambling, but you don’t huff at him. Don’t tell him to shut up. You never do and every time you don’t his spark aches with it. With all the things he wants to say, but doesn’t dare. “Sorry.”

• When he smiles that self-depreciating smile, that sense of a lost boy lifts through you again. He’s older than you, much older, but still it’s there in the fear you see in his optics sometimes. An unsettled feeling you don’t know how to deal with, but that makes you think the smiles and chatter on the surface are all for show. That he’s still reaching for you like he had that first time, desperate and afraid. “Don’t apologize. Just take care of yourself. I like having you around.”

• Do you? No one else does and his servos flex around you as he lets himself into his quarters and sits on the side of his berth with you. Reluctant to give up your warmth. Feels bad about clinging to you like he does, but can’t make himself stop. Optics shuttering as he braces for the rejection, he mass shifts. Hears you yelp as you end up in his lap and he wraps his arms around you, chin on top of your head. “I like having you around, too.”

• Heart racing, you shudder and try to shake off that awful feeling of falling. Not even sure why you’re surprised by anything at this point when you live with a giant alien robot. Shrinking? Sure. Why not? “Warn me before you do that next time.” Or you might get sick on him. Distracted when he so gently curls his fingers around your wrist and pulls it to him. Watching him line up his palm with yours and even smaller, his hand dwarfs yours.

• “Sorry.” You’ve always been so small and fragile to him, but putting himself closer to your size really drives it home. Your hand so tiny in his. “I just wanted to hold you. And I can’t normally because you’re so small and you’re still small. I feel like you’re going to break,” he murmurs, embarrassed. You’re always touching his servos, hugging them, trying to comfort him. He wanted to return it, but still can’t. Like he can’t begin to explain how much he loves you for being with him. For not abandoning him when he’d needed you. For keeping him from being so alone.

• “I’m not made of glass.” Shifting more to sit across his lap, you reach back and find his other arm and pull it around you. Encouraging him to hold you like he’d wanted and you lay your head against him, seeing his door wings lift from the corner of your eye. “See?” You can hear his internal systems and the thrum of his spark as he cautiously rests his hand on your hip. “This is okay.” Breath catching as his head dips and his cheek brushes yours. That hand still curled around yours tugging so he can brush his mouth against the inside of your wrist, his optics still shuttered. That gentle touch spreading warm through you.

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[sparklystarrrr]

Hello again! I dunno if this is okay but as I read your posts I saw that people send requests via this! I recently read Hats Galore that was from @ghost3029's request and was lookin for like a side story where they met as kids in the Queendom of Roses but found out there isn't so I wanted to suggest like how they met please!

IMAGINE!✨️

Tiny Riddle, dressed in perfect red-and-white lace, is sitting stiffly at a long table set with precisely aligned teacups and sugar cubes. Other noble children are robotically sipping tea in silence, too scared to make eye contact with him. Then all of a sudden—

*CRASH!*

The garden gate SLAMS open, and in bounds was the tiny Mad Hatter!Reader. 7 yrs old, wild-haired, wearing mismatched socks and in one hand? A teapot. In the other? A frog. ( dats how far my pea-brain can think at the top of its head 🥺 and you can twist or salvage it if u wanna mate since this is just a thought! Hope ya read this~!🙃🥲 )

Sorry if i'm sending this while you might or might not be busy🙏, but I wanted to ask this of you before my pea brain forgets and I go through deja vu 'gain!🙇🙇‍♀️🙇‍♂️

(😔 sso sorry for bein uncultured bout this kinda stuff cuz its my first time usin' Tumblr so I'm just slowly familiarizing myself here!~❤️‍🩹)

Childhood romance is another one of my fav tropes its so cuteeee

Ribbit!

Synopsis: Where the young rose-red boy's love blossomed for the young, messy child

Contains: Riddle R. x Gn! Mad Hatter! Reader, childhood puppy love, set in elementary/primary school, very short

The sun was warm and bright, bright red roses decorated the bushes in the elegant Queendom, and it smelled of fresh fruits and baked goods. In the small elementary school the small children had been out for some tea time and recess. Children played and ate happily while conversing in a very poised manner clearly taught by parents and teachers. Some children though, not as elegant.

Little seven year old (y/n) ran happily among the bright green blades of grass. In the (h/c) haired child's hands was a small toad no bigger than a tea cup. It was slimy and green and covered in mud. Also terrified of being in the small troublesome child’s hands…

A small Riddle sat at a table with a few other small children happily drinking tea and eating scones. It was quite peaceful… until…

*BOOM*

(Y/n) burst through a play set, knocking down an incredible amount of toys with a gummy smile plastered onto their face. The frog sat surprisingly obediently in their chubby hands.”Riddle! Riddle! Look what I found! It likes roses just like you do!”

Riddle turned around in curious shock. “(y/n)? You’re muddy, let’s go inside and clean up, okay!” The small boy said in a soft voice. The frog jumped from their hands in a muddy splash onto little (y/n)’s chubby cheeks. “Aww, okay!”

Riddle’s own stubby hand grasped their’s gently before they could run after the frog, not caring about the mud and dirt coating (y/n)’s hands, and brought them in the classroom to wash their hands (with the help of their teacher of course).

Instead of bringing them to play, Riddle brought them for some tea.”Here (y/n), drink tea!” Before an adult could come assist, (y/n) happily grabbed the tea pot of warm sweet liquid and filled her cup. The child was not experienced in tea pouring obviously, so when pouring, they overflowed the tea cup into a large beige puddle on the table cloth. (y/n) plunked down the pot, nearly shattering it’s delicate ceramic,”Uh-oh! Big puddle, hehe!!” They giggled in a high pitched voice while splashing the tea around.

Riddle panicked a bit, “(y/n)! You can’t splash the tea around! It’s for drinking!” He hurried to get some napkins or something to blot the tea away. A few teachers rushed to grab something as well while (y/n) sat in their sticky mess. “Aww the tea got on my favorite socks ever ever! Look at them why don’tcha”(Y/n) shoved their feet right into Riddle’s view to show off the socks they wore. One had been pink and purple striped while the other was green and white flowers with tiny yellow polka dots. “Um, those are two different socks?” Riddle questioned.

“Mhm! They’re my favorite socks in the whole wide world!!!” They yelled happily, throwing their hands up to the sky and nearly knocking their cup to the grassy floor. “What’s your favorite thing?”

Riddle’s attention was piqued when their words came to him. He thought for a moment, “Hmm… I think it’s you (y/n).” He said quite softly. He was a shy young boy after all. On the other hand, (y/n)’s eyes were glistening. “Really? Me? Your favorite thing is me?!” it seemed like their smile was growing bigger by the second,”You’re officially my favorite thing too Riddle!”

(y/n) chucked their hands around the red haired boy, effectively knocking him to the ground. He hesitated for a moment. He’d never been hugged so affectionately before. It was new. He slowly wrapped his hands around them as well with a content smile. Little did the two of them know that in just ten years, they’d be the world to each other~

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Elden Ring DLC Bosses Revealed!

From Software has released a guide to all the bosses of the upcoming Elden Ring DLC, Shadow of the Erdtree! Here are the ten great monsters you'll fight in the Shadow Lands:

Messmer The Impaler

Messmer is the third triplet with Malenia and Miquella, banished to the shadow lands because for liking snakes and impaling people. Mostly for impaling people, but the snakes didn't help.

The Burning Colossus

A big heap of flaming bodies used as a weapon of war in the rival kingdom of Nausicuu, this massive beast has to be scaled and slain because that's what you do with colossi in games.

Albinauric Orphan Tear

The missing link between mimics and albinaurics, this monster throws his "husk" at the player like a boomerang. The first boss of the DLC, it guards the cave that leads to the Shadow Tree.

Godskin Brigade

The Gloam-Eyed Queen is guarded by an army of her progeny, the godskins. They bear her most fearsome weapon, the Incantation of Ganqskwa-Darengi, which makes them act unpredictably and never need to stop to let the player get in a single stab or arrow.

Godlion Dancer, Firstborn of the Gods

The murdered soul of Godwyn, son of Godfrey and brother to Godrick, Godrranq's lover. This guy has God written all over him. He also has 30 legs so he's good at dancing.

Birdmaster Tonguay, Slayer of Literally Everyone

Ever wonder who tied all those knives to all the bird feet? Ever wonder why there are so few people in the Lands Between? Meet Tonguay, murderer of all those people at the claws of his bird-knives.

Ribbitus, Priestess of the Frog Cult

Elden Ring's new gimmick boss can only be defeated by jumping from platform to tiny platform to poison the flies she likes to eat. She randomly kills the player without warning or opportunity to recover. She sings to you in French the whole time.

Metalgiir, Armored Gandamu

An occult robot constructed by Robot-Master Iji Jr., Metalgiir demands an entirely different kind of gameplay that doesn't fit or scale to anything else in the game, yet is not optional so you have to learn to beat him or you get nothing.

Ouchlord Vivaldi

Just... Don't fight this guy, he clearly has enough problems going on.

Daniel R. Clarksen

Little is known of Daniel Clarksen or why the Tarnished must fight him. He seems like a decent guy, but he probably like turns into a giant demon thing with boobs. These games have lots of those.

[honourablejester]

Daggerheart

Okay, so Daggerheart is the new hotness? And I was curious, so I bought the pdf version, both to look at character creation and also the campaign frames, because I enjoy character building and also worldbuilding. And …

Firstly? I’m vibing. This system is so modular, so mix-and-match, so ‘grab the bits you want and have fun’. In terms of character creation, it feels very … lego-esque? You get handed a pile of bricks and you pick your favourites to build a creature out of them. I’m definitely vibing over here.

Secondly. I know Age of Umbra is the campaign frame everyone’s talking about, because it’s Matt’s own one, and the Critical Role campaign is happening (sidenote, watched the session zero, it looks a LOT of fun). And Age of Umbra looks good! I would absolutely play it! But personally?

Colossus of the Drylands is up in my belltower ringing the entire carillon at once over here.

It’s a high fantasy wild west campaign where in the middle of a gold essentia rush, as massive industrialised forces are busy trying to mine out the local landscape, an ancient and imprisoned and extremely pissed off elder god beneath the earth has woken up and has started raising titanic colossi to regain his missing pieces. Because back when the new gods overthrew the old, they hurled their defeated foes down to earth and locked them away, taking pieces of them to weaken them, but the blood from their wounds seeped into the earth and started growing outwards towards those missing pieces, so that untold ages later, they’ve finally gotten close enough to start trying to get them back.

Said blood, by the way, is the ‘essentia’ that’s the target of our industrial gold rush, because essentia is also crystalised magic, the only reason mortals have magic, and the power source for a quite significant number of modern inventions.

So, basically, you’ve got Shadow of the Colossus meets Bravestarr meets Deadlands meets the western of your choice (Magnificent Seven, anyone?).

Again, clanks (aka magic robots) are an ancestry option here. You’ve got frog people, dragon people, tortoise people, mushroom people, as well as your standard orcs, dwarves, elves, goblins, etc. Which. In a fantasy western campaign.

I can have a tortoise desert drifter. I can have a dwarven gunsmith. I can have dried-out, lasso-wielding, horse-riding fucking cowboy frog. And I want one.

But. There are immediately like seventeen characters I could make for a Drylands Colossus campaign. But. One tiny detail. It’s specifically noted that in this setting, clanks are powered by essentia. So if you want to play a clank character, you’ve got to a) think of the practical concerns like how to get a steady supply of it, but also b) deal with the philosophical concerns that you’re powered by the crystalised blood of the pissed off elder god currently throwing monsters across your whole country.

Like. How do you deal with that? Reconcile that. Because …

This campaign setting is in the middle of being mined out. It’s gold rush, baby! But for essentia. All the forces of industry have arrived in the mesas to tear the magic out of the ground, render it down, and ship it out to the rest of the world to power a new age. And in the middle of that an ancient god who hates everybody and wants to tear down the whole world and start again has woken up and started throwing skyscraper-sized monsters around. But it’s pissed off because it’s been mutilated and imprisoned and its blood, its literal blood, is what mortals have been mining to make their new world. (Well. That and vengeance on the new gods, obviously. But they’re not down here having to deal with it currently).

Now. Is it also probably evil? Possibly. Is it apocalyptic? Definitely. But there’s also …

I mean. There’s a tension there. And as a clank that’s a tension that you physically embody. You are a physical manifestation of the exploitation of the land around you, the land currently vengefully rising to wipe the slate clean. You bleed gods to live, not just to be powerful. But, possibly crucially, not entirely by your own choice. You were built. You were made this way. So … what are you going to do about it?

A clank druid. A clank renewal druid. In a Colossus of the Drylands campaign.

I’m vibing. Most definitely. I am seeing possibilities over here. Heh.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 31

Bravern (and Lewis Smith) + unconventional

I had NO idea what to call this honestly, cuz I had already used size difference earlier and Braverns like 9 meters tall. I love this big bot, and I just wanted to finish kinktober even if I finished it late, so here we go.

Yall should watch Bang Brave Bravern so we can talk about it, it’s really good. Giant gay robot 👍

Some Bravern spoilers, so if you wanna watch it first, go do that. Its only 12 episodes. No outright smut in this one cuz I couldn’t figure out how to do it?

Kinktober 2024 masterlist

Having a giant robot for a boyfriend was… different than your past relationships. Well, dating Lewis had been normal and all, but then he became a giant robot that reminded you of something out of Hollywood. You could already hear him whining that it wasn’t Hollywood but more so the mecha genre of Japanese superhero shows.

It was a bit of a mind fuck, or maybe a very big mind fuck. It felt kinda like having two boyfriends, but not really since they were the same guy, not again, not really. Lewis was still around, as himself, but he was also there, as Bravern. It also felt a bit like cheating, since no one but you had figured out who Bravern truly was.

But how could you not clock it immediately, when Lewis had spent hours telling you how his mecha would look, if he was in one of his shows or manga, back when you were both still in military training. You had never really gotten the gist of it, but it made Lewis happy. This also meant you easily went along with Halloween costumes he wanted to do, especially since seeing you in some sentai hero suit always got him so hot and bothered.

But, back to Bravern. It was almost impossible to meet up secretly with a robot, mecha, this big. He barely fit into the warehouse set up for him. Hed started stuttering over his words when you showed up saying you wanted to talk, and really, how could you not recognize your own boyfriend when he did that.

In the end, you coldly and seriously told him you knew his secret, making Bravern gulp, could mecha even gulp? But, before you knew it, Bravern had shifted into a ship? Car? Thing? And told you to get in so you could talk privately.

After getting the whole situation from him, part of you couldn’t help but be hurt that you weren’t his pilot. Why was Isami so great, when you were right there? Bravern, Lewis? Seemed to recognize your hurt feelings immediately, and scooped you up as carefully as one with a jellyfish in his giant metallic hands.

He immediately started apologizing in ways you knew so well, from the times hed accidentally ripped your shirts pulling them on thanks to his impressive pecs, or that time he scratched your car showing off one of the new nerd swords hed bought. You weren’t sure if mecha even could cry, but somehow Bravern looked near tears about it.

Even without pupils you could tell Bravern was looking at you the same way Lewis always did, when he felt like he had messed up and wanted to be forgiven. He always reminded you of a floppy eared golden retriever, and somehow, even as a giant 9-meter tall mecha, he still did.

A long-drawn-out sigh left your lungs as you pinched at the bridge of your nose, the noise making Bravern curl in on himself in such a familiar way. “Lift me closer to your face” you finally muster out, running a hand down your face as Bravern was quick to do so, seemingly not wanting to hurt your feelings even more.

Kissing a giant robot was even weirder, part of you wondering if he could even feel your tiny lips against his massive pair. This was probably how those chicks felt in the transformers fanfiction you sometimes read. What? There is very little male reader stuff, so you take what you can get.

Bravern jolted enough for the ground under you to shake a little, his lips parting for a moment before he pursed them. It was almost comical, to be standing on the palm of his giant hand as he pursed his lips, like some weird princess and the frog mockery, but the princess was a red, white and gold mecha, and the frog was you, in your dirty military uniform.

Placing a hand on his metallic chin kind of reminded you of doing checkups on your titanostrider, except Bravern was, more alive under your touch? It was difficult to explain, and you’d probably give yourself a migraine just thinking about it. You still hadn’t really registered how he was both here as Lewis, and here as Bravern at the same time.

When you kissed Lewis, you would always grab his chin between your pointer and thumb and squeeze it, just enough for him to part his lips so you could slide your tongue inside. Your hands seemed to have the same reaction with Bravern, whose large lips parted slightly. On Lewis it would barely have been noticeable, but as Bravern it was right there.

“Stick your tongue out a little” you mumble, somewhat unsure if he could even hear you, with you standing below his nose and his ears being… wherever they are on a mecha. But Bravern, always being so good no matter what form he was in, stuck the tip of his tongue out between his lips.

Normally, you liked to really coil your tongue around his, knowing it drove Lewis crazy to have all that spit and slobber all over his face and running down his neck. That obviously wasn’t possible, so instead you sank your teeth into the tip of Braverns tongue before sucking it into your mouth.

You hadn’t really had a tongue this big in your mouth before, so you resorted to the same tongue and suckling movements you’d do when you had your mouth around Lewis’s large pecs. There wasn’t a nipple to tease or bite at, so instead you just cranked up the way you rubbed and moved your tongue.

Hearing Bravern moan was so loud, and it surrounded you in a way you hadn’t experienced before. Even the times where you had Lewis sobbing with pleasure in your ear wasn’t like this, but Bravern sounded just as needy. His fingers trembled under you, like he wanted nothing more than to touch you, his lips parting further as his tongue slid more towards you, almost knocking you over.

For a split moment, the mental image of Bravern pulling your clothes off and just licking you flashed before your mind. It made you way too hard to be normal, and you had never had fantasies like that before, so you weren’t gonna acknowledge them more than blaming it on the fact that it was your boyfriend.

Bravern looked ready to eat you, he had that same look in his eyes that Lewis always got when you two were apart for longer periods of time, when he wanted to push you down on the bed and ride you till you felt like one of those scrunched up juice boxes with not even air left inside.

Of course, at that moment, as Braverns tongue neared your torso, did the phone in your pocket ring. Something inside Bravern must have notified him too, of whatever you were being contacted about, as he whined and pouted. “I-im sorry baby, w-we can… continue later” he stumbled, giving you a faint impression that he was looking around like crazy even without pupils.

“Sure. Its probably… important enough” you cough, trying to collect yourself again and pull your uniform back on to fit the standard. Bravern kissed your chest carefully, clearly fearing he might crush you if he pressed any harder.

The flight back to base was a quiet affair, the air thick with a familiar heated feeling. But duty calls, so its not like you could even rub one out in his cockpit and dirty talk him until he came in his pants, codpiece? Could mechas even do that? You didn’t know, but you knew damn well you could make it happen.

Instead, you had to step out of Bravern in his ship form and join the others, brushing off questions about what you had been doing with Bravern. The mecha was so much worse than you when it came to lying, stuttering something about wanting to show you how fast he could go, as Isami climbed inside.

You could feel Lewis staring at you, intensely enough that you had to look back at him. He was biting his lip in that oh so familiar way, his brows furrowed as he stared at your lips. You couldn’t help but reach up and touch them, only then realising they were probably flushed and kissed, making dread pool in your stomach.

But Lewis didn’t seem angry at the aspect that his boyfriend may have been off, making out with a giant robot. Instead, Lewis seemed quite hot about it, if the flush rising in his cheeks and the clear way he was swallowing his spit had anything to say. That… you noted down for later. But first, duty, and then… find a way to make your boyfriend, boyfriends? Kiss, since you knew it would drive them both crazy.

[thewertsearch]

There’s the promised waveform - and I'm detecting more than a 'trace' of dissonance. Clearly, that final frog does some serious work on it.

What are you actually seeing in that pattern, Jade? Physical constants? Particle masses? Spatial topologies?

FGA: Okay Im A Vampire Now Apparently […] PCG: WHAT THE FUCK IS A VAMPIRE […] ?GG: she drinks blood >_> PCG: OH PCG: YOU MEAN A RAINBOW DRINKER PCG: YEAH, I ALREADY KNOW ABOUT HER TRASHY NOVEL FANTASIES.

Ghosts? Robots? Eldritch horrors? A puppet who lives on the moon? Yeah, that’s all real.

But vampires? PULL THE OTHER ONE, HARLEY.

PCG: I GUESS I HAVE NO CHOICE TO BELIEVE YOU BECAUSE SKEPTICISM IN THIS SITUATION IS FOR IDIOTS RIGHT?

You are absolutely correct, which is why I’m going to do you a solid, and not quote the rest of this paragraph.

PCG: IF I SAID "YEAH RIGHT! IF THERE'S A DRINKER IN THIS HIVE I'LL EAT MY COCOON!" I'D BE LIKE THE DUMB LUSUS IN THE MOVIE WHO DOESN'T BELIEVE THE KID WHEN HE TELLS IT THERE'S A RAINBOW DRINKER IN THE CLOSET.

Except to note how funny it is that, despite being weird monsters, lusii still fulfill the 'clueless parent' trope in troll fiction. I'd kill to see the Alternian take on, say, Fairly OddParents.

PCG: DID ECHIDNA TELL YOU WHERE TO FIND THIS FROG? ?GG: not exactly… ?GG: she just helped me remember

Here’s another hitherto unknown piece of of Sburblore. For a theorist like me, it's almost like it's Christmas!

Alright - so. Many years ago, Jade found... something on Prospit.

This something looks a lot like a tiny, 4x-prototyped Battlefield.

Now, this clearly ain’t no frog...

...but it sure looks like something that might grow into one.

The Battlefield is supposed to develop into a form where it can 'receive' the Genesis Frog - so maybe Genesis Frogspawn needs to be made of the same 'stuff' as a Battlefield, ensuring the two are able to interface the way they're supposed to, when the time comes.

[imasoftieforbarb]

Clay introducing you as his fiancé

Branch, Bruce and John Dory had just reunited with their brother Clay

“Clay this is my girlfriend Poppy-!”

Poppy rushed forward to hug Clay, before quickly letting go and nervously rambling in front of one of her idols

“Hi Clay! It’s so nice to meet you!… could you do the rusty robot for me?”

Clay awkwardly refused but decided to give it a go after seeing her slight embarrassment

“That’s still pretty fun” Poppy said, more relaxed now

“Yup same old Clay” JD said giving his brother a knowing look

“Noooo- that’s not true, if I was still fun would I have chosen the admin house as my bed room” Clay pointed towards a tiny shack that was slightly isolated from everyone else

“Eh? Eh?” He said, knowing he’d won the argument

Viva then stepped forward

“Yeah- but Y/n’s gonna make you move to her house cause, let’s be honest that’s way to small for the both of you”

“Y/n? Who’s Y/n?” Bruce asked looking at Clay who seemed to radiate happiness at the mention of this mysterious person

“Oh! I’ll go get her!” Clay ran off towards a golf statue of a frog as his brothers looked at each other with confusion

Soon, Clay returned with another troll in tow, she seemed to be wearing a matching sweater dress instead of a romper

“Y/n these are my brothers- Spruce who goes by Bruce now, John Dory and Branch!”

“oh you’re his brothers?! That’s so cool- come here gimmie a hug or high-five!”

She went around the group giving hugs and high-fives to those who wanted them

When she reached Poppy she instigated a handshake that they both seemed to know off by heart

“What just happened?” Poppy whispered to Branch who shrugged his shoulders

“And guys this is Y/n- my fiancé”

Shocked silence before congratulations were shouted from everyone in the group

“When did this happen?” Bruce said laughing slightly

Im gonna do a part 2 of this

Bug 🐞

[amethystarachnid]

Hi! 🤍

For my second request, I'd love to request a college student! Tony Stark or a young! Tony Stark (after college) story for your Marvel Holiday Special, whichever one you prefer to write for.

I'm thinking of the prompt [ 8. First Christmas Together  – Share a special first holiday celebration with your character, complete with shared traditions and sweet moments. ] for him and Fem! Reader, with lots of cute moments such as buying/decorating a tree together, going to a Christmas market, exchanging sweet, thoughtful gifts, making peppermint hot chocolate, etc. (I understand if you can't fit all of this in; please feel free to pick and choose which ideas you'd like to write about the most.)

Thank you so much, and I'm looking forward to seeing all the stories you'll gift us this holiday season! 🤍

FROGS, GLOBES AND BURNT CHOCOLATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: it's the first Christmas for you and Tony in your shared apartment and you are really excited: will it be a complete disaster or the best Christmas ever?

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff

ᯓ★ me when soft men and Christmas

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The biting December air nips at your cheeks as you step out of the car, the door swinging closed with a quiet thud behind you. Snowflakes drift lazily from a slate-gray sky, dotting the ground with a fresh layer of white, and the smell of pine and roasted chestnuts lingers faintly in the air. The shopping plaza is bustling with life, from bundled-up couples carrying oversized bags to kids chasing each other, their laughter cutting through the cold. Beside you, Tony Stark, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, surveys the scene like he’s about to conquer it.

“You realize,” he starts, cocking an eyebrow at the giant inflatable Santa looming above the store entrance, “this is all part of a grand capitalist scheme, right? They’re counting on saps like us to drop a small fortune on plastic snowflakes and gaudy lights.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his arm playfully as you step closer. “You say that now, but I saw how excited you got when I mentioned a tree. Don’t try to pretend you’re above it.”

“I’m excited because I’m picturing us building some kind of robot that lights the tree for us. Or—ooh, one that launches ornaments like tiny projectiles. Think about it: automated Christmas chaos.”

“Or we could just have a normal Christmas like normal people,” you suggest, looping your arm through his and steering him toward the store entrance. The warmth of his body seeps through the layers of your coat, and you feel a spark of giddiness bubbling in your chest. This isn’t just any Christmas; it’s your Christmas together, in your new apartment. The thought alone is enough to make your heart skip.

Tony hums noncommittally, but there’s a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as the automatic doors slide open. “Normal’s overrated. But fine, I’ll humor you. Lead on, holiday spirit incarnate.”

The store is a sensory overload of glitter and color, every aisle packed to the brim with tinsel, ornaments, and lights. A soft instrumental version of “Jingle Bells” plays over the speakers, adding to the festive chaos. Tony lets out a low whistle as he takes it all in.

“Okay, I’ll admit it. This is…a lot,” he says, plucking a sparkly green bow from a nearby shelf and holding it up. “Tell me you don’t want me to wear this.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you reply, snatching it out of his hand, “but now that you mention it…”

He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your stomach flip. “You know, I’d do it for you. I’d make it look good, too.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you steer the cart down the first aisle. It’s stocked with strings of lights in every color imaginable, and you pause to inspect a box of classic white ones. Tony, naturally, zeroes in on something completely different.

“Multicolor. Obviously,” he says, holding up a box of lights that blink in erratic patterns. “This screams fun. And by fun, I mean mildly seizure-inducing, but hey, memorable.”

“Memorable is one word for it,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “But I was thinking classic. White lights are elegant.”

“Oh, I see. You’re going for classy,” Tony says, resting an arm casually on the cart’s handle. “But come on, we’re young, living in sin, and this is our first Christmas in our place. It should be fun, not…a Martha Stewart catalog.”

You laugh despite yourself, considering his point. “Okay, fine. But we���re compromising. White lights for the tree, multicolor for…something else.”

“Deal,” Tony agrees, tossing the box of multicolored lights into the cart with an air of triumph. “This is how we build a healthy relationship. Compromising over Christmas decorations. Dr. Phil would be so proud.”

“You’re impossible,” you say, rolling your eyes even as a smile tugs at your lips.

“And yet, here you are, willingly cohabitating with me. Who’s the real winner here?”

You shake your head, but the warmth in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to be annoyed. Instead, you grab his hand, threading your fingers through his. “Come on, Stark. Let’s find a tree.”

The tree section is overwhelming, with rows upon rows of artificial evergreens of varying heights and degrees of realism. Tony takes it upon himself to test the sturdiness of each one by shaking them, earning a few disapproving looks from nearby shoppers.

“This one looks like it could survive an earthquake,” he says, gesturing to a six-foot tree with perfectly symmetrical branches. “What do you think?”

You inspect it critically, running your hand over the faux pine needles. “It’s nice, but…is it too perfect? I kind of like the ones that look a little…messy. More natural.”

Tony steps back, rubbing his chin in mock seriousness. “You want messy? Oh, I can find messy. But let’s just hope it doesn’t come pre-infested with fake squirrels or something.”

“Fake squirrels?” you echo, laughing. “That’s oddly specific.”

“What can I say? My imagination is a gift.” He grins, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before turning to scour the rows for the “perfectly imperfect” tree. The simple gesture sends a warm glow through you, and you find yourself marveling, not for the first time, at how easily he makes you feel cherished.

After some debate—and a bit of mild bickering—you settle on a slightly uneven but charmingly full tree that Tony immediately dubs “Frank.” The name sticks, and by the time you’re wheeling the cart toward the ornament aisle, you’re both brainstorming ways to make Frank the star of the apartment.

“Obviously, Frank needs a killer topper,” Tony says, scanning the shelves. “Something that says, ‘I’m the king of this Christmas.’ What about this?” He holds up a comically oversized star, glitter raining down from it as he tilts it from side to side.

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s a little…much.”

“That’s the point,” he insists, but you shake your head, and he relents with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. You pick. But if you pick something boring, I reserve the right to judge you.”

You smirk, holding up a simple yet elegant angel with golden wings. “How’s this?”

Tony eyes it for a moment before nodding. “It’s got class. I approve.”

“Good,” you reply, adding it to the cart. “Now let’s talk ornaments.”

Tony immediately gravitates toward the more unconventional options—a hamburger, a miniature disco ball, a tiny rocket ship. You can’t help but laugh as he piles them into the cart with zero hesitation.

“We’re going for eclectic, right?” he says, grinning at your expression.

“Eclectic is one way to put it,” you reply, picking up a box of glass baubles in varying shades of red and gold. “But I think we need a little balance.”

“Sure, sure. Balance.” He waves a hand dismissively before adding a dinosaur ornament to the pile. “Like this guy. He’s green, he’s festive, and he’s clearly balancing the holiday spirit with prehistoric flair.”

You groan, but it’s impossible to be annoyed with him. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself laughing more than you have in weeks. By the time you make it to the checkout line, your cart is an eclectic mix of classic and quirky, much like the two of you.

As the cashier rings up your items, Tony leans against the counter, watching you with an expression that’s equal parts fond and amused. “You know,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear, “I think this might be the most fun I’ve ever had in a store.”

“Really?” you tease, arching an eyebrow. “Even more fun than that time we got kicked out of IKEA?”

“That wasn’t fun; that was an adventure,” he replies, grinning. “This is different. This is…nice.”

His words, simple as they are, make your chest ache in the best way. You reach out, slipping your hand into his and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah,” you agree softly. “It is.”

By the time you get everything loaded into the car and head back to the apartment, the snow has started falling harder, the flakes sticking to the windshield as the wipers sweep them away. Tony hums along to the Christmas music playing softly on the radio, and you can’t help but smile at how relaxed he looks, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming against his knee.

When you finally arrive home, the two of you haul your bags and the boxed-up tree upstairs, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of exhaustion and laughter. The apartment is warm and cozy, the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle you lit earlier filling the air. Tony stretches out, his head resting in your lap as he looks up at you with that lazy, lopsided grin you love so much.

“Ready to turn this place into a winter wonderland?” he asks, his voice tinged with mock seriousness.

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

And with that, the two of you set to work, turning your shared space into something magical. Every ornament, every string of lights, every silly joke shared along the way feels like a promise��of love, of laughter, of a future together that’s as bright and colorful as the tree now standing proudly in the corner.

Tony sprawls out on the floor, an open box of ornaments beside him, his legs kicking lazily as he examines a particularly garish one: a glitter-covered pineapple. He holds it up to the light, squinting as if he’s inspecting a fine piece of art. “This one,” he declares, pointing at the pineapple and then at you with the seriousness of a presidential speech, “needs prime real estate. Front and center. It’s the kind of ornament that demands attention.”

You glance over from where you’re untangling a string of lights, your hands already glittery from the process. “It’s hideous. If it’s going on the tree, it’s going in the back where no one can see it.”

“Hideous?” Tony gasps, clutching the pineapple like it’s a wounded comrade. “This is a conversation starter. It says, ‘This tree belongs to people with taste and a sense of humor.’”

“It says, ‘This tree belongs to people who lost a bet,’” you counter, tossing a rogue light bulb into the trash pile.

He drops the ornament into the box with an exaggerated huff, crossing his arms and leaning back against the couch. “You have no appreciation for the avant-garde. Next, you’re going to tell me my disco-ball ornament doesn’t make the cut either.”

“Oh, that’s going on the tree,” you say with a smirk, plugging in the lights and watching them flicker to life. “I have to draw the line somewhere, but even I’m not heartless enough to deprive you of a tiny disco inferno.”

Tony grins, clearly victorious. “That’s the spirit. All right, let’s light this bad boy up.”

The two of you tackle the tree together, winding the lights around it in haphazard loops. Tony insists on controlling the rotation of the tree while you maneuver the lights, which leads to a fair amount of bickering, punctuated by his constant reminders to “watch the top—Frank’s got dignity, you know.”

“You named it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping over a stray ornament. “You’re not allowed to treat it like it’s a fragile piece of Renaissance art.”

“I named it because I care,” he replies loftily, holding the tree steady as you stretch up on your tiptoes to loop the lights higher. “And because I think Frank deserves respect for the sacrifices he’s making to be part of our inaugural Christmas.”

“He’s a fake tree, Tony.”

“Fake doesn’t mean he’s emotionless,” Tony quips, grinning at you. “I mean, look at me. A solid 50% of my charm is artificial, and I’m still delightful.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you finally secure the last strand of lights. “Okay, fine, Frank. If you’re sentient, blink twice.”

Tony leans in close to the tree, squinting at the lights with mock intensity. “Was that a blink? Did you see it?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you pick up a box of ornaments. “Now let’s get to the fun part.”

Tony takes an unceremonious dive into the box, emerging with the hamburger ornament in one hand and a golden bauble in the other. “Burgers or boring?” he asks, holding them up like they’re dueling gladiators.

“Both,” you say, plucking the bauble from his hand and placing it carefully on the tree. “It’s called balance, remember?”

He makes a face but hangs the burger ornament on a branch anyway. “Fine, but I’m putting it next to the dinosaur for thematic consistency. Carnivores stick together.”

“Carnivores?” you repeat, laughing. “You’re putting way too much thought into this.”

“Hey, someone has to,” Tony says, standing back to survey his work. “Look at that. A prehistoric picnic. The tree’s already a masterpiece, and we’ve barely started.”

The decorating continues in a flurry of glitter, laughter, and occasional sabotage. Every time you carefully place a glass ornament, Tony finds a way to “accidentally” bump into the tree, sending it wobbling precariously.

“Oops,” he says innocently, steadying the trunk. “Guess Frank’s not as sturdy as we thought.”

“Keep doing that, and Frank’s going to end up on the curb,” you warn, pointing a candy-cane-shaped ornament at him like it’s a weapon.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tony replies, his grin widening. “Not with all the blood, sweat, and glitter we’ve poured into this.”

“You’re testing me, Stark.”

“Oh, I live to test you,” he says with a wink, before dramatically hanging the pineapple ornament directly in the center of the tree. “There. Perfection.”

You groan, but you’re laughing too hard to argue. Instead, you reach for the tree topper—the angel you picked earlier—and hold it up for inspection. “Ready to crown Frank?”

Tony salutes you, stepping back to give you room. “Do it. Make him majestic.”

You climb onto the arm of the couch for a little extra height, balancing carefully as you place the angel on top of the tree. Tony’s hands hover near your waist, ready to catch you if you wobble.

“There,” you say, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “What do you think?”

Tony tilts his head, his arms crossed as he surveys the tree. “I think Frank’s looking sharp. A little eclectic, a little classy. Just like us.”

You smile, nudging his side. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he replies smoothly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. “So, what’s next? Stockings? Mistletoe? A twenty-foot inflatable snowman for the balcony?”

“Stockings, yes. Mistletoe, maybe. The snowman? Absolutely not.”

“Buzzkill,” Tony mutters, but he’s grinning as he grabs a pair of stockings from one of the shopping bags. “Do we hang these by the nonexistent chimney with care? Or do we just toss them wherever and hope Santa’s GPS works?”

You snatch the stockings from him, rolling your eyes. “We hang them on the wall, genius. Like civilized people.”

As you arrange the stockings Tony rummages through another bag, producing a tangled mess of garland. He holds it up triumphantly. “What do you think? Wall art or trip hazard?”

“Knowing you? Both.”

He laughs, draping the garland over his shoulders like a boa. “You’re no fun. But fine, I’ll keep it classy. Where do you want it?”

After some debate—and an accidental garland lassoing incident—you manage to string it up along the window, adding a cozy, festive touch to the room. By the time you’re finished, the apartment feels transformed. The tree twinkles in the corner, the stockings hang proudly on the wall, and the faint scent of cinnamon from the candle still lingers in the air.

Tony collapses onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, patting the space beside him. “All right, decorating queen. Come admire our masterpiece.”

You join him, tucking your feet under you as you lean against his side. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, watching the lights on the tree blink and twinkle.

“You know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer than usual, “this actually turned out pretty great.”

“You sound surprised,” you tease, resting your head against his chest.

“I’m not surprised,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I just… I don’t know. It’s nice. Having this. With you.”

Your chest tightens at the sincerity in his voice, and you tilt your head to look up at him. His expression is uncharacteristically serious, his brown eyes warm and earnest.

“Yeah,” you say softly, your hand finding his. “It is.”

He squeezes your hand, his usual smirk returning as he glances at the tree. “Although I still say the pineapple should’ve been the topper.”

You groan, laughing as you swat his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quips, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Guess that makes me irresistible.”

“Or maybe I’m just a saint,” you reply, grinning up at him.

“Either way,” he says, settling back against the couch with a satisfied sigh, “this is shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.”

And as you sit there, the soft glow of the tree lighting up the room, you can’t help but agree.

The snow falls gently, blanketing the cobblestone streets of the Christmas market in a powdery white. Strings of twinkling lights are draped between booths, casting a warm glow over the bustling scene. The air is rich with the mingling scents of roasted chestnuts, mulled wine, and sweet pastries, and the faint hum of Christmas carols played by a live quartet in the distance adds a magical touch to the atmosphere.

You clutch Tony’s arm as the two of you wander through the market, your boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted ground. He’s wearing his favorite dark coat, the one that hugs his shoulders just right, and a red scarf that you gave him last Christmas. The scarf is slightly askew, and it makes him look effortlessly charming in that disheveled way only he can pull off.

“You know,” he says, his breath puffing out in little clouds, “this place is like a booby trap for wallets. Everywhere you turn, something’s glittering and saying, ‘Buy me! Buy me!’ It’s diabolical.”

You laugh, tightening your grip on his arm. “It’s a Christmas market, Tony. That’s kind of the point.”

He grins, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Yeah, well, just remember, you’re in charge of stopping me from buying a chocolate fountain or a solid gold Santa.”

“Solid gold Santa? That’s oddly specific.”

“Give it time,” he replies. “I’m sure there’s a booth for it somewhere. Maybe next to the artisanal hot chocolate stand.”

As if on cue, you pass a booth selling gourmet hot chocolate, complete with toppings ranging from whipped cream to crushed candy canes. Tony slows, glancing at the display with obvious interest.

“Should we?” he asks, already reaching for his wallet.

“Tony, we’ve been here five minutes, and you’re already caving,” you tease, pulling him away gently. “Let’s at least make it past the first aisle before we start buying things.”

“Fine, but I’m circling back for it,” he says, shooting the booth a longing look as you guide him onward.

The market is a sensory overload in the best possible way. Every booth offers something unique: hand-carved wooden toys, blown glass ornaments, cozy knit scarves, and even quirky items like soap shaped like reindeer. Tony, naturally, gravitates toward the most absurd finds.

“Look at this!” he exclaims, holding up a ceramic frog wearing a Santa hat. “Tell me this isn’t peak holiday spirit.”

“It’s…something,” you admit, trying not to laugh. “But do we really need a festive frog in our lives?”

“We don’t need it, but we deserve it,” he counters, raising an eyebrow. “You’re really going to deny Frank the Frog a warm, loving home?”

You snatch the frog from his hands, placing it back on the display. “Frank the Frog will have to find a family that appreciates him more than we do.”

“Cold,” Tony mutters, shaking his head as you move on. “Heartless. And here I thought you were the soft one in this relationship.”

You glance back at him, smirking. “You clearly don’t know me at all.”

“Oh, I know you,” he replies, falling into step beside you again. “I also know you’re going to want to buy something completely impractical any minute now. And when you do, I’ll be ready to gloat.”

“Fat chance,” you say, but you can already feel your resolve slipping as you pass a booth selling intricately detailed snow globes. One of them catches your eye—a small, delicate scene of a snow-covered village illuminated from within. You reach out to pick it up, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside.

Tony sidles up next to you, a smug grin on his face. “And here it is. The impractical thing.”

“It’s not impractical,” you protest, cradling the snow globe carefully. “It’s…beautiful.”

“It’s also one more thing for me to dust,” he teases, but there’s no bite to his words. He leans closer, examining the globe with genuine interest. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s pretty cool. But do we really need it?”

You hesitate, your fingers curling around the base of the globe. “Probably not,” you say reluctantly, setting it back down. “But if I’m not allowed to buy the snow globe, you’re definitely not allowed to buy Frank the Frog.”

“Deal,” he says with a laugh, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the next aisle. “We’ll save our money for something really ridiculous.”

The snow continues to fall, soft and steady, as you explore more of the market. Tony insists on sampling every food item in sight—gingerbread, roasted chestnuts, candied almonds—and you can’t help but laugh at the way his face lights up with each new bite.

“This,” he says, holding up a stick of caramel-dipped apple slices, “is how you do a Christmas market. Pure sugar, zero regrets.”

“You’re going to crash so hard later,” you warn, nibbling on one of the apple slices he offers you.

“Worth it,” he replies, his tone entirely unapologetic. “Besides, I’m burning calories walking in circles and fending off your bad taste in snow globes.”

“Watch it,” you say, swatting his arm lightly. “Or I’ll let you buy something ridiculous just to prove a point.”

“I’d like to see you try,” he replies, grinning. “You’re too responsible for that.”

“Don’t test me,” you warn, though you’re smiling too.

Eventually, the two of you come across a booth selling handmade ornaments, each one painted with intricate designs. Tony picks up one shaped like a tiny sled, examining it with a critical eye.

“Okay, this one’s actually pretty cool,” he says, holding it out to you. “And it’s functional. In an emergency, we could probably use it to deliver tiny presents.”

You laugh, taking the ornament from him. “I don’t think it’s meant for that, but it’s cute. Should we get it?”

“Absolutely,” he replies. “Frank the Tree deserves at least one classy ornament.”

“Classy? From the guy who wanted to buy a glittery pineapple?”

“Hey, I contain multitudes,” he says with a shrug, handing over cash to the vendor.

With the ornament carefully tucked away in a bag, you and Tony continue your stroll through the market, the lights twinkling above you like stars. He keeps a running commentary on everything you pass—mocking the price of hand-knitted mittens, marveling at the craftsmanship of a miniature nativity scene, and cracking jokes about a booth selling gourmet dog treats.

“Do you think they’d let us try one?” he asks, holding up a bone-shaped biscuit labeled ‘peanut butter delight.’

“Tony, no,” you say, laughing as you drag him away.

By the time you reach the end of the market, your hands are full of small treasures—a bag of candied almonds, the sled ornament, and a knit scarf that Tony insisted would “complete your winter aesthetic.” The snow has begun to stick to your hair and his, and the cold is starting to nip at your cheeks.

“This was a good call,” Tony says, his arm slung casually around your shoulders as you head back toward the entrance. “Although I’m still not sure how we managed to resist buying the frog.”

“Self-control,” you reply, leaning into him. “A concept you’re not usually familiar with.”

“Hey, I’ve got self-control,” he says, feigning offense. “I just choose to apply it sparingly.”

You laugh, your breath puffing out in the cold air. “Well, I’m proud of us. We didn’t blow our entire budget on useless stuff.”

“Not entirely useless,” he corrects. “The sled ornament is both decorative and practical, remember?”

“Right,” you say, grinning up at him. “It’s a critical investment.”

He smirks, brushing a snowflake from your cheek. “Exactly. And anyway, the best part of the market wasn’t the stuff we bought. It was spending the evening with you.”

Your chest warms at his words, and you pause for a moment, looking up at him as the snow falls softly around you. The twinkling lights of the market reflect in his eyes, and the grin on his face softens into something more sincere.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, though your voice is full of affection.

“Only for you,” he replies, leaning down to kiss you gently, the cold of his lips quickly warming against yours.

The two of you stand there for a moment, surrounded by the magic of the market, the snow falling around you like a scene from a movie. It’s one of those moments you’ll tuck away and remember years from now—simple, sweet, and perfect in its own way.

As you pull apart, Tony grins, slipping his hand into yours. “Come on, let’s go find that hot chocolate stand. I’m not leaving here without it.”

“Hot chocolate sounds perfect,” you agree, your fingers lacing through his as you head back toward the market, ready to end the evening on a sweet note.

The smell of something burning wafts through the apartment as you step out of the bedroom, pulling on your favorite fuzzy socks. It's a warm, cozy kind of Christmas Eve, with snow falling softly outside and the apartment glowing with fairy lights. Except for one thing—the scent hanging in the air doesn’t scream “cozy Christmas.” It screams, “Tony Stark’s been unsupervised in the kitchen.”

“Tony?” you call, heading toward the source of the smell. “What’s going on in there?”

“No need to panic!” his voice answers, though it’s far from reassuring. “Everything’s under control.”

You round the corner into the kitchen to find him standing at the stove, brandishing a wooden spoon like a sword. There’s a pot on the burner, filled with what can only be described as a charred, lumpy mess, and a thin haze of smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling.

“Under control?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is this your definition of control?”

Tony glances at the pot and then back at you, his face a mix of sheepishness and determination. “It’s a minor setback. I was…experimenting.”

“With what? Kitchen sabotage?”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter as though the mess behind him doesn’t exist. “For your information, I was attempting to make homemade peppermint hot chocolate. Thought I’d surprise you. But apparently, chocolate has a vendetta against me.”

Your lips twitch as you try to suppress a smile. “Let me guess. You burned it?”

“Burned is a strong word,” he says, crossing his arms. “I’d say it’s more… caramelized.”

You peer into the pot, wrinkling your nose. “Tony, this isn’t caramelized. It’s cremated.”

“Details,” he replies breezily, but you can see the frustration behind his teasing tone.

You sigh, stepping closer and nudging him aside gently. “Okay, chef, move over. Let’s salvage this disaster.”

Tony steps back, his arms raised in surrender, watching as you turn off the burner and grab a fresh pot. “You’re really just going to take over? No faith in my culinary prowess?”

“I have faith in many of your skills,” you reply, dumping the ruined chocolate into the trash. “Cooking? Not one of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter. “But in my defense, it’s chocolate. You melt it, you stir it, you drink it. How hard can it be?”

You grab a bar of good-quality chocolate from the pantry and start breaking it into pieces, throwing him a look. “Clearly harder than you thought.”

Tony chuckles, watching you work. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? My moment of weakness.”

“A little,” you admit, your lips curving into a smile as you measure out milk and pour it into the pot. “But mostly I’m wondering how you managed to mess it up so badly. Did you even melt the chocolate?”

“Define ‘melt,’” he says, his grin widening.

You groan, shaking your head as you stir the milk over low heat. “Okay, new rule: You’re not allowed near the stove unless I’m supervising.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests, hopping down from the counter and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder, and his breath tickles your ear. “I was trying to do something nice for you. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Your heart softens, and you turn your head slightly to meet his gaze. “It does,” you say, your voice gentle. “But maybe next time, start with something less…flammable?”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping back. “All right, teach me, master chef. How do we make the perfect peppermint hot chocolate?”

You laugh, handing him the whisk. “First, you don’t burn the chocolate. Now, stir the milk gently while I add the chocolate pieces.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, adopting a mock-serious tone as he starts whisking. His movements are a little overdramatic, and the milk splashes slightly, but it’s endearing.

“Gentle, Tony,” you say, biting back a smile as you add the chocolate. “This isn’t an arm workout.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” he quips, his grin unapologetic. “I’ve only got one speed: full throttle.”

The chocolate begins to melt, turning the milk a rich, velvety brown. Tony leans in closer, his expression a mix of curiosity and concentration. “Okay, this part’s kind of fun. It’s like alchemy.”

“Sure,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “The alchemy of not burning things.”

As the hot chocolate comes together, you grab a bottle of peppermint extract and hold it up. “Now for the magic ingredient. Just a couple of drops.”

Tony watches as you add the peppermint, the warm, sweet aroma filling the air. “Smells amazing,” he says, his tone genuine. “Almost makes up for the fact that I nearly burned down the apartment.”

“Almost,” you agree, giving the mixture one last stir before grabbing two mugs from the cabinet.

As you pour the hot chocolate, Tony wanders over to the counter, his movements casual—but there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. Before you can question it, he points upward.

You follow his gaze and spot a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling. “When did you—?”

“Earlier,” he says, his grin widening. “Figured it might come in handy.”

You shake your head, setting the mugs down and stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice softening as he leans in.

You meet him halfway, his lips warm against yours despite the cold air outside. It’s a sweet, lingering kiss, and when you pull back, his eyes are brighter than the Christmas lights strung around the room.

“Mistletoe is definitely your best idea today,” you say, your voice teasing but full of affection.

“Better than cremated chocolate?” he asks, feigning surprise.

“Much better,” you reply, laughing as you hand him his mug. “Now, let’s see if this is worth the trouble.”

The two of you settle on the couch, blankets draped over your legs as you sip the hot chocolate. It’s rich and creamy, with just the right hint of peppermint, and you can’t help but sigh in contentment.

“This is perfect,” you say, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See what happens when you let me help?”

He nudges you playfully, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Okay, okay, I admit it. You’re the hot chocolate queen. But next year, I’m making it on my own. No supervision.”

“You’re never living this down, Tony,” you reply, grinning up at him. “But nice try.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Merry Christmas, troublemaker.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply softly, the snow falling outside and the warmth of his arms making it the perfect end to the day.

The apartment is quiet save for the crackling of the fireplace video looping on the TV and the faint hum of Christmas music in the background. The room is bathed in a soft, golden glow from the tree lights, the perfect backdrop for the growing pile of wrapping paper at your feet. It's Christmas morning, and for the past half-hour, you and Tony have been exchanging gifts, both of you trying (and mostly failing) to keep your emotions in check.

Tony’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing the pajamas you picked out for him—flannel pants and a red shirt that says “Official Cookie Tester.” His hair is a mess from sleep, and he looks so boyishly excited every time he hands you a new box that you can’t help but fall a little more in love with him.

Your own pile of gifts so far includes a pair of earrings that match the necklace he got you last year, a first edition of your favorite book, and a framed photo of the two of you from your first vacation together, one of his rare sweet gestures that never fail to make your heart swell.

“Okay, your turn,” you say, handing him a flat, rectangular box with a silver bow.

He narrows his eyes at it playfully, shaking it gently. “Feels suspiciously light. Did you get me socks?”

“I’d never waste good wrapping paper on socks,” you retort, rolling your eyes. “Just open it.”

He flashes you a grin before tearing into the paper, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees what’s inside. It’s a custom leather-bound notebook embossed with his initials—a thoughtful, elegant gift you’d spent weeks planning.

“I know you’ve been sketching a lot lately,” you explain, watching his face closely. “I figured you could use something a little more…official.”

Tony runs his fingers over the cover, and for a moment, he’s completely silent. Then he looks up at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “It’s perfect,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You smile, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

He clears his throat, a telltale sign he’s feeling emotional, and sets the notebook carefully aside before grabbing a box from behind him. “All right, your turn,” he says, handing it to you with a slightly smug expression. “Let’s see if I can top that.”

You laugh, untying the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside, nestled in velvet, is a delicate bracelet inlaid with tiny gemstones, each one sparkling in the light. It’s understated but stunning—classic Tony.

Your breath catches as you lift it out of the box, and you glance up at him. “Tony, this is—”

“—just a little something,” he interrupts, brushing off your awe with a wave of his hand. “Figured you could use more jewelry to match your impeccable taste.”

You set the bracelet down carefully and throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I love it.”

He hugs you back, his hand warm against your back. “Love you more,” he murmurs, and for a moment, the world shrinks to just the two of you.

When you pull back, you swipe at your eyes, laughing softly. “Okay, before I cry and ruin the moment, I think it’s time for the last gifts.”

“Ah, the pièce de résistance,” Tony says, his grin returning as he reaches for a small, sloppily wrapped box on the coffee table. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

You hand him a box of your own, equally poorly wrapped, and exchange a knowing look. “You first,” you say, gesturing to his gift.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips into the paper with an enthusiasm usually reserved for high-stakes projects, and when he finally pulls out the contents, he freezes. His hand lifts the small ceramic frog in a Santa hat—the one you’d teased him about at the Christmas market.

“No way,” he says, his voice full of disbelief.

“Way,” you reply, biting back a grin. “I couldn’t let Frank the Frog end up in someone else’s house. He belongs with us.”

Tony stares at the frog, and for a moment, you think he might actually tear up. Then he looks at you, shaking his head with a mix of laughter and affection. “You are ridiculous,” he says, but his voice is thick with emotion. “I can’t believe you bought this.”

“Well, I knew you’d never forgive me if I didn’t,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

He sets the frog carefully on the coffee table, like it’s a priceless artifact, and then leans over to kiss you, his lips warm and lingering. “You’re the best,” he whispers. “Seriously. This might be the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you reply, though your cheeks flush at his words.

“Your turn,” he says, gesturing to the box in your lap. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”

You laugh, unwrapping the box, and the moment you see what’s inside, your laughter turns to a choked gasp. It’s the snow globe from the Christmas market—the one with the tiny snow-covered village you couldn’t stop staring at.

“You didn’t,” you say, your voice wavering.

“I did,” he replies, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Figured if I couldn’t have Frank the Frog, the least I could do was make sure you got this.”

You lift the globe out of the box, turning it over to watch the snow swirl inside. It’s just as beautiful as you remembered, and the thoughtfulness of his gesture makes your chest ache in the best possible way.

“Tony…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

“Don’t start crying,” he warns, though his own eyes are suspiciously bright. “You’re gonna set me off.”

You laugh wetly, shaking your head as you set the snow globe on the coffee table next to the frog. “I can’t believe we both bought the stupid things.”

He laughs too, leaning back against the couch with an incredulous shake of his head. “We’re a mess.”

“A perfect mess,” you correct, leaning against him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “Agreed. And now Frank and the snow globe can live happily ever after. A Christmas miracle.”

You snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet, you love me,” he replies, his voice smug but affectionate.

You glance up at him, smiling despite yourself. “Yeah, I do.”

He leans down, kissing you softly, the kind of kiss that feels like a promise. When he pulls back, he grins. “Best Christmas ever?”

“Best Christmas ever,” you agree, snuggling into his side as the snow falls softly outside, and the room fills with laughter and love.

[a-twistedheartslonging]

So! Everything I’ve learned about spooders is from my aunt Angie, and Exotic Lair on YouTube and now I’m talking about Idia!

Spiders rub their thorax with their legs to kick their little hairs at predators or enemies, they actually get irritated really quickly (no I personally haven’t had kicked hairs in my arms, but my Auntie has and we had to drive her to the hospital cause the topical ointments were causing an allergic reaction) so all I’m picturing is if you scare Idia, and his back to you he kicks his hairs at you. Make sure to knock before entering his room! Nobody makes this mistake twice…

Some tarantelas keep small frogs in a symbiotic relationship where the frog protects the spiders eggs, and the spider protects the frog, so honestly…Ortho is a frog boy. Maybe not a full frog boy but like he wears froggy outfits. He has a bucket hat with the frog eyes, and everything!

Spiders use their webs as an extended sense of touch, so as much as I want to say Idia uses his webbing for wiring and electronics, I’m worried he would electrocute himself…he probably does periodically and you and Ortho yell at him to STOP! This is the third time!

Spiders HATE blowing air and wind, so he uses it as an excuse to avoid the outdoors. « It’s so windy out though! » it actually can cause overstimulation for them, and they can get sick from too much wind! So windy days I bet he gets a bit of a fever every time. His little hairs also shake to try and calm down. He looks like he’s vibrating

So there are burrowing spiders (which are the ones I know about) and arborils (or the tree livers…) and since he prefers the indoors, he would be a burrower! Also cause then I can talk about him! Also cause he would prefer the dark, damp, and he would totally burrow into his blanket fort, and his super fluffy hoodie!

After he molts he’s SUPER pretty, as all spiders are! They’re so vibrant and bright blue. I bet Idia would be a cobalt blue tarantula, and if Ortho is a spider, I bet he would be a rose hair. Rose hairs are best for beginners, as they’re pretty docile, and just live and let live, while cobalts choose violence more often. Rose hairs also choose violence, but more as a last resort. Both kick hairs, but cobalts also bite…

So spiders teeth are actually like straws (if I’m remembering correctly) so just picture him crunching a soda can and he sucks it all down! Just a SHLURP, and he’s hydrated! But I bet he still likes the crunch of chips. (Weird asmr too look for is tarantula feeding! Don’t watch if you have a weak stomach)

Spiders don’t have bones and use more of a hydrolic system to move, with their heart pushing blood into each leg to move forward then pull it back. So I say Idia has very few bones, or none, and his human torso is highly flexible. Without his exo he would be very bendy.

Spiders have retractable claws AND PAW PADS! They only have two of each on each food, so 16 paw pads to squish! But spider pads are different from other animals, as they have tiny hairs that help them stick to things and climb. (Once scientists found web residue in spider foot prints so they were like « they stick by excreting webbing from their feet! » and another groupe was like « bet, there is webbing everywhere! How do you know they’re not trailing it like toilet paper?» and covered a spiders butt with wax to keep the environment more clean, and there was no webbing there! I love science beef) his little feet’s are still probably sticky from webbing, so use a baby wipe or something to clean him up.

Males leave their burrows to go try and see if someone wants to mate (I’m not going into how they have to carry their little sperm web bag with them, because yes they have to take the sperm and put it into basically a little bag to put in the female!) so only when he’s actually interested does he start to leave his room for you! He helps clean up ramshackle I bet! Or uses robots to help clean it…

Different breeds have different mating styles, but the peacock spider does a little dance, shaking his butt around and he’s like « please, please, please, please plea-«  or they also tap a little pattern on the females webbing to see if she’s willing,

Spiders don’t have genders until I think their third molt, and that’s just a free fun fact!

So many cute and interesting things.

I think of Ortho being a dif creature from his brother. Maybe cuz of their parents are dif creatures with one being a spider and the others something else or current or past ortho was a spider but always wanted to be something different so Idia decided to be a cool bro and make him a body that lets him be whatever he wants.

So, imagine he has all these diff creature bods. Dog, bunny, frog, bee, spooder, and whatever else.

Part of me thinks Idia helping to clean would just him picking you up under the arms like a cat and lifting you to reach things which would be so funny to see.

It would be cute if Yuu kept baby wipes with them and helped Idia keep those spider feeties clean when he needs it.

It would be pretty freaking cool Seeing Idia do the soda can thing, i feel like he would try not to do it around you at first but forgets but then you act all impressed and tell him it's cool and he's flustered.

Poor Idia on those windy days. Makes me think of that orange cat that hates the beach cuz it was windy.

He makes that face whenever it gets windy.

Hmmm the hairs though...in this AU I think of the hairs he has being soft of fluffy baby they get stiff when scared so he can do that thing, or it becomes that way cuz magic.

....I'm just picturing him doing his scared yelling while doing it and I can't stop laughing. It's just such a silly mental image and I love it.

Thank you for all the information and Ideas, I love them.

[zipzapzopzoop]

There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

Chapter 30: Danger, Wilbur Robinson

Counting a classroom full of students was already challenging enough on its own.

Counting a class of students while evacuating the school due to a dinosaur attack was damn near impossible. 

Between getting to safety, half the kids running for their lives and the other half trying to get a look at the beast, and the fact they they were only one of many classes standing out in the baseball field, it was understandable that Mr. Willerstein was in over his head. Besides, it’s not like there was a protocol for such an emergency!

To make matters worse, in the mad rush to get out of the building, he had forgotten his clipboard on his desk! Counting the kids by memory was his only option.

“Emma, Hannah, Logan, Matthew…” He squinted and pointed at each kid as he counted them. “18 kids, two absent, so 16… we’re missing someone, who are we missing?” Willerstein froze as the memory came back to him all of a sudden-

“‘Stay put, Lewis.’”

He paled. Lewis was still in the building!

Art seemed to notice his distress. The teacher blurted out the issue before he even had to ask. “Two students are still in there!”

“What are their names?”

“One is Lewis, he’s one of mine, but I don’t know the girl’s name. She’s not in my class but she has black pigtails!”

That was all he needed to hear. 

Without another word, the hero took off full speed in the direction of the school. 

------------

“Laszlo!”

Frankie held the end of the rope in his mouth as he hopped from Franny’s shoulder, to a sign, to a car, onto Tiny’s back, to Bud’s (who was still listing locations’) head, and up to the artist. “Take the rope, kid!”

Laszlo grabbed it, locking eyes with Franny who held the other end of the rope. Instantly, he understood what to do. “Fantastic!”

Frankie held onto the artist’s bowtie as he took a nosedive around Tiny’s neck, swinging in front of him to get the rope in his mouth, then swinging back around before finally landing on his back. Laszlo pulled hard on the rope, the dinosaur rearing his head up and letting out a ground shaking roar. 

“This is the coolest thing I have ever done!” Laszlo whooped loudly. “Where’s Gaston?! He needs to get in on this!” Bud called out. Laszlo looked around. “I don’t see him! Do you?”

Franny cupped her hands around her mouth. “Guys! See if you can guide him away from the city!”

Laszlo nodded and directed the beast away from the school and down the street, dodging cars and picking up speed.

Franny caught sight of some black SUVs speeding around the corner. One stopped at the school, but another followed the dinosaur.

Her eyes widened when she remembered her family’s words.

“There were some men that tried to kidnap me.”

“I have reasons to believe we are being pursued…”

Franny felt her heart in her throat. 

Where’s Wilbur?

------------

The Son of the Future watched as the time machine rose from its port. This was his fault. He turned to look at the City of Progress. It was difficult to see through the pouring rain, but in the darkness, he could see its colorful lights. Those lights that meant hope for a better tomorrow. 

One by one, the lights disappeared.

And it was all because of him.

Wilbur shrieked when something grabbed his shoulder.

He scrambled backwards in a blind panic, slamming his back into the row of lockers. He glitched again, feeling his body twist and pull in different directions for a moment. Hands tried to grab at him, but he screamed and swiped at them. 

“I got it!”

“Wilbur? Wilbur!”

“We have to go!”

Something wrapped itself around him tightly, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him off the ground. His panic only grew worse, kicking his legs and flailing in a desperate attempt to get free. Voices called out, but he didn’t understand what they were saying.

“Little buddy! It’s me!”

“Carry him, we have to get out of this building!”

Time seemed to be fleeting by and yet at a complete standstill at the same time. Wilbur could feel his feet off the ground, he could hear alarms and voices, but he couldn’t register any of it.

Suddenly, he felt himself be planted down on the ground. He felt the grass underneath him. Hands were on his shoulders and his back, petting him to bring him back. Someone- no- a few people were trying to help him.

“Wilbur… You’re okay buddy, I got you. Can you hear me?”

He fought to open his eyes, blinking at the impossibly bright daylight outside. When he looked up, he saw his familiar golden best friend. The other’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern, but he brightened considerably when he realized Wilbur opened his eyes. He flickered a second, but seemed to be coming out of his haze.

“Carl?”

“Hey, little buddy. Keep breathing, okay? You’re doing great.”

Wilbur huffed and looked around while Carl got a rag out of his chest plate, using his third arm to wipe away the sweat on Wilbur’s face. 

“Wh… what happened? Where am I?”

“You were staring at the classroom for a really long time…You were like a zombie,” Young Franny spoke up, holding Frankie in her arms. Lewis elbowed her lightly, glaring slightly before following up in a worried voice. “You were helping me fix Carl and you just… froze. I fixed Carl and Uncle Art showed up to get us out.”

Wilbur looked up. Uncle Art had been the one patting his back. He smiled, despite the deep concern in his eyes. Wilbur looked around again.

“Where’s my mom?”

------------

Check out the chapter on my Archive!

[prokopetz]

I have a pinned post for my games in development, but it doesn't really describe what they're about, and apparently this is something we're doing today, so:

My games in development, in rough order of priority:

(Note: all of these have public playtest drafts behind the links.)

Eat God

A game about weird little anarchist muppets with reality-warping powers themed after classic Looney Tunes gags wandering around a classic sword-and-sorcery fantasy setting stirring up trouble. Roughly 50% character creation rules by volume, with provisions for randomising every part of it; the linked draft, above, includes an online character generator if you want to play with it. The mechanics are a sort of elaborated spiritual successor to Costume Fairy Adventures, a game whose development I headed up about a decade ago.

Current status: actively writing, hopefully zeroing in on a feature-complete playtest draft within the next month or two.

Tiny Frog Wizards

One of my customarily literal titles, this is a game where you play as wizards who are tiny frogs. Features elaborate semi-freeform rules for casting spells, lots of big stupid random tables for when spells go off the rails, and absolutely no mechanics for anything that isn't casting a spell; it's a very focused sort of game. Narratively, it's a game about being an overpowered little twerp sticking your nose into other people's problems and offering solutions no-one asked for. Portions of the rules crib shamelessly from @jennamoran's Nobilis 3rd Edition, for which I offer acknowledgement but no apologies.

Current status: development of the text has been set aside for the moment to work on visual identity, with an eye toward crowdfunding an expanded hardcover edition later in the year.

Space Gerbils

A tactical mecha combat game with a very silly twist: the entirety of the tactical positioning occurs inside the mecha, because the game's premise is basically "what if instead of the Big Reveal at the end of Metroid (1986) being that Samus Aran is secretly a girl, Samus Aran was secretly 3–5 small gerbil-like creatures operating a person-size mech suit?" Players engage in positional jockeying and resource management to determine which stations they're crewing within the suit, which is boiled down to a single roll of the dice to determine what happens outside the suit. Includes papercraft minifigs.

Current status: essentially feature-complete, apart from some character creation options and a planned random mission generator; this will likely be the next game I crowdfund after Tiny Frog Wizards.

Indie RPG Prompt Generator [working title]

Essentially a joke that got out of hand, this is a big set of random tables of common indie RPG tropes that you can roll on to generate a description of a hypothetical game, complete with specific rules toys and setting beats. I probably could have finished this up already, but I decided to include examples of each rolled element, which turned into this big hairy research project I'm not able to give adequate attention to right now. If you've got a game of your own that you think would be a good fit for a presently unfilled example slot, please, let me know!

Current status: plugging away at it in bits and pieces as I'm able.

Three Raccoons in a Trenchcoat

This is an anthology consisting of three minigames: the eponymous Three Raccoons in a Trenchcoat, which is self-explanatory; Unfamiliar, in which you play as uncooperative wizards' familiars; and System Crash, in which you play as malfunctioning robots. More a series of formal experiments in character creation and group composition than proper full-featured games, all share the same core mechanics, with milieu-specific addons of varying practicality; for example, System Crash has specific rules for which senses each player is allowed to use when asking the GM for information, because it's completely possible to have a group in which only one of the robots can see. Large portions of Unfamiliar were later re-used in Eat God, above.

Current status: I have a list of notes as long as your arm on planned changes to integrate into the text, and I'm confident I'll get around to doing so one of these years.

Gone to Hell

Literally a Doom (2016) pastiche as a Belonging Outside Belonging game, which is just as silly an idea as it sounds; grown out of an earlier 24-hour RPG called Doomguy. The central conceit is that there's only a single player character, with players taking turns assuming the role of the Slayer, while everyone else takes ownership of the various hostile factions comprising the game's conspiratorial twelve-car pileup of a plot. Lots of pontificating about the implicit power structures of tabletop RPG groups. This one probably needs a full rewrite in order to lend a bit more formal structure to the "one player character, many GMs" conceit than out-of-the-box BOB offers.

Current status: I have not looked at this game in three years, which is actually a really long time for me.

Rotate Bird

Another of my "is this a formal experiment or a real game" titles, this one revolves around constructing characters out of abstract symbols, which are interpreted during play to retroactively define what your character is actually capable of doing. Even the title seen above is an interpretive approximation; strictly speaking, the game is called 🔄🐦. Possibly the most shitposty game I've ever written, which is saying something, but based on playtest feedback it seems functional.

Current status: the only reason this is listed as lower in priority than Gone to Hell is because I genuinely don't know what to do with it. It's probably publishable, with some cleanup editing and graphic design, but it feels like there's something missing. I'm open to suggestions!

Get in the Fucking Robot

A pamphlet-size, competitive, GMless title that's at least as much a board game as it is a tabletop RPG, this one is about a bunch of dysfunctional candidate mecha pilots competing to be the first to pilot the titular giant robot. The game is played under misère conditions: while each character's IC goal is to pilot the robot, each player's OOC goal is to avoid that fate, with the player whose character actually Gets in the Fucking Robot being accounted the loser.

Current status: playtesting suggests the current framework of play doesn't actually work – like, at all – so this one needs to go all the way back to the drawing board; I don't feel like doing that any time soon, which puts it squarely at the bottom of the list.

[potatoparakeet]

Some of my meet the Robinsons headcanons 🫣 cause my head is full of em. A lot of these r kinda worldbuildy but some are Robinson family based!

-I'm a believer that Franny went to school for bio-engineering (and music ofc) and put all of that knowledge towards her frogs. Maybe she even had a successful lab of her own before finally succeeding with the band, and left it to conduct full time.

- I don't think Lazlos paint gun would shoot random art, but rather Lazlo would have to manually program a painting into it somehow, and trial-and-error test it until it looks perfect.

- Billies train system through the house is Uncle Joe's primary mode of transportation across the bigger stretches of the estate.

- Along w the hover-chairs, there's a Robinson brand of wheelchairs and crutches that can fold/unfold to travel through the travel tubes and be sensed by the bubbles!

- Robinson industries is obviously the top of the line when it comes to tech products, but there are also other companies that sell similar products. The Samsungs to Cornelius's Apple.

- Future City/Todayland is Not Named That. I don't have any better ideas but both of those ain't it

- Nonetheless I think it became the biggest city in the country just due to it being the first to take on Niels cityscaping inventions. It's kind of his personal playground in that sense

- In that breath I also think there's many places in the country that just Aren't that advanced. I imagine public transportation has majorly improved but in many cities life hasn't changed all too much.

- I think it'd be interesting for Robinson Industries to have people who just HATE the things they do. Look at those instant-buildings and tell me the construction working community didn't freak out.

- imo 2037 (from what we see) seems technologically advanced in the way that people would be able to return to art- but the transition period was definitely rough as people started losing jobs to Neils tech.

- I don't know if Niel would make many robots to be sold commercially- not with the problem of AI vs humans.

- In tiny text of a concept art in the art book you can read that Cornelius created "Robinson™ Blue/Green fuel cells" which are the "world's first renewable clean-burning fuel source" source.

- If we accept that as canon and assume all the new flying cars were fueled with this energy source, we can pretty much assume ground cars went extinct pretty quickly, unless other car manufacturers and gas companies were still allowed to produce.

- Probably by 2037 the use of gas has been banned, leaving only the souly electric ground cars, which probably weren't enough to run whole businesses on. With flying cars as the new norm, roads were likely torn up.

- I don't imagine the whole car switch thing went over well with the public either tbh. I would not be happy if Some Guy told me I couldn't buy gas anymore and had to take the airbus.

- I could have sworn it was canon that Niel had won at least one nobel peace award. Does anyone else remember that