#wanderxreader

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

"bro this fic is so ass 💀"

So anyway, someone left a comment calling Wander a talking orange hamster and Sylvia a buff dinosaur with depression (which, honestly? Kinda fire branding) and I just had to immortalize it in art.

Behold:

The Small Yet Mighty Cuddler & The Emotionally Repressed Steed (I was supposed to make her a dino, but I deadass forgot halfway through, so here we are.)

Like, sir. Ma’am. Entity. You willingly clicked on a Wander Over Yonder fic and then got mad it was about Wander Over Yonder. Not my fault you came in expecting space war and got bedtime snuggles and toe beans instead. That’s on you.

Also, I love that the galaxy crumbling isn’t the problem—no, the real issue here is that the characters aren’t fixing their spaceship fast enough. My bad, lemme just patch up the fabric of space-time real quick instead of having a little emotional depth. (space walmart deadpool will remember this)

(tl;dr: They were probably rage baiting but idc bc they gave me free serotonin. Thank you, anonymous internet gremlin, for inspiring this cursed artwork.)

[selfless-solipsist]

°˖✧ The Night Shift ✧˖° [Wander]

「 ✦ "Hi, I'm Wander! Here to help you SMILE! 😊🌟💖"✦ 」

╰┈➤ Wander x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

> Having Wander as your boyfriend - the (almost) full experience. > Suggestive themes (as per usual), but nothing smutty happening > It's PROBABLY going to have a second part (yes it's going to be a lemon); not sure yet, we'll see

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed like a swarm of sleepy bees, casting their cold glow on the otherwise deserted Blarpee's convenience store. You strolled behind the counter, the scuffed linoleum floor sighing under your boots, and plopped into the cracked vinyl chair that had become your throne during these lonely night shifts. Grabbing a magazine from the rack—a glossy mess of articles that no one but night-shift employees ever bothered to read—you leaned back, one leg casually crossed over the other. But barely two sentences into an article about "Top Ten Reasons Blorpberries Will Change Your Life," you heard it: the unmistakable sound of someone applying their face—enthusiastically and with zero shame—to the front window. Your expression didn't even flinch; your soul sighed, though.

Turning your head slowly, you spotted the culprit. 

Wander. Of course.

His tangerine face was plastered against the glass like a starry-eyed sticker someone forgot to peel off. His hat flopped comically to one side, and his wide grin looked about ready to burst with excitement. He waved a hand with all the subtlety of a neon sign, his eyes sparkling like he had just spotted the universe's last Thunder Blazz.

You stared at him, expressionless, your magazine dangling limply. "Seriously?" you asked, your voice as flat as the expired gum stuck under the counter.

Yes. Seriously.

His breath fogged the glass as he wiggled his eyebrows dramatically. "Can you see me? Can you see meee?" He shouted the last part like it was a one-man concert for the most inconvenient time of the night.

"Wander. Door," you said, jabbing a finger in its direction without moving from your seat.

"But this is more fun!" His voice was muffled but carried that same unrelenting cheer. He flailed his arms like a starfish caught in a rave. "Bet you didn't think you'd get front-row tickets to this performance, huh?"

You sighed, turning back to your magazine. "If you keep at it, I'm charging admission."

"What's that? I can't hear you! Too much glass!" He pressed himself even harder, smushing his hat in the process. You were half-convinced his hat brim was sentient and rolling its metaphorical eyes at his antics.

"Just. Use. The. Door." Your tone was drier than the snack aisle, which, considering the state of Blarpee's inventory, was saying something.

Finally, he relented, disappearing from the window with a goofy spin before bursting through the door like a confetti cannon, bell jingling above him. He practically skipped to the counter, his sky-blue shoes squeaking on the linoleum. "Good evening, my favorite Blarpee's employee!" he announced, leaning his elbows onto the counter and giving you a crooked grin. "How's my gal doing tonight?"

You quirked a brow at him. "Oh, you know. Thrilled to be here, living the dream. Totally don't want to lock the doors and run for the hills."

Wander chuckled, the sound warm and sweet like syrup on pancakes. He tilted his head, puckering his lips dramatically. "Smooch tax," he said, waggling his eyebrows again. "You know the rules."

You leaned forward just enough to plant a quick kiss on him, your lips brushing his with a precision that screamed, we have done this too many times before. "Satisfied?"

"For now," he said, grinning so wide you wondered if his face had hinges. "But don't be surprised if I come back for seconds."

With a small amused huff, you got comfortable in your seat again, resting your elbow on the counter. "You don't have to come here every night, you know. I can handle myself."

"I know," he said, hopping onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then, he looked around the store like a captain surveying his ship. "But I'd feel bad if something happened to you while I was off gallivanting around the galaxy. And besides..." He gave you a sly look. "You secretly love it when I show up."

You snorted, closing your magazine with a snap, placing it on slightly dusty surface of the furniture in front of you. "Oh, yeah, nothing gets my heart racing like hearing you shout at the window like a deranged mime."

Wander gasped, clutching his chest as if you had struck him. "Deranged? My darlin', that cuts deeper than a bargain-bin pizza slicer!"

"Good. Maybe you'll think twice before smearing your face on my windows again." You got up, already heading to the back to grab a mop. If he was here, chaos wasn't far behind, and you might as well be prepared.

Your precious boyfriend followed you of course, practically bouncing on his heels. "So, what's the plan for tonight? Midnight snack thief? Random galactic weirdo stumbling in? Or maybe..." He wiggled his fingers dramatically. "...a daring heist involving canned Blorpberries?"

You paused, looking over your shoulder at him. "My bet's on you getting your hat stuck in the slushy machine again."

He gasped, tugging his hat defensively. "That was one time!"

"Sure," you said, lips twitching ever so slightly. "One time this month."

He grinned, falling into step beside you. "Aw, you know you love it. Admit it."

You rolled your eyes but didn't argue. It was the truth after all.

And honestly you weren't even surprised when he darted into the supply closet before you could even grab the object you were looking for. That closet was like his personal treasure trove—unofficially, of course. When he emerged, your lips quirked upward. Wander had wrangled himself into one of the Blarpee's employee shirts—a white tee with a red stripe—and it hung off his small frame like a toddler wearing their parent's shirt for dress-up. It stopped just above his knees, making him look like the universe's most adorable cinnamon roll. The effect was only enhanced when he grabbed a marker and a blank name tag from the counter. You watched as he leaned over the furniture with intense focus, his tongue sticking out in concentration. He scribbled on the tag, making exaggerated skrt skrt noises as the marker swirled and squeaked against the surface. When he finally slapped it onto his chest, it read:

"Hi, I'm Wander! Here to HELP you SMILE! 😊 🌟💖 "

Complete with doodled stars, hearts, and what appeared to be a tiny stick-figure version of himself holding hands with a much taller figure (presumably you).

You raised a brow, crossing your arms. "You do realize you're not actually an employee, right?"

Wander grinned at you, the picture of innocence—which, let's face it, you knew better by now. Behind that sweet smile was a certified freak who had had you up against the storage shelves more times than you cared to admit. "Not officially," he said, spinning dramatically, the oversized shirt flaring like a cape. "But in spirit? I'm Employee of the Month!"

"Sure you are." You leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest. "When they start awarding that title for 'Most Chaos Caused in a Single Shift.'"

"Pfft! I'm not chaotic—I'm proactive." He  puffed out his chest, the shirt swallowing his frame even more. He hopped onto the counter, feet dangling like a kid waiting for storytime. "Now, what's first on tonight's agenda? Stocking shelves? Wiping down counters? Or should I stand by the door and greet customers with my winning smile?"

You gave him a deadpan look. "How about you don't scare off the three people who'll actually walk in tonight?"

He gasped, clutching his heart dramatically. "I would never! My smile is welcoming! It's like...a warm hug for your soul!"

"Your smile is a lot of things," you said, heading to the small room and grabbing the mop he had neglected in favor of his self-appointed 'uniform', before emerging from the small space yourself. "Subtle isn't one of them."

Wander hopped off the counter, practically vibrating with excitement. "That's why it works! Blarpee's deserves five-star service, and tonight, I'm here to deliver!" He struck a heroic pose, pointing to the ceiling like he was about to declare war on dust particles.

You sighed, dragging the mop across the floor with practiced apathy. "You still know more about this store than I do, don't you?"

"Maybe," he said, winking. "I mean, who else would know that the Blorpberry pies expired two weeks ago, the Thunder Blazz display wobbles if you bump it, and there's a loose tile in the snack aisle that squeaks like a baby Sneezlefruit?"

"You do realize you've basically been spying on this place, right?"

He grinned wider. "Spying? No, no. Observing! There's a difference!"

"Sure." You glanced at the Thunder Blazz display, which did in fact wobble ominously. "Should I start calling you Captain Blarpee's?"

He gasped like you'd just crowned him king of the universe. "Ooooh, I like that! Captain Blarpee's, defender of convenience stores everywhere!" He spun around, the hem of his oversized shirt flying like a cape again.

You shook your head, hiding the faintest hint of a smirk. "If you're done playing dress-up, you can help me wipe down the counters."

Immediately, he saluted at that with exaggerated gusto, the name tag on his chest slipping slightly. "Captain Blarpee's is on the case!" He grabbed a rag, darting behind the register with the speed and determination of someone about to rescue kittens from a burning building. And as he worked, humming an upbeat tune under his breath, you couldn't help but watch him for a moment. Beneath the chaos and theatrics, there was something undeniably endearing about his energy, even if it drove you up the wall sometimes. But you would never tell him that, of course.

At least, not while he was wearing a name tag with doodled hearts.

Mostly because he tackled the counter with the kind of enthusiasm reserved for game show contestants or people who find out their favorite snacks are on clearance. He scrubbed the surface with an unnecessary amount of elbow grease, his uniform swishing as he leaned over dramatically, tongue sticking out like a dog riding a car window.

"Wander," you said, pausing mid-mop to watch him. "You're cleaning like the counter insulted your ancestors."

He glanced over his shoulder, his face lit up with mock shock. "Are you suggesting that I shouldn't treat this fine establishment with the respect it deserves?!" He pointed the rag at you, his expression so over-the-top serious you couldn't help but raise a brow. "Blarpee's counters are sacred. Do you know how many snack crumbs have met their untimely demise here?"

You let out a long, slow sigh, dragging the mop in a lazy arc. "Pretty sure most of them came from you."

He paused, staring into the distance like he was contemplating life's great mysteries. "That... is probably true," he admitted, scratching his chin with the corner of the rag. "But hey, it's a snack store. That's what it's for!"

You snorted, leaning your weight on the mop handle. "Uh-huh. Just don't bust out a eulogy for the crumbs. We've got enough weirdos wandering in without you scaring them off."

Wander gasped, clutching his chest again. "I would never scare off the fine patrons of this humble establishment!" He looked around conspiratorially, lowering his voice to a loud whisper. "Besides, if anyone causes trouble, I've got a secret weapon!"

"Let me guess," you deadpanned. "Your hat?"

"Nope!" He struck another dramatic pose, arms spread wide. "It's me."

You blinked, your expression flat. "Your secret weapon... is you?"

"Exactly!" He gave you finger guns and an exaggerated wink. "Who's gonna mess with a guy wearing a name tag this cool?" He tapped the tag proudly, the doodled hearts somehow glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

Before you could retort, the bell above the door jingled, and you both turned to see a tall, hulking alien stomp inside, his eyes darting suspiciously.

Your humor drained as fast as the guy's boots squeaked on the linoleum. Wander, of course, stepped up, chest puffed out like a scrappy little bodyguard and employee in one, his outfit moving lightly with his movements. Then, he looked up at the alien like the cute little cutie pie he was as the massive guy's shadow practically swallowed him whole. "Howdy, friend! What brings ya to Blarpee's tonight? Lookin' for snacks, drinks, or maybe some good ol'-fashioned friendship?"

The alien—easily seven feet tall and built like someone who bench-pressed meteorites for fun—stared down at Wander. His crimson eyes squinted, his lip twitching like he was trying to decide if this was a joke, a fever dream, or a hidden camera show.

Your boyfriend, in true obnoxious yet lovable cartoon fashion, remained undeterred. "Ooooh, you've got the look of a fella who's on a mission! Let me guess..." He tapped his chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness, then snapped his fingers with a grin. "DING! You're here for the Thunder Blazz, aren't you? It's the drink of champions!"

The alien blinked, his massive hands twitching by his sides. "Uh... no?"

Wander gasped, clutching his hat. "Not the Thunder Blazz?!" He spun dramatically, pacing a few steps before pointing a finger at the guy like he had just uncovered a conspiracy. "Wait—don't tell me—you're here for the Blorpberry pies! They're two-for-one this week!"

"No," the man grunted, his brow furrowing. "I just need—"

"Wait, wait, wait," The nomad interrupted, holding up a hand and stepping forward until he was practically nose-to-stomach with the guy. "Let me guess one more time. You're here for... socks!" He gestured toward the endcap display of novelty socks featuring questionable slogans like Keep Your Tentacles Warm and Galactic Toes Rule.

The alien's confusion deepened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. "Why would I—no! I just need a—"

"A mystery customer!" Wander cut him off, clapping his hands and spinning in place. "My favorite kind! Don't worry, friend, Captain Blarpee's is on the case!" He darted behind the counter, practically vaulting over it in his oversized shirt. "Okay, okay, lemme guess—do you need batteries? A map? Oooh, some travel-sized shampoo?" He rummaged through a basket of clearance items, holding up random objects with glee.

You leaned on your mop, watching the scene unfold with the same bemused detachment you reserved for late-night infomercials. The alien, meanwhile, looked about one more question away from imploding. "I just need a pack of gum!" he finally snapped, his voice booming like a thunderclap.

Your partner froze mid-rummage, the clearance basket balanced precariously on his head. "Gum?!" he said, as though the concept had never occurred to him. "Why didn't you just say so, buddy?"

"I tried—"

"Great choice!" Wander interrupted again, dropping the basket onto the counter with a clatter. He darted to the gum display like a blur of orange and green, grabbing a pack and holding it up triumphantly. "Minty fresh! It's a classic! Perfect for a guy with your... uh... mysterious, brooding aura." He paused, squinting up at the alien. "Unless you're more of a fruity flavor kinda guy? Or maybe you're feeling spicy? Ooooh, they just got a cinnamon kind that'll knock your socks off—assuming you're wearing any!" He laughed, leaning in like they were old pals.

The alien's jaw worked silently, his shoulders visibly tense. You bit your lip to keep from laughing, the mop squeaking faintly as you leaned on it. This poor guy had no idea what he'd walked into. "I'll just take the mint," he growled finally, snatching the pack from the unofficial employee's hand like it was a lifeline.

"Excellent choice!" Wander beamed, darting back to the register. "That'll be two credits, and don't forget to grab a receipt—it's recyclable! Captain Blarpee's cares about the environment!" He pressed buttons on the register with exaggerated precision, but humming a quick tune as well, grinning up at the customer the whole time.

The guy fumbled with his money, dropping a coin that clattered to the floor.

As he bent to pick it up, Wander turned his attention toward you and cupped his fuzzy hands over his mouth, before whispering loudly, "I don't think he's wearin' socks!"

You snorted.

The alien slapped down a handful of credits, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, 'This place is cursed.' Yet as he turned to leave, Wander waved enthusiastically. "Come back anytime!" He called. "And remember—smiles are free, but good vibes are priceless!"

Not giving any sort of response, the man left, the bell above the door jingling as he stomped out. The moment he was gone, you let out a low chuckle, shaking your head as you resumed mopping. "You really know how to make an impression."

Wander turned to you, grinning like he had just won Employee of the Decade. "What can I say? It's a gift!"

"A gift for awkwardness," you said dryly, but the corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself. "That guy's probably gonna tell his friends to avoid this place forever."

"Or," He started, leaning on the counter with a mischievous glint in his eye, "he'll tell them about the charming little Blarpee's with the world's best customer service. You'll see."

You snorted again, shaking your head. "You're something else, Wander."

"Something amazing," he corrected, puffing out his chest.

Before long, the both of you got back to cleaning up the place, a few teasing jabs and smooches from the nomad himself landing your way. He, still in his oversized "uniform," got back to scrubbing the register counter like it owed him rent. His tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth, wiggling in time with the circular motions of his rag. If effort alone could make the counter sparkle, this place would look like it belonged in a sci-fi movie, not a run-down convenience store. "So," he piped up after a moment of comfortable silence, without looking away from his self-appointed task, "are we going to your place or mine after your shift?"

You paused mid-swipe with the mop, leaning on the handle. "Wander, you don't have a place."

"Sure I do!" He straightened up, rag held triumphantly. "The universe is my home, the stars are my ceiling, and any planet with snacks is my pantry!"

You shot him a look that could have withered a houseplant. "You're a hobo with a hat."

"A charming hobo with a hat," he corrected, grinning. "And hey, don't knock it. Sleeping under the stars is romantic!"

You raised an unimpressed brow. "Romantic until we're naked on a blanket, an owl's watching us, and you're waving at it mid-thrust."

Wander snorted, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Oh, c'mon, that owl wasn't traumatized. I helped it! Remember? I gave it a little flashlight from my hat so it wouldn't be scared of the dark!"

Tilting your head, you deadpanned. "While you were still going at it."

"Hey, multitasking!" He held up his hands like it was the most logical explanation in the world. "You were moaning, the owl was hooting—it was a beautiful harmony. And I made sure both my lady and my feathered friend were happy!" He puffed out his chest, looking ridiculously proud.

You stared at him for a long moment, then shook your head with a smirk you couldn't entirely suppress. "You're impossible."

"And you love it!" He shot back again, winking.

Ignoring his ridiculous antics, you finished mopping and headed for the fridge. The icy air nipped at your face as you grabbed a Thunder Blazz, cracking it open with a soft hiss. Slowly you walked back to the register, throwing a few coins inside with practiced ease. Leaning against the now-cleaned and shiny counter, you took a sip, the sweet, fizzy drink hitting your tongue like liquid chaos. Your back was to Wander, but you could feel his presence, his happy humming growing louder as he shuffled closer. But before you knew it, he was on his tiptoes, his arms sneaking around your waist from behind the counter. His touch was warm, his fingers curling over your stomach as he nuzzled against your back, his hat squishing slightly against your shoulder blade.

"Hi," he said softly, his voice dripping with affection.

You glanced down at his tiny hands encircling you, then tilted your head to look over your shoulder. "Hi."

"Guess what?" he asked as you leaned back a bit, squishing his cheek against you and grinning up like a kid waiting to share a secret.

"What?"

"Smooch tax," he said, puckering his lips dramatically.

You rolled your eyes but turned, bending slightly so you could press a kiss to his lips. He melted into it like butter on a hot pancake, his hat tilting precariously to one side as he smiled against your mouth. Maybe showing affection during work hours wasn't exactly the best thing, especially since there were cameras, but it wasn't like you would get fired. The store didn't have many people lining up for the night shift. But you did line up, and it ended with you meeting a particularly cute nomad, who was now your boyfriend. Life was good. So pulling back just enough to look at him, you noticed how his name tag was slightly crooked, the tiny hearts and doodles somehow making him look even more ridiculous—and ridiculously lovable.

"Better?" you asked, smirking.

"Always!" He beamed up at you, his eyes twinkling with that endless optimism you pretended to find annoying.

"So, yeah," you said, taking another sip of your drink. "It's my place after the shift. I'm not risking another wildlife therapy session."

"Fair," Wander said, resting his chin on the counter when he released you and looked up with a lazy grin. "But you've gotta admit, the owl thing was memorable."

You snorted, shaking your head as you finished the beverage. "Yeah, not sure that's the word I'd use."

"Well, then," he said, hopping down and twirling his rag like it was a victory flag, "let's make some new memories tonight—indoors, owl-free, and with plenty of snacks!"

Now that sounded nice.

After that conversation, you plopped back down on the creaky chair behind the register, leaning into it like it was a luxury recliner instead of a sad excuse for furniture. With a soft yawn, you propped your elbow on the counter, your chin resting in your hand. Night shifts had a way of making time feel like molasses—slow, sticky, and just a bit miserable. Wander, however, was the living embodiment of a sugar rush. He began roaming the aisles with boundless energy, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like a mash-up of banjo music and elevator jazz. His oversized shirt swished with every step, the hem brushing against the linoleum sometimes when he crouched down as he grabbed snacks and drinks with a level of excitement you would reserve for finding buried treasure. He called out as he went, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet store. "Ooooh, Blorpberry Swirlies! Your favorite!" He tossed a bag of the gummy candy into his makeshift pile in his arms. "And—oh, they restocked the caramel-pretzel-moonchips! Those are for me, but I'll share," he added with a grin, his words as sweet as the snacks.

You smirked, watching him from your perch. "Generous of you, Captain Blarpee's."

He spun around dramatically, balancing his snack pile with one hand like he was auditioning for a circus act. "I am a man of the people!"

"Uh-huh," you said, trying not to laugh when a bag of chips teetered dangerously close to falling.

With that he continued his snack safari, darting into a new aisle. A moment later, he called out, "Hey, what's this?" You leaned slightly to see him holding up a bizarre, neon-green can that seemed to vibrate faintly in his grip. "Thunder Blazz MAX?!" he exclaimed, squinting at the label. "What's 'MAX' about it? Is it, like, extra fizzy? Or maybe it glows in the dark? Oh! What if it's got superpowers?!"

You rolled your eyes, stifling a grin. "More likely, it just gives you heartburn faster."

Wander tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hmm. Well, only one way to find out!" He tossed it onto his pile, which now resembled a snack-based Jenga tower. "Oh, and look at this!" He held up a tiny bag of what looked like dehydrated alien fruit. "It says 'Xtreem Astro Chews—Warning: May Cause Temporary Levitation.' You think they're kidding?"

"Do you want to risk floating into the ceiling again?" you asked flatly, raising a brow.

He shrugged, tossing the bag on top anyway. "Hey, I've always wanted to hover dramatically during snack time."

"Your funeral," you said, leaning back with a smirk.

Finally, he waddled up to the counter, his snack pile stacked so high that only his hat and the tips of his shoes were visible beneath it. With a triumphant "Ta-da!" he dumped everything onto the counter in a glorious, crinkling avalanche.

You raised a brow, grabbing the scanner. "Planning a snackocalypse, are we?"

"Only the best for my favorite gal!" Wander said, leaning on the counter, chin in hand. His eyes sparkled as he watched you scan each item, the scanner beeping rhythmically. Every time it beeped, he whispered, "Boop," under his breath, like it was the funniest thing in the universe.

You shook your head, biting back a smirk. "You know, for someone who doesn't get paid here, you're weirdly invested in making me work."

"Hey, somebody's gotta keep things interesting!" He grinned, not even pretending to be sorry.

Shaking your head fondly, you scanned the last of his snack collection and leaned on the counter, giving him a flat look. "Anything else, Captain Blarpee's? Or should we start installing snack shelving in my kitchen?"

He opened his mouth, likely for some quip, but his eyes wandered to the shelves of "personal items" in front of the counter. A spark of realization lit up his face. "Oh! We're out of, uh... supplies, aren't we?"

At that you stifled a laugh, watching as he took a step back to examine the colorful array of products on display. The shelves were a carnival of absurdity, they were those with the last-minute buys that somehow always got someone to pick something, featuring items like "Extra Blorped Galactic Glow Condoms" and "Astro-Resistant Ribbed Rockets." Your boyfriend tapped his chin, squinting at the labels like a seasoned critic at an art gallery. "Hmmm, we've tried these before," he said, pointing at a pack with glowing stars on the box. "They were pretty neat. I liked how they glowed—added some ambiance, you know?"

At that you tilted your head. "You spent more time playing shadow puppets than—well, you know.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, fair. But hey, those shadow puppets were really good.”

“They were giraffes, Wander.”

“And you were impressed!” he shot back, pointing a finger at you.

You sighed, shaking your head as he continued his exploration. This was routine by now—Wander treating the condom shelf like it was a treasure hunt, and you trying not to laugh at his commentary. His enthusiasm was infectious, even if you had already tried most of what was on offer. Suddenly you heard him snicker, picking up another pack and reading it aloud. "'Astro-Lube Compatible—For Your Meteoric Pleasure.'" He tilted his head back at you. "What's meteoric about it, though?"

"I think it's just marketing," you said, rolling your eyes. "You gonna stand here critiquing packaging all night, or actually pick something?"

He hummed, reaching for a pack of "Double Galactic Glide—Extra Stretch!" ones. He grinned as he turned back to you. "Extra stretch, huh? You think it means I can, y'know..." He gestured dramatically, making an exaggerated ballooning motion with his hands.

"Wander, if you try to make balloon animals out of condoms again, I'm banning you from buying them," you warned, though your lips twitched with amusement.

He gasped, clutching the pack to his chest like you had threatened to destroy his banjo. "But they're so fun! Remember when I made that space llama?"

"Yeah, I also remember you accidentally popping it mid—"

"ANYWAY," he interrupted loudly, grabbing a bottle of lube from the shelf with his free hand. He examined it for a moment before flashing you a toothy grin. "Ooooh, this one's 'Comet Cool.' Perfect for those spicy nights when you wanna cool off, huh?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying not to laugh. "Just pay for it already, you dork."

With a bounce in his step, he finally dumped the items onto the counter, alongside his snack hoard. Then came the usual spectacle—you watched with an unimpressed look as he propped a foot onto the counter, tilted his sneaker, and poured out what could only be described as a waterfall of credits. The coins jingled and clinked in a chaotic cascade, spilling across the surface like metallic confetti. "There we go!" he declared, sweeping the credits toward you with a proud smile. "That should cover it."

You stared at the mountain of coins, then at him. "You do this every time."

"And every time, it's charming," he said, winking.

Shaking your head, you began scooping credits into the register, muttering something about needing hazard pay for dealing with his nonsense. By the time you were done packing everything in a massive bag and placing it behind the counter for later, Wander had already leaned in, resting his elbows on the counter and propping his chin on his hands again. His wide eyes sparkled with mischief. "So," he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "About tonight... I was thinking we could, uh, mix things up a little."

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Mix things up how?"

His grin stretched wider, and his gaze flicked toward the magazine rack in the back of the store. "You know. Inspiration."

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face.

This was going to be a long shift.

And so you followed your fuzzy bundle of joy to the magazine rack, his oversized shirt swishing with his steps as he scanned the covers like a kid in a candy store. The rack itself was a chaotic mix of celebrity gossip, intergalactic home decor, and the pièce de résistance: Galactic Romance Weekly, complete with a cover featuring two aliens locked in what appeared to be an anatomically impossible embrace under a glowing moon.

Wander's grin stretched ear to ear as he grabbed a magazine and flipped it open, his eyes lighting up. "Ooooh, this looks fancy!" He tilted the page toward you, showcasing an overly airbrushed illustration of a couple attempting a position so convoluted it looked more like advanced yoga than anything romantic. You stared at it, trying to process the sheer nonsense. Soon enough, your boyfriend's grin faltered slightly, his brow furrowing as he turned the magazine back toward himself. He squinted, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. Finally, his face twisted into the funniest, most exaggerated expression of bafflement you had ever seen—eyes wide, lips pursed, and the place where his nose would be (if he had one) scrunched like he had just bitten into a lemon and found a worm inside.

That did it. You doubled over, laughing so hard your knees almost gave out. "What... what is that?" you wheezed, pointing at the picture. "Are they wrestling or trying to summon an ancient god?"

"I-I don't..." Wander started, holding up a finger as if to explain, but his confusion only deepened. He pointed at the image, his voice high-pitched and incredulous. "Why is her leg there? And his arm—it's like a game of Twister gone wrong!"

You were crying now, leaning on the rack for support. "Whoever wrote this definitely failed biology class."

He flipped to another page, his expression cautiously optimistic. "Okay, maybe this one's better." With that he turned the magazine toward you again, revealing a couple attempting something that looked like synchronized swimming on dry land.

"Wander," you choked out, barely able to get the words past your laughter, "that guy's face looks like he's passing a kidney stone."

Wander tilted his head, his Southern drawl creeping in as he observed the photo. "Bless his heart, he does look like he's havin' a real hard time. And her? She's bent up like one of those wire puzzles you can't solve. I feel like I should call an ambulance to help 'em out!" You snorted, clutching your stomach as Wander kept flipping pages, his commentary getting better with each one. "Oh no," he said, stopping on an image of a couple tangled in a position that could only be described as "human pretzel meets trapeze accident." His finger traced the outline of the image. "She looks like she's about to get launched into orbit. And him? That poor fella's face says, 'I made a mistake!'" Tears streamed down your face as you gasped for air, your laughter echoing through the empty store. But he, encouraged by your reaction, turned to another page. "Okay, this one's got promise!" he said, but his enthusiasm died instantly as he stared at the image. He turned it sideways, then upside down, before shaking his head.

"Darlin'," he said, his tone deadly serious, "this isn't romance—it's acrobatics. And not the fun kind. The kind where you sign a waiver first."

You leaned against the rack, completely undone. "Who... who comes up with this? And why?"

Wander flipped to yet another page, his brows furrowing even deeper. "Oh no. Look at this one." He pointed at a couple sprawled across what looked like an inflatable raft, both wearing expressions of vague existential dread. "They look like they've been stranded in the middle of a lake and just realized they forgot the oars. And what's with the raft? Is that supposed to be romantic?" Your laughter reached a new level, almost silent now as you clutched your stomach and tried to breathe. But your partner kept going, flipping pages with the determination of someone trying to find a single shred of logic in a sea of absurdity. "Alright," he said, holding up another photo. "This one... oh no. Oh honey, no. They're doing something called the 'Astro-Spiral.'" He pointed at the picture, his voice full of genuine concern. "That man's neck is at an angle that says, 'I'm gonna need physical therapy.'"

You lost it again, tears streaming down your face as you leaned on him for support, placing your elbow against his head. He patted your back, grinning ear to ear. "Glad I could make my lady laugh," he said, flipping to the last page. "But seriously, we should send these people a gift basket or somethin'. They look like they've been through war!"

You wiped your eyes, still giggling. "Wander, you're so ridiculous."

"And I'm yer ridiculous boyfriend!" he said, winking as he tucked the magazine back into the rack. "But I think we'll stick to our own moves, thank you very much. No pretzels required!"

Then, before you could retort, the bell jingled, signaling the arrival of a customer. 

Your unofficial coworker perked up immediately, spinning on his heel with a grin so wide it looked like his face might split in half. "I got this!" he announced, puffing out his chest and darting toward the door like an overenthusiastic Walmart greeter on their first day. Seeing it, you shook your head, already bracing for the spectacle as you wiped the rest of the tears away. Wander was great at handling customers—if by "handling," you meant traumatizing them into reevaluating their life choices.

The guy who walked in was tall, lanky, and dressed in a long coat that screamed I do questionable things in my spare time. He had an air of nonchalance, his hands tucked in his pockets as he strolled toward the snack aisle without a word.

"Howdy, friend!" Wander chirped, practically skipping alongside him. "Welcome to Blarpee's, where smiles are free and snacks are kinda reasonably priced! Can I interest you in some Thunder Blazz MAX? Or maybe you're more of a Blorpberry Swirlie kinda guy? Ooooh, or how about some moonchips—caramel pretzel's all the rage these days!" The man grunted of course, clearly not in the mood for small talk, but the fuzzball wasn't one to take a hint. He hopped in front of him, walking backward and maintaining eye contact like a high-energy tour guide. "Y'know, our Blorpberry pies just got restocked. They're two-for-one! Perfect for a midnight snack or, uh..." He squinted at the guy's sullen expression. "...a brooding stare into the void?"

You couldn't help but smirk as you grabbed a box of chips from behind the counter. Wander's cheeriness was like a spotlight in a pitch-black cave—it wasn't for everyone, but it sure was entertaining to watch. As the guy muttered something incomprehensible and veered toward the drink section, Wander followed, his voice carrying across the store.

"Don't forget to check out the candy aisle! We've got Astro Chews—they might make you float! Oh, and if you're feeling adventurous, the Galactic Glow Gummies are a real trip! Figuratively. I think."

You carried the box of chips to an aisle, bending over to unpack and stock the shelves. From your position, you could still hear him going full salesman mode, his voice growing increasingly chipper as the guy's responses devolved into irritated grunts. But finally, the man seemed to pick out his items—a Thunder Blazz MAX and a bag of chips—and started toward the register. As he passed your aisle, you barely registered his presence, too focused on lining up the chip bags just right.

And then it happened.

Smack!

You froze, blinking in disbelief as your brain took a moment to catch up.

Did... did that guy just smack your butt?

Wander froze too, mid-sentence, his arms outstretched like he had been about to launch into another sales pitch. His grin stayed plastered on his face, but one of his eyes twitched so violently it looked like it was trying to escape.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You slowly straightened up, glancing over your shoulder to see the guy continuing toward the register like he hadn't just committed a crime against human decency. Your boyfriend, meanwhile, stood rooted to the spot, his frozen grin morphing into something truly terrifying—a cross between a cartoon character about to snap and a rabid squirrel who had just had its nuts stolen. "Uh-oh," you muttered under your breath, stepping back slightly. This was about to get interesting.

Wander's eye twitched again, his hat tilting ominously forward as he finally turned to follow the guy. "Well, now," he said, his voice a little too chipper, "that wasn't very neighborly, was it?"

You smirked, leaning casually against the shelf. "Your move, Captain Blarpee's."

Wander's grin only widened as he snapped his fingers and reached into his hat. You had seen this look before. He was about to become someone else. He pulled out a fake mustache and slapped it on with determination, his expression immediately changing into his Wild Wooly Wander persona.

"Wander," you said slowly, watching him adjust his 'stache like he was preparing for battle. "You know you're about to traumatize him, right?"

"Oh, I sure do," he replied, his Southern drawl suddenly cranked up to eleven as he dramatically adjusted his name tag, turning it from front to back (when he wrote it on the back you had no fricking clue). It read: "WILDER WOOLY WANDER, EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH (AGAIN!)." He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, his face turning into a scowl, ready to unleash the full force of his persona.

"RRRRAAAAWWWW!" he roared, stomping around like a dinosaur in a thrift store. "YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST SMACK MY LADY'S BUTT AND GET AWAY WITH IT?!"

You watched, half-amused and half-scared for the guy, as Wander stomped toward the customer, the fake villain energy radiating from him like a blast of heat.

The alien, still looking like a reluctant participant in this comedy show, gave him a confused glance, his hand resting on his phone. "Uh... what's your problem, man?"

The fuzzball's expression turned even more ridiculous, eyes narrowing with intense focus. He gave the customer a look as though he were an outlaw, ready to challenge him to a duel over some cosmic misunderstanding. "I'M ABOUT TO SHOW YOU HOW WE HANDLE THINGS 'ROUND HERE," He shouted, slapping his hands together for dramatic effect. "I'LL REPEAT MYSELF: YOU THINK YOU CAN WALTZ IN HERE, SLAP MY LADY ON THE REAR, AND WALK OUTTA HERE LIKE A BIG SHOT?" He roared, his mustache twitching with every syllable.

The customer blinked, clearly unsure if he was dealing with a deranged store employee or if he had been transported into some sort of fever dream. "Uh, look, I didn't mean—"

"DIDN'T MEAN?! WELL, LET ME SHOW YA HOW IT FEELS, PARTNER!" Wander stomped right up to him, his little legs working overtime to build up a truly menacing aura. Before the guy could react, he wound up like a baseball pitcher and delivered a swift, unapologetic SMACK right to the guy's backside. The sound echoed through the store like a firecracker going off in an empty warehouse, even creating a shockwave that made the chips shake, a few of them falling down from the shelves to the ground. "HOW DO YOU LIKE 'EM APPLES?!" He yelled triumphantly, his arms outstretched as if he had just finished the most epic of battles.

Flinching, the alien took a step back, his face contorting into a mix of shock and disbelief. "What the hell?!"

Wander, still in full Wild Wooly mode, growled, pointing a dramatic finger in his face. "CONSIDER THAT A LESSON IN RESPECT, YA NO-GOOD, CHIP-EATIN', SNEAKY-SLAPPIN' VARMINT! THIS IS BLARPEE'S, NOT A CATTLE RANCH! BUT IT AIN'T OVER! NO SIR!" Not waiting for a response, he grabbed the man and lifted him above himself—surprisingly strong for someone who looked like he was made of the coziest fluff—and plopped him onto one of the store's rickety stools. It squeaked and cracked under the weight, the thing barely holding together. The customer, now on the stool, was so tall and big that the seat collapsed beneath him, sending him crashing to the floor in a flurry of dust and confusion. "WELL THEN!" Wander exclaimed, hands on his hips, looking down at the crumpled man like he had just performed a heroic rescue. "YOU'VE GOT A LECTURE COMIN'! A LESSON ON MANNERS—BLORPIE'S STYLE!"

The guy scrambled to his feet, rubbing his rear and looking absolutely lost in this bizarre alternate reality where a random employee was yelling at him like some unhinged cowboy from a bad B-movie. "Man, what's even going on? I just came in to get a soda..."

Your boyfriend wasn't listening, however. He grabbed a bag of chips from a nearby shelf and threw it down in front of the guy like it was some kind of treat. "YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALTZ IN HERE AND TOUCH PEOPLE?!" Wander yelled, face dangerously close to the guy's. "THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS IN MY STORE, BUSTER. NO ONE TOUCHES MY LADY'S BUTT WITHOUT HER SAY-SO. AND YOU DON'T TOUCH THE BUTT OF A WORKER WITHOUT PAYING THE PRICE!" He leaned in closer, a little too close. "You see, we run a TIGHT SHIP here, friend. And the first rule is—if you slap the merchandise," he gestured to the shelves with a flourish, "you better be ready for a lesson!"

You leaned against the shelf, trying to hide your face behind your hand as you laughed quietly, watching this circus unfold. The alien's expression was pure puzzlement mixed with slight terror, but he was starting to realize that no, this wasn't some kind of prank—it was just Wander. The guy's body language went from defensively confused to straight-up scared.

"I—I didn't mean anything by it, man, sorry!" he said quickly, trying to recover from the awkwardness of the situation.

The acting fuzzball raised an eyebrow. "Didn't mean anything by it? Oh, that's the problem, partner! You thought you could go around slappin' butts without any consequences. That's like thinkin' you can eat a whole bucket of Blorpberry Swirlies without feelin' the sugar crash. It just don't work that way!"

The guy's eyes darted around, unsure of what to do, as Wander continued his wild performance. The absurdity of it all—the Southern drawl, the fake mustache, the bizarre sense of justice—was too much. You couldn't hold back any longer. You burst out laughing as you walked back to the entrence of the store, leaning against the register counter as tears of amusement blurred your vision.

"I'M GONNA MAKE SURE YOU LEARN SOME RESPECT, BOY!" Wander shouted, stomping in a circle like a bad guy in a kids' cartoon. "ARE YOU READY FOR THE WILD WOOLY WANDER WAY?!" He was on fire, as he stomped back and forth, his arms waving dramatically, continuing his tirade in full Wild Wooly Wander persona, his voice booming in all-caps as if he were auditioning for an action movie. "NOW LISTEN HERE, FELLER!" he bellowed, his hat crooked from all the over-the-top gestures. "YOU THINK IT'S ALL FUN AND GAMES, SLAPPIN' BUTTS LIKE YOU'RE SOME KIND OF ROGUE BANANA PEEL?! WELL, I'M GONNA TEACH YOU A LESSON ON RESPECT THAT'LL MAKE YOU WANNA BEND OVER AND APOLOGIZE TO EVERYONE YOU'VE EVER COME ACROSS, FROM THE WORM UNDER YOUR SHOE TO THE GRAVITY-DEFYING PENGUIN YOU MET ON THAT PLANET THAT'S ALL ICE!"

Opening one of the bags of snacks that your partner had bought earlier, you tried your best to keep your composure. A few of the Blorpberry Swirlies crinkled in your hands as you casually glanced at the spectacle unfolding in front of you. Wander, of course, was in full rant mode, throwing his words out like he was delivering the most important speech in the history of the universe.

"SEE, WHAT YOU DID," He yelled, pointing a finger at the guy like he was teaching him the fundamentals of life, "IS ABOUT THE SAME AS THINKIN' YOU CAN JUST WALK INTO A BAR AND ORDER A DRINK WITHOUT KNOWIN' YOUR DAMN LIMITS. IT AIN'T JUST ABOUT WHAT YOU WANT, SON, IT'S ABOUT WHAT'S RIGHT!"

You popped a Swirlie in your mouth, watching the performance with quiet amusement. Of course he was serious about this. No one—NO ONE—touched your fine posterior but him, and even then, it was with full consent.

The furball's eyes narrowed dramatically as he stopped pacing for a moment, his voice dropping to an eerie, ominous growl. "You feel good after that smack from me, huh? Did it feel like a nice little wakeup call for ya?" He sneered at the guy's frozen, stunned expression. "Well, lemme tell ya somethin'. YOU AIN'T GOT NO BUSINESS SLAPPIN' ANYONE'S BUTT LIKE THAT, EVEN IF MY GIRL'S GOT THE NICEST RUMP IN THE ENTIRE GALAXY! THAT'S RESERVED FOR ME AND ONLY ME! AND EVEN THEN, I MAKE SURE IT'S CONSENSUAL, BOY!"

The guy was standing there, looking like he wanted to sink through the floor. He opened his mouth, probably to apologize or explain himself, but Wander wasn't having it.

He pointed at him with a fierce intensity that almost made the shelves shake. "Do you think it feels GOOD for MY LADY to be smacked on her fine behind by some random feller? YOU THINK SHE LIKES THAT? WELL, I CAN TELL YA, IT AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN AGAIN ON MY WATCH!" For emphasis, Wander slammed his hand down on a nearby snack rack, knocking it over in the process. Chips and snacks flew everywhere in a glorious cascade of crisp packets and wrappers. You didn't even flinch, just casually grabbed another snack.

Wander leaned towards you, whispering between breaths, his face contorting in that wild way of his yet a pure softness crossed his features when he watched you. "I'll clean that up later darlin'. But right now, I gotta make sure this feller understands what manners are!"

Then, without warning, he launched back into his full persona. "YOU GOTTA RESPECT WOMEN, YOU HEAR ME?! YOU WANNA BE THE KIND OF FELLER WHO THINKS IT'S OKAY TO DO THAT TO ANYONE?! WELL, LET ME TELL YA SOMETHIN', YOU DON'T GO AROUND SLAPPIN' PEOPLE'S BUTTS LIKE IT'S A SPORT! THIS ISN'T THE GALACTIC OLYMPICS, YOU BOTTOM-LEVEL CLOWN!" His intensity was reaching a level that could only be described as absurdly heroic, like he was starring in an intergalactic Western, only this time the villain wasn't a group of bandits—it was butt slapping. He stomped back and forth, his arms flailing like a windmill in a tornado. "YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA JUST WALTZ IN HERE, SLAPPIN' MY LADY'S RUMP LIKE IT'S A FLAPJACK AND YOU'RE THE SHORT ORDER COOK?!" he bellowed, each word landing like thunder in a storm of justice. "YOU DON'T TOUCH A WOMAN'S BEHIND LIKE IT'S A FREE-FOR-ALL SALAD BAR, WHERE ANYONE CAN JUST HELP THEMSELVES TO THE FINEST GREENS!"

The customer, still just standing there like the idiot he was, looked like he was caught between wanting to flee and trying to figure out where he had gone wrong in life. He was practically shaking, trying to wrap his brain around the situation as your boyfriend—rightfully so!—continued his verbal rampage.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK IN HERE LIKE A RACCOON WHO FOUND HIMSELF A BAG OF TRASH AND THINK HE CAN EAT IT ALL WITHOUT PAYIN' FOR IT?" Wander's voice reached an almost operatic crescendo, his hand slicing through the air. "YOU THINK YOU'RE GONNA JUST SLAP WHAT YOU WANT, LIKE A BEAR IN A HONEY SHOP?! NO, SIR! YOU DON'T SLAP MY LADY LIKE SHE'S SOME KIND OF CORN ON THE COB, AND YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO TAKE A BITE OUT OF HER!"

You could barely hold it together at this point. Every comparison Wander threw out made it more impossible not to laugh. The way he was delivering each absurd line with such seriousness was everything you loved about him.

He leaned in closer to the confused man, his eyes wide with righteous fury. "YOU WANNA BE THE KIND OF FELLER WHO THINKS IT'S OKAY TO SLAP THE JUICY PEACHES OF THE GALAXY LIKE YOU'RE PLAYIN' A GAME OF WHACK-A-MOLE?! WELL, I GOT NEWS FOR YOU, SIR, THIS AIN'T A CARNIVAL, AND YOU AIN'T WINNING ANY PRIZES TODAY!" Wander's acting had transcended reality at this point—he was practically frothing at the mouth with over-the-top energy. With a final dramatic slam of his fist on the counter, he shouted, "I WANNA KNOW YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON, 'CAUSE IF I FIND OUT YOU'RE OUT THERE SLAPPIN' ANYONE ELSE'S BUTT—YOU'RE GONNA DEAL WITH ME! AND THAT, MY FRIEND, IS A WHOLE OTHER LEVEL OF TROUBLE!"

Immediately, the customer, eyes wide like he was about to faint, awkwardly fumbled through his wallet, all the while apologizing to you, pulling out a bunch of credits and tossing them on the counter. "Keep the change," he mumbled, practically tripping over his feet as he made his way toward the door that Wander was holding open for him.

And your little fuzzy meneace, never missing a beat, shot out one last parting shot. "YOU THINK YOU CAN SLAP AND DASH?!" he yelled. "THINK AGAIN, PARDNER!" With that he slapped the guy's rear one more time for good measure, and the sound cracked through the store like the shot of a pistol.

"HOW YOU LIKE THEM APPLES, HUH?!" He boomed once more, his voice rattling the shelves as the guy fell onto his face outside the store.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Wander stood there for a solid moment, fists still clenched at his sides, his chest rising and falling like he had just finished running a marathon. His face was red, his wild eyes gleaming with that Wild Wooly Wander fury that only he could pull off. He looked like a cartoon character who had just completed the most epic monologue in the history of monologues. The dramatic pose, the clenched fists, the deep breaths—it was as if he had just taken down the worst villain in the galaxy. You watched him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed, fighting to contain your laughter. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and the absurdity of it all still hadn't fully hit you. Wander, your boyfriend—this small, goofy, and ridiculously charming guy—had just turned into the most over-the-top, wild bad guy ever. And somehow, it was the funniest thing you had ever seen.

He stood there, still posing like he was about to deliver an encore, his arms rigid, his body practically vibrating with the energy of his performance. But as the final breath escaped him, his stance suddenly faltered. His fists shook at his sides like he was about to launch into another round of action-packed lines, but before he could say anything else, something shifted in his eyes. He looked at you, his gaze softening, and then it happened. Like a light being switched off, the Wild Wooly Wander persona melted away. His face turned switfly, and his hands dropped to his sides. His ridiculous mustache was now completely crooked and hanging on like a sad prop. He blinked a few times, looking absolutely adorable.

You couldn't help it, you rolled your eyes with a smile. So you approached him, bending down slightly to meet him at his level, your hands reaching up to pull the fake mustache off his face. He blinked again, his eyes wide and hopeful as he looked up at you, like a puppy caught in the middle of some very mischievous antics. "That was... something," you said, your voice full of amusement and fondness. "You really went all in, huh?"

Before you could finish your sentence, Wander practically pounced on you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a sudden burst of affection. You weren't even ready for it—one second, you were standing there, and the next, you were holding him in your arms as he nuzzled into your stomach, his head resting right where your stomach met your ribs.

"I was just protectin' ya!" he mumbled against your shirt, his voice filled with that trademark Wander warmth and sweetness. "Did I do good, darlin'? I really tried. I got carried away a little, though, huh?"

You chuckled softly, patting his head as he snuggled closer. "You did great, Wander. I think he's gonna need therapy after that, but you did great."

With that he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his eyes sparkling with that cheerful innocence that always made your heart melt. He smiled, his small frame looking even smaller now that he was buried in your arms, and he placed his hands on your stomach, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against you. "I'm glad you think so," he said softly, his voice a little quieter now, the Wild Wooly Wander persona completely gone. "I just wanna make sure no one messes with ya sugar."

You smiled down at him, your heart swelling with affection. "You don't have to worry about anyone messing with me, Wander. But I do love how much you care."

He grinned up at you, his usual boundless energy making a comeback. "Well, of course I care! You're my lady! Who else would I go around yellin' at random customers for?!" He giggled to himself, still hanging onto you like you were his personal teddy bear. Yet at that you ruffled his fur gently, making him giggle even more. His head was at just the right level—your hands could reach everything easily.

"I'm lucky to have you, Wander," you said, voice low and affectionate.

His eyes brightened as he lifted his head to look at you, a huge smile spreading across his face. "And I'm lucky to have you, darlin'! We make the best team, don't we?"

You chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "The best team."

Wander was ridiculous. He was a handful. But he was your ridiculous handful.

And that made everything perfect.

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

I love this so much 💕💕💕

Idea just stuck with me, and now I have motivation and time to actually draw it. "Scary emo bitch" in a lab coat! My first time even trying to draw Dominator, so it looks a bit wonky XD

Fanart for (or inspired by) Nothing ever changes by @selfless-solipsist :3

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

NEW CONTENT

Just had some fun drawing a short comic—Andy’s kicking off Eye on The Star Nomad with a highly professional, totally uninterrupted interview with Princess Demurra…

…except, of course, Neckbeard exists. 😤

Featuring: > Andy being an enthusiastic little journalist ✨ > Demurra trying to be classy and regal 👌 > Neckbeard loudly explaining something mid-interview because of course he does 🤦‍♂️

(Also, yes, I wrote ‘abourd’ instead of aboard on the first page. Ignore my brain fart, please. The '3' backwards is intentional tho.)

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

Random doodles!

Had a little too much fun doodling some Wander Over Yonder characters (and a few tarot cards!) on a whiteboard in a WOY Discord server ✨ One of the tarot cards is of Y/N, which I did in Krita instead—might re-draw the others digitally later! 🔮💫

The tarot cards are mostly Nothing Ever Changes oriented, so the symbolism makes way more sense if you've read the fic... but also?? Not entirely?? Lol.

[selfless-solipsist]

°˖✧ The Villain Meeting ✧˖° [Wander]

[I'm now writing in second-person pov, figured that it's better]

「 ✦ “A good tumble and a good laugh? You really do spoil me!” ✦ 」

╰┈➤ Wander x Female Reader ⋆���ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You lounged on your massive, luxurious bed, your spaceship's quarters dimly lit by the ambient glow of the galaxy streaking past your window. The room was a clutter of indulgent villainous chaos: trophies of conquered worlds, a few stolen artifacts glowing ominously in the corner, and a mountain of mismatched pillows threatening to consume the bed. The camera for the weekly villain meeting framed only your face and shoulders, projecting your indifferent expression to the rest of the galaxy's bickering baddies.

In one window of the screen, Lord Hater lagged, his skeletal face frozen mid-rant. The lime-green glow of his eyes stuttered as his connection battled galactic interference. His jagged teeth were locked in what might have been a scream, or possibly a sneeze—it was hard to tell.

"No! I'm the best!" Lag freeze "THE GREATEST!" his voice caught up for a brief, ear-piercing second before cutting out again.

Great start.

Next to him, Emperor Awesome's window displayed a shark-headed jock wheezing with laughter, his muscular frame bouncing as he clutched his sides. "Oh my Grop, Hater, you're such a noob. Fix your signal, bro!" he barked, flashing teeth that belonged more in a horror film than a galactic council meeting. He adjusted his spiked black belt, as if his hot-pink disco pants weren't already screaming for attention.

To the right of Awesome, Kragthar of Kraaathhh's video feed had frozen in the worst possible moment. His pig-like nose was scrunched up, and the angle of the camera had blessed him with an unflattering double chin. Pink flames barely flickered on the edge of his frozen frame, and his name placard blinked accusingly with the misspelled label: "Kragthar of Kaarrtthh."

You snorted softly, not bothering to hide the smirk playing on your lips. With one hand, you twirled a lollipop lazily, the sugary treat clicking against your teeth whenever you took a disinterested lick. This spectacle of absurdity—this villainous... PowerPoint meeting from hell—was the most entertainment you had had all week. 

And yet, none of them noticed the most chaotic part of your situation.

Nestled beneath the covers, Wander had made himself at home against you. His wide, floppy green hat sat precariously atop your bra on the nightstand, a quiet testament to the pre-meeting activities you had indulged in. The tangerine-colored nomad, with his always-cheerful grin, was currently kneading at your chest like a contented cat making biscuits. His eyes were half-lidded in concentration, his furred stomach lightly brushing against your bare skin under the blankets. You could feel his warm breath against your collarbone as he hummed a nonsensical tune.

It was absurd. Ridiculous. Incredibly Wander. 

And you? 

You were just letting him. After all, you were his first girlfriend, and if there was one thing Wander adored, it was you. Or maybe it was just your boobs. The distinction didn't matter—you had conquered galaxies; you could handle the attentions of a fluffy orange spoon.

"Mmm," Wander mumbled, pausing his feline-like ministrations to nuzzle closer. "You're so soft... like a cloud!"

"I'm sure," you murmured dryly, shifting the lollipop to the other side of your mouth. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes and adjusted the camera slightly, ensuring that none of his antics made it onto the screen.

"Uh, hello!?" Awesome's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. His window expanded slightly as he leaned closer to his camera, completely ignoring the frozen Kragthar and the lagging Hater. "You gonna back me up, or what? I clearly throw way better parties than anyone else here."

"You trashed an entire planet because they ran out of Thunderblazz," you replied flatly, your deadpan tone cutting through his bravado like a laser. "Such an achievement."

"Hey! That's... well, yeah, but it was justified! They insulted my vibes!" Awesome crossed his arms, pouting like a toddler denied a candy bar.

"Right. Very villainous of you," you drawled, taking another languid lick of your lollipop. You could feel Wander's soft chuckle vibrate against your ribs as he resumed his "biscuit-making."

Suddenly, Hater's voice burst through, his connection deciding to cooperate just long enough for him to yell, "I don't care about your dumb parties! I'm the GREATEST IN THE GALAXY!"

"Aw, is someone grumpy?" The shark villan teased, throwing an arm around his chair like he was about to break into song. "Maybe you need a little... cha-cha-cha... dance therapy?" He wiggled his shoulders in a ridiculous shimmy.

You couldn't help it. A laugh slipped out before you could stifle it, and both Awesome and Hater froze, staring at your screen. Wander, oblivious to the unfolding drama, nuzzled further against you, his content purr-like hum barely audible to the microphone.

Hater squinted suspiciously. "What... what was that noise?" he demanded, leaning closer to his camera until his skull face filled the screen.

"Oh, nothing," you said smoothly, leaning your chin on one hand. "Just enjoying the... entertainment."

The screen flickered, and Kragthar's frozen image briefly dissolved into static before reappearing with an even worse angle. Awesome fell back into laughter, and Hater's ranting resumed. Meanwhile, the nomad continued his affectionate mischief under the covers, blissfully unaware of the chaos on screen—and you wouldn't have it any other way.

After all, this was just how the meetings went.

And pure chaos they were.

The meeting droned on, but you were hardly paying attention. With each second, Wander's innocent humming and his peculiar choice of leisure activity had your focus divided. As the galaxy's most infamous villains argued over meaningless power grabs and party etiquette, he was blissfully undeterred by the chaos, his tiny hands working their so-called magic. You didn't even want to ask what kind of "technique" he thought this was.

"Woo-wee, darlin'," Wander suddenly piped up, his Southern twang as thick as molasses and ten times as dangerous. His bright eyes sparkled as they darted to the lollipop in your hand. "I gotta say, sugar, you sure know how to put that mouth of yours to real good use!"

You choked. Literally.

The lollipop caught mid-motion as your body betrayed you, sending you into a coughing fit. Your eyes watered as you sputtered, desperate to regain composure before the meeting's chaos magnified. A hand shot to your throat, the other gripping the edge of the covers to keep from exposing more than your pride.

On the screen, Awesome was mid-sentence, but he stopped. "Uh... You good there?" His shark-like grin faltered as his muscled arms flexed unconsciously, like he was ready to save you or something.

"Fine!" you croaked, waving a hand to dismiss his concern while glaring daggers at Wander. He simply giggled, leaning his head on your shoulder and giving your cheek a noisy, exaggerated kiss, as if you hadn't already suffered enough embarrassment for one meeting.

"Aw, she's blushing!" The other villain cackled, pointing at your screen with glee. "What's got you so flustered? Someone got a crush on me?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and you shot him a glare that could have incinerated a moon.

Before you could retaliate verbally, Hater's screen blinked back to life with a vengeance. "WHAT WAS THAT?!" he roared, leaning so close to his camera that his skeletal features were practically burnt into your retinas.

"What was what?" you asked coolly, fighting the urge to shove Wander off as he snuggled even closer, practically melting into you like butter on a hot biscuit.

"That! That kissy noise!" Hater's finger jabbed at the camera, his green eyes narrowing. "That wasn't you! That was—!" His voice broke off, and his bony jaw dropped as Wander, ever the beacon of cheerful audacity, waved enthusiastically at the screen.

"Hiya, buddy!" Wander chirped, his grin as bright as a supernova. "Fancy seein' you here! Boy howdy, you look madder than a rattlesnake with a sore tooth!"

Hater didn't just see red; he saw the entire spectrum of anger. 

"WANDER?! What the—what the actual galaxy—YOU'RE HERE?!" He clutched his chest as if the betrayal physically pained him. "How... how could you—?! You of all people—!" His finger shook, bouncing between you and Wander's joyous expression.

"Yup, it's me!" The nomad confirmed, unfazed by the villain's meltdown. "Bet you're wonderin' how we're doin', huh? Well, let me tell ya—"

You slapped a hand over his mouth faster than light. "Don't," you hissed under your breath, your tone laced with warning. The grin beneath your palm widened mischievously. Wander mumbled something you couldn't decipher, but you knew it wasn't anything innocent.

"THAT'S IT! I'VE OFFICIALLY LOST IT!" The skeleton screeched, flailing in his chair like an overgrown toddler. "You—YOU—how can YOU be dating the biggest do-gooder in the galaxy?!"

"Technically," you mused, removing your hand from Wander's face, "I'm dating the cutest do-gooder in the galaxy." You gave the man in question a quick pinch on the cheek, earning a delighted giggle from the little orange menace.

And so your boyfriend leaned into the camera, squinting as if he couldn't quite see Hater properly. "Aw, Hatey, ya got a little somethin'—" he gestured vaguely at his own mouth "—right there. Oh, wait, that's just yer face!"

Awesome wheezed so hard he fell out of his chair. Hater screamed, louder than any hyperspace explosion.

Meanwhile, Kragthar's frozen feed continued to blink ominously in the background, an unintentional metaphor for the utter absurdity that had become your evening.

But then Hater's meltdown reached a fever pitch as he jabbed his skeletal finger at the screen. "GET HIM OFF MY SCREEN! I CAN'T TAKE IT! I'M GONNA LOSE MY—"

Before he could finish, a small, distinctly familiar figure popped into a brand-new window on the call. Bob, one of Hater's Watchdogs, blinked his single red eye innocently. "Uh, is this the meeting Commander Peepers set up for us soldiers?" His high-pitched voice crackled through, distorted slightly by his outdated microphone.

"WHO DARES?! WHAT THE—GET OUT OF HERE!" The overlord shrieked, flinging his bony arms around like he could swat the screen. His lime-green eyes burned brighter, their glow stuttering with his frazzled internet connection. "THIS ISN'T FOR YOU! YOU'RE RUINING EVERYTHING!"

"Oh, my bad, my bad!" Bob stammered, hands raised apologetically. But before he could click out of the meeting, two more Watchdog windows popped up.

"Wait, Bob, are you in the Peepers meeting?" one Watchdog asked, tilting his head quizzically. "I thought it was supposed to be a video conference," another chimed in, their audio cutting in and out like a bad radio signal.

"GET OUT!" Hater bellowed, his entire skull vibrating with frustration. "I DON'T CARE WHERE YOU GO—JUST NOT HERE!"

But it was too late.

Like an unstoppable domino effect, Watchdog windows began multiplying across the screen. They filled every available space, little cyclopean heads popping in with confused expressions, echoing queries of "Is this the meeting?" and "What's going on?" And within moments, the chaos reached its peak. Some of them began discovering the filters and effects, their tiny faces morphing into sparkly cat ears, rainbow overlays, and inexplicable pirate hats. One even activated a setting that turned their screen into a shimmering underwater paradise, complete with bubbles.

Wander clapped his hands gleefully, leaning closer to the screen. "Hey there, Wally! Oh, and there's Pip! Oh golly, how've ya been, Scoots? Ooh, nice filter, Zeke! You're lookin' sharp!"

Hater twitched violently as his arch-nemesis greeted every single soldier by name. The lag caused his image to freeze, leaving him stuck in a pose disturbingly similar to The Thinker. His skeletal chin rested thoughtfully on one fist, right next to Kragthar's perpetually frozen, unflattering frame. The juxtaposition made it look like the skeleton was silently judging a piece of avant-garde art.

Emperor Awesome's laughter rang out again as he pointed at the screen, tears streaming from his black shark eyes. "Hater! Bro! You look like you're contemplating the meaning of life over there! Oh, man, this is rich!"

"GET ME OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE!" Hater's voice finally broke through, though his video feed remained stuck. He sounded like he was on the verge of shattering into a thousand angry pieces. "WHY DO THEY HAVE FILTERS?! WHO LET THEM TOUCH THE SETTINGS?!"

One Watchdog with a starry galaxy background piped up cheerfully, "I dunno, sir, but this is awesome!"

"No, it's not!" He yelled back, his lagging audio dragging out the last word into an embarrassing robotic whine.

Meanwhile, Wander was fully absorbed in his reunion tour, waving at every single Watchdog who popped up. You couldn't help but laugh as he adjusted his position, now sitting cross-legged on the bed with the covers barely clinging to your dignity. Every cheer and greeting from the helper seemed to amplify Hater's rage to catastrophic levels.

And through it all, Kragthar's window remained frozen, his double-chin glory unbothered by the chaos erupting around him.

After a while, Wander let out a happy sigh, wrapping his arms snugly around your torso as he nestled against you like the world’s most cheerful barnacle. His expression was pure bliss, his wide, innocent grin showcasing just how thoroughly satisfied he was—not just from your “pre-meeting activities” but from the sheer joy of now having an audience to torment Hater in front of. For Wander, it was like hitting the universal jackpot.

“Boy howdy, darlin’,” he cooed, his Southern drawl warm and syrupy. “A good tumble and a good laugh? You really do spoil me!” He punctuated the statement with a loud, playful smooch on your cheek, making your lollipop almost tumble from your lips for the second time that night.

Hater’s scream was instantaneous.

“GET YOUR DISGUSTING LOVE STUFF OFF MY SCREEN! THIS IS A PROFESSIONAL MEETING!”

Wander grinned, leaning lazily against you. “Aw, Hatey, you’re just jealous ‘cause you ain’t got anyone to smooch on! Don't worry, love will find ya, buddy!” He fluttered his eyelashes dramatically, eliciting a furious screech from the skeleton that was so loud, several Watchdogs in the windows visibly flinched.

But desperate to regain some semblance of control, Hater stabbed at his console, his bony fingers jamming buttons with reckless abandon. Unfortunately, his efforts backfired spectacularly. Kragthar’s frozen feed suddenly unfroze (how it was connected in any way nobody knew), his frame jolting to life—only for his camera to flip completely upside down. Now, the hulking, flaming villain appeared to be dangling from the top of the screen, his face twisting in confused annoyance.

“WHAT IS THIS SORCERY?!” The flaming villain bellowed, his voice booming as his tusked face swung wildly close to the upside-down lens. The pink flames around him flickered comically as he tried to correct his position, succeeding only in making himself look like a villainous bat clinging to the screen’s edge.

Awesome completely lost it. His laughter was so uncontrollable that he fell out of frame entirely, the sound of his chair toppling over barely audible through his gasping wheezes. “This… is… the BEST MEETING EVER!” he managed between gulps of air, his silhouette occasionally flailing as he fought to stand back up.

“EVERYBODY SHUT UP!” Hater howled, slamming his fists on his console. His frozen feed remained stuck in “The Thinker” pose, which only added to the absurdity of his impotent rage. “Watchdogs, GET OUT! ALL OF YOU, GET OUT!”

The Watchdogs panicked, their screens erupting into frantic activity as dozens of them tried to exit the call simultaneously. The result was a technological nightmare of body parts: close-ups of Watchdog butts, feet, elbows, and other awkward angles flooded the screen as they fumbled with their devices. One window briefly displayed a Watchdog’s lightning-bolt helmet bouncing as he tripped over something off-screen. Another window zoomed in uncomfortably close on a single eye, the pupil darting in all directions in a state of pure terror.

“LEAVE! LEAVE! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR BUTTS!” Their boss screamed, his voice cracking like a broken speaker. “WHY ARE THERE SO MANY BUTTS?!”

Why indeed.

Wander was giggling so hard now that tears streamed down his furry orange cheeks. He tightened his grip around you, burying his face against your neck as he cackled. “Oh, Hatey,” he gasped, his voice muffled. “You sure know how to throw a party! Maybe Awesome’s not the only one with ‘vibes,’ huh?”

“WANDER!” Hater screeched. His fury was palpable, even through the ridiculous frozen pose he remained trapped in. “GET OFF MY SCREEN! GET OFF MY—”

“Whoopsie-doodle!” The nomad interrupted cheerfully, reaching toward your camera and tilting it slightly, booping one of the buttons with his fuzzy finger. Now, Hater’s frozen, contemplative image sat directly next to Kragthar’s upside-down chaos, creating an accidental tableau that looked like Hater was thoughtfully judging Kragthar’s bat-like acrobatics.

“Perfect composition,” Wander said with an exaggerated artistic air, nodding approvingly. “You should hang this in your art gallery, Hatey.”

The skeleton’s scream reached a decibel level so high it could probably shatter glass.

But with the Watchdogs finally gone, the chaos levels dropped from apocalyptic to merely disastrous. Hater was still frozen on-screen in his “The Thinker” pose, but his voice had returned, though strained and wheezing like an overworked hovercraft. He took a deep, unnecessary breath and growled, “Okay… okay. They’re gone. I can almost pretend this isn’t the worst meeting of my life.”

You, smirking behind your lollipop, raised a hand placatingly. “Don’t worry, Hater. I’ll keep Wander behaved.” You patted the hatless head of your boyfriend, earning a delighted nuzzle that screamed anything but behaved.

Hater’s jaw visibly clenched. “As I was saying,” he began, his tone low and simmering with suppressed rage, “about the dibs on Planet Gronko—”

A new screen suddenly popped up, overtaking half the feed. 

Because of course.

The dark, blurry image of a hunched figure materialized, his ancient, wrinkled green face squinting at the camera as though it were a malevolent spirit. It was Mandrake the Malfeasant, and he looked as confused and technologically inept as ever.

“By the void, what in tarnation is this?” The old man croaked, his raspy voice thick with confusion and phlegm. He leaned forward, his beady eyes magnified grotesquely by his glasses. “Is this blasted contraption on? Hrmph! Took me half an eon to figure it out, but I won’t let some puny gadget outsmart me!”

Hater’s entire skeletal frame visibly sagged in despair. “No… no, not again… Mandrake, this is the seventeenth time—”

Mandrake cut him off with a hacking cough that sounded like a dying engine. He clutched his chest dramatically, wheezing so violently it looked like he might keel over. “It’s fine!” he rasped between coughs, waving off the concern that no one offered. “This old villain’s still got plenty of steam in him! Nothing—cough, cough—nothing can take me down. Not even… that dreaded Batman!”

Wander’s nonexistent ears perked up, his mouth twitching with suppressed giggles. “Batman?” he echoed, his wide grin growing impossibly wider. “Golly, Mandrake, I don’t think—”

But the villain squinted harder at the screen, his focus zeroing in on Kragthar’s frozen, upside-down feed. The pink flames flickered eerily, and the angle made Kragthar look like he was yelling insults at the camera.

“Blast it all, there he is!” Mandrake shouted, pointing a trembling finger at the screen. “That caped crusader finally found me! I won’t be rattled by you, Batman! Not today, not ever!”

“Kragthar,” Hater said through gritted teeth. “That’s Kragthar.”

Mandrake ignored him entirely, his frail body trembling with a mix of fear and righteous indignation. “I’ve faced foes far more terrifying than you, Dark Knight! You think your tricks can work on me? Ha! I was born in the shadows!” His triumphant declaration was promptly interrupted by another coughing fit so intense it nearly knocked his glasses off.

The skeleton buried his skeletal face in his hands. “I can’t do this. I cannot do this.”

Emperor Awesome, who had finally recovered enough to sit upright, was once again losing it. His wheezing laughter echoed through the call, loud and obnoxious. “Yo, Hater! You can’t even handle a retiree! This is priceless!”

Meanwhile, Wander gave a cheerful wave to Mandrake. “Mr. Malfeasant! Long time, no see! Boy, you sure look spry today!”

“Spry?!” The old evil-dooer barked, his ancient voice rattling like a rusty chain. “I’ll show you spry! Just wait ‘til I—” His tirade ended with another near-death coughing fit, this one so violent you wondered if he might actually keel over on camera.

Amid the chaos, Kragthar’s frozen feed remained resolutely upside-down, his expression twisted into eternal indignation. The juxtaposition of his fiery rage and Mandrake’s obliviousness was enough to send Awesome tumbling off his chair again, laughing so hard it sounded like he was choking on his own tongue.

Hater finally snapped. “MANDRAKE, GET OFF THIS CALL BEFORE YOU ACTUALLY DIE ON SCREEN!”

Mandrake hacked out a weak laugh. “Heh, you wish, Hater. This old dog’s got plenty of fight left! And as for you, Batman—” He pointed dramatically at Kragthar’s frozen feed. “You can’t stop me, no matter what tricks you pull!”

The self-proclaimed 'greatest in the galaxy' slammed his fists against his console, his patience teetering on the brink of obliteration. “MANDRAKE, YOU’RE TALKING TO KRAGTHAR, NOT BATMAN! HE DOESN’T EVEN WEAR A CAPE! GET OFF THE CALL BEFORE YOU GIVE ME A MIGRAINE!”

But the other villain just adjusted his glasses with a shaky hand, his face leaning so close to the camera that only his wrinkled green nose filled the screen. “Nice try, Hater. I know when I’m being tricked! Batman’s sneaky, but I’m sneakier! You think you can—” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the most ear-piercing wheeze yet, a coughing fit so violent it shook his entire screen. His ancient body spasmed as though a ghost were trying to escape him, his hacking loud enough to drown out Awesome’s relentless laughter in the background.

“Somebody get him a glass of water!” Wander exclaimed, clutching his own chest as if he were about to cough in sympathy. “Golly, Mr. Malfeasant, you sound like you swallowed a tumbleweed! You alright?”

Mandrake waved a dismissive hand, his voice rasping like sandpaper on steel. “I’m fine! Fine, I say! Nothing can—cough—nothing can take me down!”

“Kragthar’s flames could,” Awesome quipped, wiping tears from his eyes as he finally dragged himself upright. “Man’s been frozen for half the meeting, and he’s still more intimidating than you, grandpa.”

As if on cue, Kragthar’s screen flickered, momentarily unfreezing to reveal his hulking form glaring upside-down at the camera. The angle made him look like he was mid-roar, his tusks casting wild shadows across his face. Then, just as quickly, the feed froze again, preserving him in all his furious, upside-down glory.

“Oh, Neptune, he’s a masterpiece!” Awesome cackled, slapping his knee. “Hater, you gotta sell tickets to these meetings. I’d pay good money for this kind of comedy.”

“THIS ISN’T COMEDY!” Hater shrieked, his frozen image still stuck in “The Thinker” pose. “I’M SURROUNDED BY IDIOTS!”

Mandrake, oblivious to everything, jabbed a gnarled finger at Kragthar’s frozen screen. “You hear me, Batman? You don’t scare me! Come at me with all you’ve got, you pointy-eared punk!” He let out a hacking laugh, his frail body trembling with misplaced triumph.

The skeleton groaned, dragging his skeletal hands down his face. “Why do I even try? This was supposed to be a simple meeting. A SIMPLE MEETING!”

“And now it’s an absolute hoot!” Wander chirped, grinning ear to ear as he gave you a squeeze. “Ain’t it great, darlin’? All our favorite folks in one place! Even Mr. Kragthar’s lookin’ dapper upside-down like that.”

Kragthar’s perpetually furious expression stared unblinkingly from his frozen feed, his pink flames flickering like angry neon signs. The juxtaposition of his intimidating form and Mandrake’s nonsensical rambling was almost too much.

“Mandrake,” Hater said, his voice eerily calm, like a storm ready to break. “If you don’t leave this meeting in the next five seconds, I will personally—”

But before he could finish, Mandrake’s screen jolted violently, his camera flipping upside-down to match Kragthar’s. The sudden shift sent Mandrake into a frenzy, his glasses sliding down his nose as he scrambled to right himself. “WHAT IN THE VOID IS THIS SORCERY?! HE’S HACKING ME! BATMAN’S HACKING ME!”

Awesome fell out of frame again, his howling laughter echoing like a siren.

You leaned back against Wander, who was practically vibrating with joy. “I gotta admit,” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement, “this is the most entertaining villain meeting I’ve ever attended.”

Wander nodded vigorously. “Best. Day. EVER!”

Hater’s scream reverberated through the call, his frozen image glaring like a tortured art piece as he yelled, “THIS IS THE WORST MEETING OF MY LIFE!”

And, of course, Mandrake’s upside-down feed cut back in just long enough for him to cough so hard you thought he might seriously keel over before the meeting could end.

Chaos truly reigned supreme.

So then you cleared your throat, straightened up, and tapped the edge of your lollipop against your teeth in mock seriousness. Chaos erupted in every corner of the meeting call: Mandrake wheezing upside-down, Kragthar frozen mid-insult like a bat-themed statue, and Awesome howling so hard in laughter that he was practically a full-time tumbleweed. But you? You were a professional villain, and it was high time someone acted like it.

“Right,” you said, leaning forward and glaring at Hater’s frozen feed with all the gravity you could muster. “About those dibs on Planet Gronko…”

Wander perked up beside you, his grin widening. “Oh, darlin’, this is the good part! Tell ‘em how you’re gonna take it all sneaky-like!” He rested his chin on your shoulder, his expression equal parts mischievous and supportive. “Y’know, right before I foil it!”

You swatted his head lightly, though the affection was evident. “No foiling. We’re conquering today, not playing sabotage.”

“Aw, sugar, I’m just sayin’,” He cooed, his tone dripping with honeyed sweetness. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if we, oh, I dunno, turned Gronko into a picnic planet instead? Blanket under the stars, some pie… maybe a little banjo music…” His eyes twinkled as he looked at you, like he was proposing the most innocent idea in the universe. “We could even invite Hater! He loves food!”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Hater’s voice blasted through the call, though his image remained resolutely frozen. “You’re NOT turning my dibs into some lame picnic planet!”

You ignored him, keeping your tone measured. “As I was saying, Hater, Planet Gronko is officially mine. No question. It’s got everything: untapped resources, strategic placement, and a prime location for dramatic evil monologues.”

“It’s got terrible parking!” The skeleton barked, clearly desperate to regain some control. “And it smells like sulfur!”

“Sulfur smells like victory,” you deadpanned, twirling your lollipop like a villainous scepter. “And as the superior conqueror, I’m claiming it.”

Wander gasped in mock admiration, his hands clasping together dramatically before he started fawning himself with one of them. “Oh, sugar, I love it when you talk all evil! Makes my heart go pitter-patter!”

“Stop encouraging her!” Hater snarled, though his static-laden voice crackled more than thundered. “You’re supposed to be the good guy, remember?!”

“Oh, I’m good all right,” Wander replied with a wink, leaning further into you. “Good at foiling plans, good at spreading cheer, and good at smoochin’ my girl after a successful thwart.” He gave you a quick peck on the cheek, eliciting a furious groan from the skeleton.

Mandrake’s voice wheezed back into the conversation. “Hold on… hold on…” His upside-down feed trembled violently as he fiddled with his camera. “Did someone say smooches? I’ll have you know, back in my day, I was quite the ladies’—COUGH, COUGH—ladies’ man…”

“Mandrake, NO ONE CARES!” Hater roared, his patience fracturing into microscopic pieces. “CAN WE PLEASE FOCUS?!”

You smirked, watching as the oldest villain in the meeting accidentally flipped his feed sideways, now giving the impression that he was reclining on a chaise lounge. “Look, Hater,” you said, feigning sympathy. “I get it. You want to stake a claim. But let’s be honest—my dibs are non-negotiable.”

“You can’t just—!” He started, but a loud clattering noise interrupted him as Awesome’s chair gave out entirely.

“Oh, sorry, Hater!” Awesome chimed in, clearly not sorry in the slightest. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of your frozen face judging Kragthar like a bad art critic.”

The overlord screeched incoherently, his lagging feed stuttering so badly that his voice sounded like a possessed Speak & Spell. Meanwhile, Wander tilted his head, watching you with the expression of a smug cat. “So, uh, honey bun,” he said, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “Just how you gonna conquer Gronko, huh? Big evil speech? Giant death ray? Ooh, I love the classics!”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you replied smoothly. “But don’t get any ideas about ruining it.”

Your fuzzy boyfriend gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Ruin it? Never! Why, I’ll be there right alongside ya! Maybe…” His smile turned impish. “Maybe with a little picnic basket on the side.”

“I hate this meeting,” Hater muttered, his frozen image somehow managing to look more miserable as chaos erupted again.

But then, as if the skeleton's brain started buffering in the middle of the whole situation, still frozen in the same pose of course, his voice broke through the chaos like a badly-tuned holo-radio. “You know what? I’ve had it. I can’t take it anymore!” His green eyes blazed in fury, his tone reaching a level of incredulity that threatened to implode the entire meeting.

“What… WHAT were you even doing with him before the meeting?!”

The room—or rather, the intergalactic hellscape of video feeds—went dead silent for half a second. Even Mandrake paused his upside-down rambling, his gnarled finger hovering mid-point. Awesome gasped audibly, his sharp teeth flashing as his face disappeared from the screen, likely from another fit of laughter. Kragthar, perpetually frozen and upside-down, seemed to silently echo Hater’s confusion with his distorted, roaring grimace.

Wander perked up like a puppy that had just been offered a treat, his wide, innocent grin bright enough to light a black hole. “Oh, you mean before the meeting?” he asked, his tone chipper and completely oblivious to the bomb he was about to drop. “Well, Hatey, you know how it is! Just spendin’ some quality time with my sweetie here, gettin’… acquainted.” He emphasized the word with a waggle of his eyebrows, snuggling closer to you like a cat claiming its territory.

Hater’s jaw unhinged.

“ACQUAINTED?!” His voice cracked, his static-laden screech rattling through the speakers. “What does that even mean?!”

You tried—tried—to suppress the grin tugging at your lips as you twirled the lollipop between your fingers. “Let’s just say, Hater, that Wander and I were… busy.” Your voice was velvety smooth, laced with a subtle mischief that only added fuel to the already raging fire.

“Busy?” The skeleton squawked, his skull practically vibrating from frustration. “What does that mean?! Were you… playing cards? Building a spaceship? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY BUSY?!”

“Oh, Hatey,” Wander said with a chuckle, resting his head against your shoulder. “It’s like when you cuddle with Captain Tim, but, uh, with a li’l more pizzazz!” His innocent smile and dreamy expression were perfectly at odds with the absolute havoc he was causing.

Hater froze—mentally, this time, not just technologically. “More pizzazz? I DON’T UNDERSTAND!” His hands flailed at the screen, his lightning-bolt horns jiggling wildly. “WHY IS THIS SO CONFUSING?! WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

Mandrake, still upside-down and utterly unhelpful, cleared his throat, sending a raspy wheeze through the feed. “Ah, the mysteries of youth,” he mused, as if he were waxing poetic. “I remember the days when I had pizzazz. And Star-bella that ol' rascal! Why, we once—”

“MANDRAKE, SHUT UP!” Hater screamed, slamming his fists down with enough force to rattle his console. “THIS ISN’T ABOUT YOU! THIS IS ABOUT THEM!”

“Aw, Hatey, no need to get all worked up!” The nomad said soothingly, his tone completely oblivious to the fact that it was doing the opposite. “I mean, sure, we had some fun, but now we’re here! With you! Ain’t that great?”

“No! No, it’s NOT GREAT!” Hater’s voice hit a decibel level that made you instinctively wince. His frozen face glared daggers at the screen, as if he could physically reach through and strangle Wander. “Why are you like this?! Why is everything like this?! And WHY do you keep… doing… things?!”

Wander tilted his head thoughtfully, as if the answer were the simplest thing in the galaxy. “Because I love her!” he declared, throwing his arms wide and beaming at you like you were the stars themselves.

Hater’s skeletal hands clenched into trembling fists. “THAT’S IT! MEETING OVER!” His voice cracked like a thunderclap as he jabbed wildly at his console. “I CAN’T TAKE IT! I’M ENDING THIS FOR EVERYONE! EVERYONE!”

Before you could respond, the screen flickered. One by one, every feed blinked out: Kragthar, Mandrake, Awesome (who was wheezing uncontrollably in his seat), and finally, Hater himself.

The room was suddenly quiet, save for the faint hum of your spaceship’s engine. Wander blinked, staring at the now-blank screen. “Huh,” he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin.

...

 “Wonder why he didn’t do that earlier?” He arched one eyebrow.

You couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled out of you, spilling into the room as Wander joined in, his delighted giggles filling the space. “Because,” you managed between laughs, “this is Hater we’re talking about. Chaos is part of his brand.”

He leaned in, planting a noisy kiss on your cheek. “Golly, I sure do love chaos,” he said with a grin. “Almost as much as I love you!”

You rolled your eyes fondly, tossing your lollipop onto the nightstand. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Wander replied, snuggling against you like a satisfied cat.

And, honestly? He wasn’t wrong.

But the laughter eventually subsided, leaving the room wrapped in a comfortable silence, save for the ambient hum of your ship and the galaxy streaking past your window. Your sweet boyfriend was still nestled against you, his arms looped lazily around your waist, his expression content. His floppy green hat sat proudly on the nightstand next to your discarded lollipop, a quiet testament to the chaos that had unfolded—and the even greater chaos that had preceded it. You ran a hand through his fur, leaning back into the mound of mismatched pillows that took up half the bed. “Well, that was something,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Sure was, sweetie-pie,” He agreed, his voice soft but brimming with delight. He tilted his head up, his eyes glinting with mischief. “But, uh… I was thinkin’...”

“Oh no,” you said immediately, narrowing your eyes. “Every time you ‘think,’ I end up with bruises and hickeys in weird places.”

“That’s part of the fun!” he chirped, sitting up with sudden enthusiasm. His wide grin stretched across his face as he waved his hands excitedly. “Now hear me out, darlin’. I was readin’ this book about star-crane origami, right? And it got me thinkin’ about somethin’ called the ‘Lunar Fold.’ It’s kinda like that thing we tried in the torture room last month, remember?”

Your eyebrows shot up, and you let out a startled laugh. “Oh, you mean the time we accidentally triggered the electric agony rack mid-session and fried half the circuits in the ship?”

“Yup!” Wander said cheerfully, his eyes twinkling. “But don’t you worry, this one’s way safer! I promise there won’t be any accidental zappin’. Probably.”

“‘Probably?’” you repeated, giving him a skeptical look. “That’s not exactly reassuring, Hornball.”

He waved a dismissive hand, scooting closer and resting his chin on your shoulder. “C’mon, darlin’, trust me! I’ve been workin’ out the angles in my head, and I just know the Lunar Fold’s gonna be the bee’s knees. Way better than the ‘Upside-Down Intergalactic Pretzel,’ that’s for sure.”

You stared at him, torn between amusement and exasperation. “You named it that after we nearly dislocated everything.”

“Exactly! Which is why the Lunar Fold’s so much better!” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Less bendy, more… starry. And I’ll be real gentle this time, promise.”

Your lips quirked up in a smirk as you leaned back, meeting his gaze. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“I’m lucky you love me,” he corrected, nuzzling your neck with a grin that was far too sweet for the absolute chaos he always brought to your life. 

With one quick motion, he hopped up onto his knees, his excitement bubbling over. “Alrighty then, sugar! Let’s get to it! The stars won’t see themselves, y’know!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you let him tug you toward the center of the bed. Chaos, mischief, and possibly questionable physics were inevitable—but with Wander, it was always an adventure worth taking.

Meanwhile, somewhere across the galaxy, Kragthar of Kraaathhh was still frozen. Only this time, it wasn’t his video feed. He stood in his villainous lair, his pink flames flickering weakly as his single, furious thought echoed into the empty silence.

“…Where did everyone go?”

[selfless-solipsist]

°˖✧ The Taste Of Love ✧˖° [Wander]

「 ✦ “It’s okay, darlin’. I’ll take care of ya, just like always.” ✦ 」

╰┈➤ Wander x Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

> WARNING: YANDERE WANDER (Wandere? lol), which means- GORE. Like if you don't like blood then sorry. > Kinda a way to promote my long-fic "Honeyed Confessions" for this little cinnamon roll. Not entirely though, it's not connected that much. Just a little... taste of what it's like :)

The first time you met Wander, you thought this is what Lord Hater was losing his mind over?

Hater had ranted for hours—no, days—about a "fuzzy orange nightmare," so when a tangerine, wide-eyed little nomad showed up on your newly conquered moon, strumming his banjo with all the unbothered confidence of someone walking into a garden party, you honestly expected more. Maybe a hulking, indestructible titan of positivity. Instead, you got a pocket-sized annoyance with a hat that looked like it had seen better centuries.

Of course, he immediately began pestering you. "Hey there, darlin'! Heard you were takin' over galaxies a̷̢̖̭̲͝ǵ̵̪̠͆̑à̵̟͇̻̂i̴̧̧̺͋͘ͅn̵̡͖͍̝̎͗! Thought I'd pop in and see how you were doin'!"

The audacity. You were in the middle of declaring yourself Supreme Sovereign of the Triangulum Cluster when he waltzed up and interrupted you, offering you a handmade bracelet made of daisies like you weren’t actively overthrowing governments. The nerve. But he was cheerful, determined, and so wildly undeterred by your threats of planetary obliteration that you couldn’t help but be intrigued. Lord Hater’s whining made sense now—this little nomad wasn’t just annoying; he was relentless.

Over the next year, Wander became your shadow.

Every invasion, every diabolical plan, every dramatic monologue—there he was, a pint-sized pest armed with relentless optimism, singing, and a knack for undoing months of careful scheming with a smile. At first, you dismissed him as a thorn in your side. Then you started looking forward to the chaos he brought.

And then… he started flirting.

Not subtle, charming flirting either—Wander-style flirting. The kind where he held your hand mid-battle and asked if you would like to share a Blorpberry pie. Which ended up with you not being able to conquer a planet. The kind where he stared into your eyes and said, "You’re prettier than a triple rainbow over a Blubble-bird migration, and those are real rare!" He did it with so much sincerity, it was almost disarming. Almost. But what got to you most wasn’t his shamelessness—it was his earnestness. He didn’t just like you; he was enchanted. Like you were the best thing he had ever seen, even when you were cackling over some evil plan that involved blowing up half a moon. He didn’t see you as the villain everyone else did.

He saw you—and that was infuriating.

And, embarrassingly, flattering.

By the time you gave in, you had convinced yourself it was purely out of curiosity. How bad could it be, really? You would spend a few weeks entertaining his ridiculous crush, get bored, and move on. You were wrong. So, so wrong.

The moment you agreed to "try this thing out," Wander’s enthusiasm skyrocketed. He wasn’t just cheerful; he was radiant. He sang serenades outside your ship (beautifully), cooked you meals (decently), and knitted you scarves you absolutely didn’t need (weirdly well). It was adorable. It was overwhelming. It was also the beginning of your downfall. Because somewhere along the way, Wander’s kindness started… shifting. At first, it was little things. He began showing up before you even thought about needing him, handing you solutions to problems you didn’t know you had. Then it was the way he had gently steer you away from battles that got too messy, insisting you "take a breather" while he cleaned up the aftermath on your body.

When you asked him why he was doing so much, he just smiled that wide, too-bright smile and said, "Well, you take care of conquerin’, so I take care of you! That’s how love works, right?"

At first, it was sweet. Then it became unnerving. Wander wasn’t jealous or violent—no, no, no, that would have been too normal in a weird sense. He was just… too much. He didn’t stop at helping; he took over. The very independence that made you a successful villain was slowly being replaced by a safety net of his making. He didn’t see it as control, though—oh no. In Wander’s mind, he was doing what he did best: helping.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that, somewhere deep down, the selfless little nomad had finally found something he wanted—and he had no idea how to handle it.

"Y’know," he said one night, handing you a mug of cocoa you didn’t ask for, "I used to think wanderin’ was the best thing ever. But now I think you’re the best thing ever. So, I figured… maybe I could just stay here! Forever! Doesn’t that sound nice?"

You stared at him, the cocoa in your hands growing cold. "Forever?"

"Yup!" He beamed. "That way I can make sure you’re always happy! Always safe!"

Safe? You were a galactic tyrant! You didn’t need safe; you needed a challenge, some chaos, a little bit of—

But before you could protest, Wander leaned in, his wide eyes practically sparkling. "Don’t worry, sugarplum. I’ll take care of everything. You just keep bein’ you."

You weren’t sure whether to be flattered, terrified, or both. Probably both.

Wander moving into your spaceship was equal parts baffling, adorable, and downright concerning. He hadn’t even asked. One day, he was pestering you during a routine planetary takeover, the next he was strumming his banjo in your quarters, wearing a pink apron with the words "Kiss The Fuzzball" embroidered in loopy cursive. Something about it seemed familiar, but you couldn't quite place it. The apron itself was spotless, except for a small, hand-stitched note in the corner that read, "Don’t forget me."

It was a harmless enough addition at first glance, but something about it gnawed at the back of your mind. Wander never mentioned it, of course, preferring to fuss over you like a housewife straight out of an unhinged sitcom. Breakfast? He made it. Coffee? Ready before you asked. Galactic maps? Organized by "Most Conquerable" and "Most In Need of Love." He claimed he was still helping people across the universe, but… you had your doubts. Every time you suggested he take a break and go do some of his famed do-gooding, his grin would stretch just a little too wide. "Oh, I’ll get around to it, sugarplum! But right now, I gotta take care of you!"

The way he said it made your skin crawl—and not in the fun, adrenaline-fueled way you liked.

The day you dislocated your shoulder was one for the books. The plan had been simple: infiltrate an enemy’s stronghold, sow chaos, and leave before they realized their defense systems were hacked. Of course, things never stayed simple when Wander was around. You were mid-escape, sprinting through a narrow corridor with explosions blooming behind you like the universe’s most violent fireworks display, when a blast threw you against the wall. The impact popped your shoulder out of its socket with a sickening crunch.

"Aw, shoot," you hissed as you got back onto the spaceship, cradling your limp arm as Wander skidded to your side when you slid against the wall of the corridor, his ever-present smile plastered across his face.

"Oh no! Are you okay?!" His concern sounded genuine, but that damn grin didn’t falter, even as he knelt beside you. "Let me take a look!"

"Wander, it’s—" Before you could finish, his small, furry hands gripped your arm with a gentleness that belied the iron strength beneath them. He hummed softly, like he was tuning his banjo, then—

SNAP!

You screamed as he shoved the joint back into place with a horrifying crack. The pain was blinding, white-hot, and sharp enough to make your vision blur. Through it all, Wander just smiled, his eyes sparkling like he had just handed you a bouquet of daisies instead of realigning your bones with his bare hands.

"All better!" he chirped, wiping his hands on his apron like he had just finished baking a pie.

"Are you insane?!" you snarled, clutching your now-functional arm. "You could’ve—"

And then he noticed the blood.

It was a trickle, barely more than a smear running down your forearm from a shallow scrape. But to him, it might as well have been a geyser. His gaze locked onto the crimson trail, pupils dilating as he leaned in closer. "Oh no, you’re bleedin’! That’s no good…" Before you could stop him, he swiped a finger through the injury, bringing the substance to his lips with the curiosity of someone sampling jam at a farmer’s market. The moment it touched his tongue, his expression shifted. For a split second, the smile dropped. His eyes fluttered shut, his body shuddering as though he had just tasted the most decadent dessert in the galaxy. Then, the smile returned—wider, brighter, and infinitely more unsettling.

"It tastes like… love," he murmured, almost dreamily, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Wander’s eyes snapped back open, glowing with an intensity that made your stomach c̴̛̻̳͕͋̐͋̕͝h̶̻̫̪̟̃̂͂̏͒̐́̈́ú̵̻̜̂̒̂̀̕̕͜͠r̷̬̗̤̐n̷͙͎̭̫̼̈́́. "Nothing! Don’t you worry your pretty little head, sweetheart!" He sprang to his feet, practically vibrating with energy. "Let’s get ya patched up!"

That night, he was different. He still hummed as he worked, still brought you tea, still clung to you like the universe itself might crumble if he let go. But there was something sharper about him now, something that buzzed just beneath the surface. His smile hadn’t dimmed, but it felt… hungrier. And when you caught him glancing at your bandaged arm with a faraway look in his eyes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever line had been crossed today, there was no going back.

The days after the "blood-tasting incident," as you had dubbed it in your mind, were… unnervingly peaceful. Wander didn’t bring it up again, and aside from his usual overzealous doting, everything seemed normal. Almost too normal, like the eerie calm before a star implodes.

He still wore that pink apron and still filled your quarters with affection so saccharine it could melt steel beams. But sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, his expression would slip. It was quick, like a crack in a porcelain mask, but you noticed. His smile would falter, his eyes would darken, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something else. Something raw. Something broken. You chalked it up to Wander being… well, Wander. He was eccentric on the best of days, after all. But there was something about that apron—specifically the stitched don’t forget me—that kept gnawing at you.

It wasn’t until a few nights later, when you woke to find him gone, that things really started spiraling. Normally, Wander wouldn’t leave your side for more than a few minutes, not without cheerfully announcing his every move. But this time? Silence.

You found him in the corner of the common area, sitting cross-legged with his banjo resting on his lap. The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of a nearby control panel. Wander wasn’t playing; he was just… staring. At first, you thought he was lost in thought. Then you realized he wasn’t staring at the banjo—he was staring through it, like it wasn’t really there.

"Hey," you called softly, stepping closer. "You okay?"

He didn’t move.

"Didja know," he murmured, voice low and almost shaky, "that every star’s got a lifespan? They burn bright and beautiful for so long, and then… they just fade away."

You stopped in your tracks, an uneasy chill creeping up your spine. "Wander… what’s this about?"

Finally, he looked at you, and the smile he gave you wasn’t his usual sunshine-and-rainbows grin. It was small, fragile, like it might crumble if you breathed too hard. "It’s just… sometimes, I think about how lucky I am to have you. To still have you. And I get scared, ‘cause… what if this all just… goes away?"

"Why would it go away?" you asked, frowning. "You’re being weird."

He laughed, but it was hollow. "I guess I’m just a lil’ overthinker, huh?" He strummed his banjo absently, the discordant note echoing in the quiet room. "But… y’ever get that feelin’, like somethin’s missin’? Or like you’re missin’ somethin’ you didn’t even know you had?"

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The nomad had always been strange, but this… this was different. "Wander, if you’re trying to tell me something, just say it."

His eyes met yours again, and for a moment, the weight behind them was almost unbearable. Then, like flipping a switch, his usual grin returned, blinding and overly bright. "Nah, it’s nothin’! Just me bein’ silly, that’s all. Now c’mon, darlin', let’s get you back to bed!"

But as the days turned into weeks, the cracks in Wander’s cheerful facade only grew deeper. You started noticing little things. The way his hands trembled when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his gaze lingered on you, not with adoration, but with a quiet desperation. And then there were the whispers.

Sometimes, late at night, you would wake to the sound of him muttering to himself. His words were barely audible, but you caught fragments. "̶N̷o̷t̷ ̵a̴g̷a̶i̶n̵…̸ ̸c̶a̵n̷’̷t̵ ̴l̶o̸s̴e̸ ̴‘̸e̵m̴…̶ ̴n̵o̷t̶ ̴f̵a̶i̵r̷…̷"̴

It wasn’t until you found the sketches that you realized just how far down the rabbit hole he had gone.

You had stumbled across them accidentally, tucked away in a hidden compartment of his banjo case. Dozens of drawings, each one meticulously detailed, depicting… you. You smiling. You laughing. You crying. You standing beside him, holding his hand. But then, the later sketches—ones where you were with someone else. Lord Hater. Commander Peepers. Even Sylvia. And in every one of those later sketches, Wander was in the background, watching. Always watching.

À̵̞̦̮̘͕̭̞̾ͅl̶̨̪̦̯͂͘ẃ̶̡̃̊͂̿̎̕ͅa̶̫͔̫͔͒͊y̸̢̖̺̰͓͈̑͋̈̋̽͛̋͝ͅs̸̜̬͍̊̍̚ͅ ̴̢̩̎͌͛͋͠ẅ̸̖̇͊̆̃͐̈͜ͅͅa̶̗̗̹̘̤̔̃̉í̸̳̺̰͕̻̓̐́̓̐̚ţ̶͚̝͉͕̳̎̔͠i̵͖̳̺͎̮͗ṉ̶̝̥͂̈́͆g̷͇͚̞̎.̶͕́͂͆͗̕̚̕

The final page wasn’t a drawing—it was words. Scrawled over and over again in shaky handwriting:

̶͎̪͉̈͒̑̒"̸͖̩̺̪́̄͝D̵̛̤͍͈̒͘o̸̡͕͐̒̽̌ň̴̩’̷͓̗̇̐͝t̶̢̤̋͘ ̷̛̘̗̜̭̑͂f̷̮̻͌̓̾ȍ̶͚̅̏̈́ṟ̵̭̭̼͂̔͂͠ǵ̵̹͔e̶͎̩̍ţ̷̦͆̇́ ̸̪̣͈̒ͅm̴̨͍̼̌̓é̴͔̖͛͜͝.̵̪̈́̔̐ ̴̖̉̈̈́̈́D̴̬͉̝̎ơ̵̯̈́͠n̷̜͍̈́̾͘’̴̯̹̠̦͐́ṱ̴̳̺̖́̉͊ ̵̲̝̆̀f̶͖͎͍̞̈̃͝͝o̵̺͚̳͠r̸̠̳͌͊͒̾ĝ̸̘̃͠e̵͕͖̎ţ̶͖̕ ̷̯̩͗̾̇̾m̴̘̮̻̮̏́e̷̟͐̑.̸͇̤̓̒̋ ̷̧͇̇̏̍͆Ḑ̷͎̝̺͘õ̷̼̳n̷͉͊́’̶̦͕͐͛t̸̺̯̜͝ ̶̥̜̳̺͘f̸̤̗̟̲͂̒͠͝o̷̡̧̫͕̒r̶͈̒g̸͎̿̿̿ë̷̼͍́̔̓͝t̷̲̮͙̀ ̴̲̬͆͠ṃ̷̄̓ͅê̵͍͈͂͘͝.̶̳̺̗͎̈͗͘"̸͖̝̲͋̓̑͐͜

That night, as Wander brought you dinner with his usual too-wide smile, you couldn’t stop staring at him. At his bright eyes, his cheerful demeanor, his pink apron. At the way his hand lingered on your shoulder just a little too long.

And for the first time, you wondered what it was like inside his head. If, maybe, the Wander you thought you knew wasn’t the one who looked at you now.

One day, it had been… intense. His usual tender enthusiasm had taken on a fevered edge, as if he was trying to etch every moment into his memory. He had clung to you like you were a lifeline, whispering sweet nothings between kisses, hands wandering with a desperation that was almost palpable. It wasn’t unusual for him to be affectionate, but tonight? Tonight felt different. You had fallen asleep wrapped in his arms, lulled by his soft humming. For a brief, fleeting moment, everything felt perfect.

And then you woke up to the sharp, searing pain of a knife plunging into your stomach.

Your eyes shot open, a scream tearing from your throat as your body spasmed. Wander sat atop you, his face bathed in shadows but still illuminated by that unyielding smile. His hat was askew, his eyes wide with an unsettling mix of adoration and mania.

“Oh, darlin',” he cooed, voice soft and syrupy as he twisted the blade slightly. The pain was indescribable, radiating through your entire body like fire. “You woke up! I was hopin’ you wouldn’t just yet, but I guess this makes it more special, huh?”

“What—what the hell are you doing?!” you choked out, blood bubbling up your throat as you tried to move. His free hand pressed firmly on your chest, pinning you down with surprising strength.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay! It’s all okay,” he assured, his tone dripping with sweetness as if he were comforting a child. “I just… I needed this. Needed you.” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your face. “This is the only time I get to keep you all to myself, y’know? Gotta make it count.” You tried to fight, to shove him off, but your strength was waning fast. Blood pooled around you, soaking into the sheets, the metallic scent thick in the air. Wander’s fingers brushed over your face, wiping away the tears you hadn’t realized were falling. “It’s okay, darlin’. I’ll take care of ya, just like always,” he whispered, his smile unwavering as he pulled the knife out with a sickeningschlick. Blood gushed from the wound, and you cried out, the pain nearly blinding.

And then he did something that made your stomach churn in a way that had nothing to do with the gaping hole he had just carved into it—he dipped his fingers into the wound.

You screamed again, the sensation of his hands inside you more horrifying than the pain itself. Wander hummed softly, his expression one of serene fascination as he explored, his fingers brushing against things they had no business touching. “So warm,” he murmured, his voice almost dreamy. “So real.” He pulled his hand out, slick with your blood, and licked it clean with a satisfied hum. “Tastes like love,” he said, just like he had before, but this time there was something almost reverent in his tone.

You gagged, your body convulsing weakly as you tried to push him away, but he simply grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one bloodied hand. “Ah-ah, none of that now,” he chided gently. “Just let me take care of you.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, smearing your blood across your face in the process. His tongue darted out, licking the corner of your mouth where a trickle of blood had escaped. “Mmm. Perfect.”

“Wander,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please… stop…”

His smile faltered for the briefest moment, a flicker of something almost like sadness passing through his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual cheerfulness. “Oh, sweetie-pie, I wish I could. But you’ll forget me soon, won’t ya? You always do. And I can’t… I can’t let this time end without somethin’ special to remember it by.” He plunged his hands back into the wound, this time deeper, and you screamed until your throat was raw. He didn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in his macabre fascination. “Every part of you is just so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice trembling with awe.

“I wanna remember all of it. Forever.”

His fuzzy hands trembled inside you, coated in warmth that was beginning to turn sticky as your blood seeped into the sheets. He hummed a familiar tune, some cheerful melody that sounded grotesquely out of place given the situation, like a lullaby sung over the screams of the damned. His fingers brushed against something deep within, and your body spasmed violently in response. “Careful there, sugarplum,” he said softly, his wide grin never faltering. “Don’t wanna hurt yourself now, do ya?”

“You’re—killing me,” you rasped, your voice weak and trembling. You weren’t sure how you were still alive. Maybe sheer spite. Maybe because he hadn’t quite hit anything vital. Yet.

“Oh, don’t say that!” Wander exclaimed, his face a mask of hurt that somehow still carried that ever-present smile. “You’re fine! See? Still talkin’, still kickin’—well, metaphorically, at least. I’m takin’ real good care of ya, promise.” You coughed, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth as he withdrew his hands. He held them up to the dim light, marveling at the way the red substance gleamed on his fur. “Y’know,” he began, licking a stray drop from his knuckle with a dreamy expression, “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about what you’ll be next time.”

His words were like static in your brain. “W-What?” you managed to choke out, your vision blurring at the edges.

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head about it,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before returning it to press against your wound, as if to keep you grounded. “But it’s just so excitin’, thinkin’ ‘bout all the possibilities!”

He leaned closer, his wide, glittering eyes locking onto yours with unnerving intensity. “Will you be a villain again, like now? Makin’ big ol’ speeches, conquerin’ galaxies, strikin’ fear into the hearts of everyone? Or maybe you’ll go smaller next time. A lil’ nobody who means so much to me and no one else. Isn’t that just... romantic?” Your body twitched involuntarily, and you could barely manage to breathe through the haze of pain. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care. “Oh! Or maybe—maybe you’ll go back to bein’ that cashier at Blarpee’s! Remember that? When I was your boyfriend and we spent our days makin’ smoothies and our nights stargazin’? That was so fun!” His laughter was light and airy, like he was reminiscing about a fond childhood memory rather than recounting some twisted fantasy.

“Wander,” you croaked, your voice barely audible over his musings, “you’re… insane.”

“Aw, now don’t be like that, darlin’,” he said, tilting his head in a way that was almost childlike. “You always say that, but I think it’s just ‘cause you don’t see it yet. See, this is all part of somethin’ bigger—we’re part of somethin’ bigger.”

His hand returned to your stomach, fingers probing the wound with a gentleness that somehow made it worse. You tried to scream, but your voice was barely more than a whimper now. “And it’s okay if you don’t understand right now,” he continued, his tone soothing, like he was consoling a child. “You’ll figure it out eventually. You always do.” Blood loss was making you delirious, and his words were beginning to blur together in your mind. “You’ll see,” he said, leaning down to press a soft, blood-stained kiss to your forehead. “Next time, I’ll make sure you remember. I’ll make sure you don’t forget me. After all, I'm still waitin' for ya, sugar.”

Wander’s smile never wavered, even as his actions became increasingly grotesque. His bloodstained fingers glided over your exposed skin, smearing red trails in patterns that looked almost deliberate, as though he were painting a masterpiece. You could feel him drawing a number. W̷a̴s̵ ̷t̸h̸a̵t̵.̸.̶.̵ ̶4̵2̴4̷.̶.̴.̵ ̷p̸l̴u̸s̸ ̵o̷n̸e̵?̸ ̵W̴h̴y̴?̵ ̵The pressure in your stomach grew unbearable as he pressed down gently on the edges of the wound, cooing soft reassurances. “You’re doin’ so good, sugarplum,” he whispered, his voice warm and syrupy, a stark contrast to the horrifying reality of what he was doing. “So strong, so brave. I’m so proud of ya.”

You gasped, your breath hitching as the pain flared white-hot. Blood bubbled up from your lips, and you coughed weakly, the taste thick and metallic. His eyes lit up at the sight, and he leaned closer, almost brushing your nose.

“There it is,” he murmured, his grin stretching impossibly wide. “That’s the part of you I love the most. All that fire, all that strength… even now, you’re just so amazin’.”

You couldn’t respond, your voice drowned by the blood filling your throat. You could barely even move, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. Every breath was a struggle, a battle against the darkness creeping in at the edges of your vision.

And then he did something you didn’t think even he was capable of. Something that shattered whatever sliver of hope you still clung to.

With one hand still pressed to your stomach, Wander reached into your wound, his fingers sliding inside with a sickening squelch. You felt every agonizing moment as he explored deeper, his touch both horrifying and oddly gentle. His expression was one of awe, like he was touching something sacred. “Y’know,” he said, his tone almost conversational, “I never thought I’d get to know you like this. It’s… it’s somethin’ special, don’tcha think? Somethin’ no one else gets to see.”

Your body convulsed, another choked scream tearing from your throat as he withdrew his hand, now slick with blood and… something else. A̵ ̷g̸o̶l̷d̴e̴n̶ ̷f̴l̷o̶w̴e̷r̴.̶ ̸He stared at it for a moment, his smile softening into something almost tender.

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

His lips were warm, his kiss slow and deliberate, as though he were pouring every ounce of affection he had into it. You could taste the copper tang of your own blood on his mouth, feel the sticky warmth of it smeared between you. And yet, beneath all the horror, all the pain, there was an undeniable sense of love. Twisted and dark, but love nonetheless. Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to breathe, each ragged gasp accompanied by the sickening rattle of blood in your throat. Wander pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression one of pure adoration.

“See?” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “You can feel it, can’t ya? All the love I got for you. It’s real. It’s always been real.”

You wanted to scream at him, to curse him, to tell him how wrong this all was. But you couldn’t. Your words were swallowed by the blood filling your mouth, your protests reduced to weak gurgles. So Wander pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm and steady as yours faltered. “It’s okay,” he said softly, stroking your hair with his hand. “I gotcha. You don’t have to say a thing. I know you love me too. You always do.”

Your vision blurred, darkness creeping closer with every passing second. But through it all, his smile remained, a beacon of twisted devotion that burned brighter than any star.

And as your strength waned, as the world around you faded, you realized that he was right.

You did feel it.

You felt the love.

And it tasted like ̵͓̰̤͗̊͌̽́̈h̴͚͍̣̥̗̀͊̐̆͛́͜o̸͇̰̽ͅñ̵̥͈͙̕e̶̤̖̻̘̯̓͋͋͌ý̷̰̄.

"You'd be surprised," the flower whispered, its voice warm and full of wonder, "what you can grow from a little bit of kindness."

And then, the others continued to hum, their melodies swirling around you as you followed Wander deeper into the mystery of the show, the weight of the words hanging in the air like an unfinished symphony, waiting for the next chapter to unfold.

[selfless-solipsist]

°˖✧ The Fuzzy Plague ✧˖° [Wander]

「 ✦ "IT'S HAPPENING! THE FUZZY PLAGUE IS UPON US! HE MULTIPLIED!" ✦ 」

╰┈➤ Wander x Female Reader ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

> Sorry, another Wander one > I'll write one for Hater next, or Sylvia, or maybe... the Black Cube of Darkness? Could be fun!

The chaotic tapestry of your villainous conquest unfurled much as one might expect—a cacophony of terrified screams, imploding empires, and you, standing smugly in the center of it all, arms crossed, radiating the kind of confidence usually reserved for CEOs and smug cats who' have knocked something breakable off the counter. Your name was whispered in fear across galaxies. And yet, somehow, amidst the chaos, one cheerful orange nomad inserted himself into your narrative like a glittery sticker slapped on a death warrant.

You knew of him, of course. Lord Hater couldn't shut up about the "fuzzy menace." He had whined for hours about how this "happy little pest" undid his schemes with banjo solos and kindness, a combo that made the skeleton overlord gag on principle. So, when Wander showed up in your path, all sunshine and twang, you weren't surprised—annoyed, maybe, like finding glitter on everything you owned after a party, but not surprised.

What was surprising was Wander's immediate infatuation.

He crushed on you harder than a black hole on a diet, declaring his love with all the subtlety of a space station explosion. He didn't just flirt—he gushed. Compliments rolled out of him like a malfunctioning praise generator, punctuated by banjo strums and the occasional heart-shaped object he pulled from his hat (which you're still pretty sure obeyed no known laws of physics).

"Oh golly, yer smile could light up a supernova!" he would chirp, wide-eyed and utterly shameless.

At first, you dismissed him, treating his antics with the same nonchalance you reserved for incompetent henchmen and automated customer service lines. But Wander didn't get discouraged. No, he was like a sugar-fueled boomerang—you threw him away, and he came right back, grinning wider and wearing some new ridiculous costume.

But somewhere along the line—perhaps in a moment of weakness, or perhaps because he serenaded you mid-battle and you couldn't stop laughing—you fell for him. Hard.

Fast forward two years, and you were a full-blown couple. To say Lord Hater was "dismayed" was an understatement. The poor guy nearly choked on his energy drink when he found out, muttering something about "betrayal by association." Not that you cared. You and Wander had a good thing going—and, to be fair, a very good thing in bed. Wander, as it turned out, was as enthusiastic and tireless in intimacy as he was in everything else. He learned quickly, too, becoming startlingly dominant when he wanted to be. The fact that reproduction between your species wasn't a possibility meant you both threw caution to the solar wind. And oh, did he make the most of it.

Which brings us to the moment that defied logic, reason, and probably a few intergalactic laws:

Childbirth. Yes.

Your labor was an experience that no amount of villainous bravado could prepare you for. Wander, of course, insisted on helping. "Helping" was his thing, after all. He appeared by your side wearing a surgical mask and rubber gloves he had yanked from his hat, ready to assist with the kind of optimism that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time.

"No," you rasped between contractions. "You are not playing doctor right now."

"Aw shucks, sugarplum, I just wanna—"

"No! Sit. Stay. Be cheerful from over there."

Eventually, you delivered a baby boy—a fuzzy, orange bundle of joy who looked exactly like your significant other, right down to the impossibly wide grin. The only thing he got from you was your eye color, which, frankly, you considered a win. The kid didn't even have your species' physiology—Wander's genes apparently steamrolled yours like a hyperactive toddler with a tank. And parenthood turned Wander into something you could only describe as hilariously domestic. He swapped his usual hat for a pink apron that read, Kiss the Fuzzball, and became a one-man safety patrol, constantly swooping in to rescue your son from death rays and tripwires.

"Careful, lil' buddy!" he would chirp, whisking the kid away from certain doom like a cheerful tornado. "Daddy doesn't want ya gettin' vaporized!"

And you? You were still a villainess, still conquering galaxies, but now with an extra dose of chaos in your life. Wander cheered you on (and foiled your plans because that was basically a tradition at this point), your son tagged along with unshakable glee, and together, you were a family—a bizarre, mismatched, impossibly happy family.

Much to Lord Hater's eternal despair.

Which brings us to a very eventful day. 

The Skullship corridors echoed with screams that could curdle milk and scare ghosts into therapy. The most feared villain in the galaxy—or at least the one who yelled about it the loudest—was currently sprinting through the hallways like a cat being chased by a vacuum cleaner. Behind him was his worst nightmare, giggling with toddler glee: your three-year-old son, who had inherited all of Wander's unshakable optimism, chaotic energy, and the inexplicable ability to make people simultaneously adore and fear him.

The little fuzzball thundered after Hater on stubby legs, his tangerine fluff bouncing with each step. "Unca Hay-Hay!" your son squealed, arms outstretched. "HUG!"

"HUG?!" The unfortunate victim screeched, his voice cracking so high it shattered a nearby Watchdog's confidence. He grabbed the hapless minion like he was a makeshift shield and shook him violently. "Do you hear that?! He wants to hug me! IT'S A TRAP! HE'S SMALLER BUT SMARTER!"

The soldier, whose name you vaguely remembered as something like Jerry or Gary or Larry, blinked at his boss in wide-eyed terror. "Uh, s-sir—"

"DON'T 'SIR' ME!" Hater yelled, tossing the poor guy like a frisbee at your son, who immediately caught him in an exuberant hug. 

"IT'S HAPPENING! THE FUZZY PLAGUE IS UPON US! HE MULTIPLIED!"

From your vantage point on the observation deck—where you lounged with a smoothie in one hand and Sylvia cackling at your side on a plush couch—the scene down below, and behind the windows showing the hallways, was like watching a nature documentary where the apex predator realizes it's actually prey. "This is better than the time I rigged his cloak with confetti cannons," you mused, taking a sip.

"Hay-Hay, no run!" your son chirped, waddling faster, his high-pitched giggles echoing like the unholy spawn of joy and chaos. "HUG! HUG, HUG!"

"NOOOO!" Hater screeched, skidding around a corner with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates. He hurled a chair, a potted plant, and, inexplicably, a toaster in your son's direction. None of them hit. Your toddler caught the toaster mid-air, looked at it with delight, and yelled, "TOASTY!"

Sylvia wheezed beside you, clutching her stomach. "This is gold. I'm so glad I came along for this."

Wander jogged along behind the chaos, cheerful as ever, calling out with his arms open. "Aw, Hater, don't be like that! I've got hugs for you too, buddy!"

The skeleton whipped around mid-sprint, nearly tripping over his own feet. "NO, YOU STAY AWAY TOO! THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT! YOU MULTIPLIED!" He grabbed another random Watchdog, this one slightly taller (which was an achievement) and clearly rethinking all his life choices, and shook him so hard his helmet rattled. "TELL HIM TO STOP MULTIPLYING!"

The poor guy, who looked like he would rather face a black hole than this situation, stammered, "S-sir, I don't think that's how multiplication works—"

"YOU'RE FIRED!" Hater bellowed, throwing the man at Wander like a meat shield. The fuzzball caught him, set him gently on the ground, and gave him a pat on the head. 

"There ya go, little buddy. Remember, hugs make everything better!"

From the look on the Watchdog's face, he might have preferred being thrown into a sun.

Meanwhile, your son squealed with delight and started climbing a pile of discarded chairs Hater had used to barricade a hallway. You leaned back in your seat, drink in hand, and grinned at your friend. "I give five minutes before it gets worse."

She snorted. "Nah, I'm betting three. Look at them—this is already horribly good."

Hater had just rounded another corner, sweating enough to fill a small kiddie pool, when the unthinkable happened. Your little bundle of joy stopped chasing him, pausing mid-waddle to tilt his head at something shiny on the floor—a stray blaster that one of the Watchdogs had carelessly dropped in their frantic escape. Your son's wide, sparkly eyes lit up like a supernova on steroids. "Ooooooooh..." he cooed, toddling over to pick up the weapon with both hands, wobbling under its weight. Don't do such things at home folks.

"Oh no, no, no, no, NO!" The skeleton screeched, his voice shooting up an octave like a squeaky door hinge. He slapped his bony hands against his skull, vibrating with panic. "HE'S GOT A WEAPON! A WANDER WITH A WEAPON! THIS IS THE END! THIS IS HOW I DIE AND I'M ALREADY DEAD!"

Wander, who had been jogging merrily along, froze mid-step. His grin faltered, and his pupils shrank into tiny pinpricks of dread. "Oh golly, little buddy," he said, voice trembling as he held his hands out in a gesture of calm. "That's, uh, not a toy, sunshine. Let's just—how about Daddy takes that, huh?"

Your son, completely ignoring him like any good Wander clone would, turned the blaster over in his little fuzzy hands, giggling. "BOOM!" he announced, clearly thrilled by his newfound discovery.

Hater hit the ground in full-on fetal position, rocking back and forth like a malfunctioning chair. "WE'RE ALL DOOMED! THIS IS IT! THE FUZZBALLS ARE TAKING OVER THE UNIVERSE!"

You, still lounging on the observation deck with Sylvia, snorted into your smoothie. "He acts like this is new information. Wander's been slowly dismantling his sanity for years."

She nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. "This just speeds up the process. Look, the kid's aiming now."

Sure enough, your son had hefted the blaster up, pointing it in random directions while making pew-pew noises. The weapon whirred ominously, charged up by the universe's most oblivious toddler. Wander started flapping his arms like a panicked bird. "Sweet pea, no! That's not for playtime! We use our words, remember? Not energy blasts!"

"Pew-pew!" your son cheered, the blaster glowing brighter.

Before the situation could get any more ridiculous, Commander Peepers stormed into the hallway, his clipboard tucked under one arm and a scowl carved so deep into his face (eye) you were surprised it didn't crack his helmet. "WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" he barked, glaring at Hater's crumpled form. "Sir, why are you curled up like a damp noodle?!"

Hater peeked up, his eyes wild with terror. "P-Peepers! Save me! HE'S GOT A BLASTER! HE'S GONNA TAKE MY THRONE AND MY SANITY!"

The second-in-command sighed the way a stressed-out parent sighs after discovering someone left glitter in the washing machine. "Sir, no one wants your throne. Or your sanity. And why does a child have a—"

PEW!

Before Peepers could finish, your son turned the blaster toward him with the precision of someone who clearly didn't understand physics. The weapon fired a glowing pulse of energy that zipped across the room like a caffeinated bee and knocked Peepers' helmet clean off his head. The clatter of the object hitting the floor was drowned out by Peepers and Hater letting out identical high-pitched screams. The smaller alien instinctively lunged for his friend, grabbing onto his cloak in a panic, while Hater grabbed him back, their shared terror morphing into what could only be described as a screaming hug.

"HE SHOT MY HELMET OFF!" Peepers wailed, clinging to Hater like a life raft in a stormy sea.

"I TOLD YOU THEY'RE TAKING OVER!" The skeleton yelled, shaking him violently. "IT'S THE FUZZBALL APOCALYPSE!"

Meanwhile, Wander crouched down to your son's level, his smile strained and his voice trembling with a mix of panic and forced cheer. "Okay, buddy, let's put the scary zap-zap thing down now, huh? Maybe Daddy can trade you for... uh..." He fished desperately in his hat, pulling out a stuffed unicorn, a lollipop, and what looked like a live raccoon. "One of these?"

Your son considered the lollipop for a moment before pointing the blaster at the wild animal. "Pew!" he squealed.

Your partner's eyes widened as the raccoon leapt into his face, screeching. "Gah! Okay, plan B! Plan B!"

From your comfy seat, you tipped your smoothie toward your female companion in mock salute. "Three minutes exactly. You called it."

Sylvia wheezed with laughter. "This is better than watching gladiator fights."

"IT'S HAPPENING!" Hater screamed, now fully unhinged, like a man who had just discovered the universe was actually made of cheese. "THE FUZZBALLS HAVE INFILTRATED EVERYTHING! THEY'RE EVOLVING! THEY'RE GONNA TAKE OVER THE GALAXY, ONE HUG AT A TIME!"

Peepers was still clinging to him, his helmet off and his eye darting around like a squirrel caught in a tornado. "Sir, you're not making any sense! We've already been through this!"

"Oh, but you don't get it, Peepers!" He screeched, hopping to his feet and grabbing a piece of chalk with urgency—he ran to a chalkboard that, somehow, had appeared out of nowhere. With frenzied, twitchy hands, he began scribbling on the board, drawing a series of stick figures that looked like they had been designed by a toddler after a sugar binge.

You squinted at the chalkboard from above. "What... is that?"

Sylvia leaned in for a closer look, nearly choking on her own laughter. "That's supposed to be your kid, isn't it? I mean, I can barely tell, but I think that's what Hater's brain thinks the future looks like. Either that, or the apocalypse mixed with a preschool art class."

Indeed, the skeleton overlord had somehow managed to combine stick figures, scribbles of what appeared to be spaceships, and a variety of nonsensical arrows pointing in every direction—complete with random drawings of socks for reasons nobody could fathom. "See!" He shouted, pointing wildly at the absurd doodles. "THIS IS THE GALACTIC BLUEPRINT FOR DOOM!"

Wander, who was standing awkwardly beside your son, who was still blissfully unaware that he had just nearly destroyed two of the most fearsome beings in the galaxy, started to panic in his own way. "Well, hey now, Hater, it's not so bad!" He chirped, his voice a little too high-pitched as he gave his signature grin, though it faltered ever so slightly. "We can always look at this like an opportunity, right? I mean, uh, yeah, the whole 'destroy everything' thing doesn't sound great, but hey, maybe we could, like, offer hugs as an alternative? Or—ooh, or how about a game of, uh, musical chairs? That could totally lighten the mood! What do you think, buddy?"

He tried offering your son an overly cheery smile, but your child was too busy aiming the blaster at the ground, making it pop with tiny bursts of energy that sent a few Watchdogs diving for cover.

The helper turned to Hater with a sheepish grin. "See? A little positivity goes a long way!"

But the victim, now scribbling even harder on the chalkboard, was not convinced. "DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF THE SITUATION?!? THIS IS A DOOMSCAPE. A FURRY PANDEMIC! WE'RE ALL DOOMED!" He picked up a piece of chalk and furiously drew a picture of Wander in his signature green hat, with a gigantic smile that was almost the size of his head. Then, he drew your son next to him, only your son had a speech bubble that read, "HUG!"

Wander glanced over and smiled at the picture, his eyes wide. "Aw, now that's the spirit! See, Hater? Hugging is the answer to everything!" He gave Peepers a light pat on the shoulder, his face glowing like he had just unlocked the secret of the universe. "We're just a big happy family, that's all. The universe does need more hugs! And a few more triple pickle cream pies..."

"YES! I KNOW!" Hater shrieked, his hands shaking as he grabbed a Watchdog by the collar and held him up like a human flagpole. "IT'S A CONSPIRACY! A WANDER-FAMILY CLONE ARMY! THEY'RE GOING TO OVERWHELM US WITH POSITIVITY UNTIL WE'RE ALL FORCED TO HUG OUR ENEMIES!" He then started writing "+ HUG" on the chalkboard in big, shaky letters, as if the concept itself was some kind of dangerous weapon.

Sylvia wiped a tear from her eye, still snickering. "I can't take this. This is like watching a madman unravel himself. It's glorious."

You chuckled, taking another sip of your smoothie. "I'd say this is peak entertainment."

As you leaned back, enjoying the view of the absolute madness below, Wander continued to try and calm the situation. But your son? He was having the time of his life, running around, letting the blaster pew-pew all over the place like it was just another toy—completely unaware of the panic he had caused. And through all of this? You just sat back, watching as your baby, your fiancé, and the most fearful villain in the galaxy had a collective meltdown. But soon, the pandemonium had escalated to a level even the Skullship's most battle-hardened Watchdogs hadn't prepared for. Every corner of the ship seemed to reverberate with screams, blaster fire, and the distinct sound of Hater's mind crumbling like a stale cookie.

Your son, still blissfully unaware of the havoc he was causing, was playing his own little game of "pretend I'm a weapon of mass destruction," running after the soldiers like a little fuzzy whirlwind of doom, shouting "HUG!" with every step.

Wander, despite his best efforts to maintain his usual cheery disposition, was starting to crack. His smile was now a strained, twitchy thing, like he was trying to hold back a laugh during a funeral. "Aw, golly, buddy, that's not how we play with—whoa, okay, stop!" Your son aimed the blaster right at a shelf of vases, and they exploded in a shower of ceramic. His dad gasped, hands flying to his face in pure shock. "Oh no! Oh no, no, no, buddy, we can't do—"

Then, just when it seemed like things couldn't get worse, Lord Hater snapped. His eyes were wide with a mix of sheer terror and utter madness. Grabbing a nearby Watchdog by the collar (yes, again), he shook him like a ragdoll, his voice rising to a pitch only dogs could hear. "FOOLS! YOU FOOLS! WHY DIDN'T YOU SEE THIS COMING?!? WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME THAT A FURRY PLAGUE WAS BREWING RIGHT UNDER MY NOSE?!?"

The poor Watchdog, whose name you didn't bother remembering because he was destined to be scarred for life, stammered, "S-s-sir, we—"

"SIR?!" He bellowed, throwing him aside like a piece of trash. "I AM LORD HATER! THE LORD HATER!" He spun around, hands flying in all directions like an over-caffeinated windmill. "AND THIS IS MY SHIP! MY SHIP, WHICH IS NOW INFESTED WITH CHILDREN WHO DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE SACRED RULE OF NOT DESTROYING EVERYTHING!" He whipped his head around, now zeroing in on you and Wander like you were the masterminds of a worldwide conspiracy to ruin his life. "I blame you two! This is your fault! YOU HAD A KID! YOU MULTIPLIED AND NOW LOOK WHAT WE HAVE! A MINI-WANDER WITH A DEATH RAY!"

Wander, still desperately trying to remain optimistic, grabbed your son by the arms and attempted to drag him away from the wreckage. "Okay, buddy, let's... let's go play with some soft, squishy things, huh? Maybe a pillow fort? Or—OOOH, a game of 'hide-and-seek' in the engine room? How about that?"

Your son, not even listening, turned back to Hater and shot another blast at him. This one grazed his shoulder and he flinched like he had been shot by a cannon.

"GAAAAHHH!" he screamed. "IT BURNS! IT BURNS LIKE A THOUSAND SUNS!"

At this point, Hater was no longer even trying to make sense. He grabbed another Watchdog by the leg and lifted him into the air like he was some kind of new weapon of mass destruction. "YOU FOOLS! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU NEVER UNDERSTAND!"

The Watchdog, now dangling like a ragdoll, weakly squeaked, "Sir, I—"

"No! NO MORE EXCUSES!" Hater shrieked. "I WILL NOT BE TAKEN DOWN BY A WANDER CLONE BABY!" He threw the man across the room like he was a beanbag, and then, to everyone's surprise, he stopped. A long, dramatic pause filled the room, as if Hater had suddenly come to a profound realization. He turned toward Peepers, whose eye was wide with terror, and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. "PEEPERS! THIS IS IT! THE END OF THE LINE! THE FUZZBALLS WILL KILL US ALL! IF THESE ARE MY LAST WORDS—" He choked, his eyes wide with the gravity of the moment.

Peepers blinked, confused but oddly compassionate and hopeful. "Sir, I don't—"

"I REGRET... I REGRET NOT FINISHING THAT LEVEL IN THAT VIDEO GAME!" Hater wailed dramatically, clutching his second-in-command like he was the last person on Earth. "I COULD HAVE BEATEN IT! I WAS SO CLOSE! BUT NOW I'M GOING TO DIE, AND I'LL NEVER KNOW THE TRUE POTENTIAL OF THAT GAME! WHY? WHY DID I GET DISTRACTED BY A WANDER CLONE BABY?!"

...

Peepers, who was now essentially stuck in an accidental, death-grip hug with his boss, blinked in bewilderment. "That... that's what you regret?"

Hater nodded gravely. "Yes. That... and not having a better escape plan for when the WANDER CLONE BABY inevitably—"

Suddenly, a blast of energy rang out, hitting the wall right behind the two villains. Your son giggled, holding the blaster at an odd angle, aiming at anything that moved. 

"PEW-PEW!"

"OH MY GOD!" Hater screamed in terror, as if this blaster-wielding toddler was the most terrifying thing in the universe. "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! THIS IS MY LEGACY! I WILL BE REMEMBERED AS THE ONE WHO WAS KILLED BY A WANDER CLONE BABY AND A WANDER!" And just like that, he grabbed his right hand man again, holding him tightly as if he was some kind of bulletproof vest. "IF THESE ARE MY LAST WORDS—"

"WE'VE ALREADY GONE OVER THIS!" Peepers shouted, attempting to wriggle free. "STOP CLINGING TO ME!"

But it was no use. Hater was convinced that the fuzzball plague had officially won. And as the blaster shots continued to explode around them like fireworks, the two of them stood there, locked in a bizarre hug—screaming for their lives, like it was a very messed-up version of the last scene in a disaster movie. Meanwhile, your son was enthusiastically toddling after a fleeing Watchdog, the weapon still clutched in his tiny hands like it was his new favorite toy. "Shiny!" he chirped, zapping a nearby panel, which promptly exploded in a shower of sparks. The Watchdog dove behind a crate, shaking so hard his helmet rattled.

Sylvia, reclining next to you with her boots kicked up on the railing, snorted. "This is the best entertainment I've had in years. The universe finally hit Wander with a taste of his own medicine."

You swirled your drink lazily, the smug grin on your face only widening as the mayhem unfolded. "You know, for someone who preaches peace and love, he sure knows how to inspire pure terror. Look at Hater; he's practically molting."

She wiped a tear from her eye once more. "I didn't think anything could make Peepers scream like that. Guess your kid's got some real talent."

Before you could reply, a frantic voice rang out from below. "Sweetheart! Sweetie pie! Love of my life, HELP!"

You leaned forward just in time to see Wander darting up the stairs on the side of the observation deck, his hat bouncing with every step. His wide, pleading eyes met yours, and you could practically see the desperation radiating off him in waves. It was rich—so rich. This was the same fuzzball who had ruined your schemes more times than you could count, and now he wanted your help?

"Isn't this your thing?" you called, waving a hand. "You're Mr. Helper! Go help!"

"Sugarplum, I can't—he's got a blaster!" He yelped, skidding to a stop below you. "And—and he's just like you! He doesn't listen, he's fearless, and he's got no concept of personal safety!" His voice cracked with pure, unfiltered panic. "I can't keep up! He's too much! Please!"

Before you could fully process what was happening, Wander grabbed you. Correction: lifted you—over his head, like you weighed nothing more than a bag of potatoes. It was comical, absurd, and impressive all at once, considering he barely came up to your chest. His tangerine arms wobbled only slightly as he carried you down the stairs with the determination of a dad who had finally met his match.

"Wander, put me down!" you demanded, though you were laughing too hard to sound serious.

"Not until you help!" Wander insisted, his voice wobbling as he avoided another random zap from the blaster your son was gleefully firing at anything that moved. "This is an emergency! A catastrophe! A—whoa, watch out, lil' buddy!"

Your son had managed to dislodge a section of piping from the wall, which clattered to the floor with a metallic clang. He looked at it with the same wide-eyed wonder he had given the blaster. "BOOM-STICK!" he declared, brandishing it like a sword.

"NO!" His dad wailed, spinning in place with you still above his head. "NO BOOM-STICKS! BOOM-STICKS ARE BAD!"

Sylvia, now doubled over on the observation deck, wheezed, "Oh, this is better than my birthday."

You, meanwhile, decided to enjoy the ride. "Wow, you really are strong," you teased, propping your chin on one hand as Wander darted around. "Guess that explains why I always end up pinned in—"

"Sweetheart, NOT THE TIME!" Your husband-to-be yelped, nearly dropping you in embarrassment. He set you down in the middle of the chaos and grabbed your hands. "Please, darlin', you're the only one who can stop him! He takes after you!"

With that you glanced at your son, who was now trying to balance the blaster on his head like some kind of weaponized hat, and grinned. "You're not wrong. He's got my style."

"Yeah, and your complete disregard for common sense!" He tugged at your sleeve like a kid begging for candy. "Please, honeybun! He'll listen to you! Probably!"

You crossed your arms, tapping your chin like you were seriously considering his request. "Hmm. I don't know. This is kind of karma, don't you think? You ruined my plans for years. Maybe I should sit back and let this play out..."

"WHAT?!" Wander looked at you like you had suggested eating kittens for breakfast. "Sugarplum, please! It's our little angel!"

Your son giggled, waving his new weapon triumphantly. "BOOM!" He pressed a random button on the blaster, and a nearby wall panel exploded in a dramatic shower of sparks.

Hater's scream could probably be heard in another galaxy.

"Okay, okay," you relented, stifling a laugh as you marched toward your tiny agent of chaos. "Let's see what we can do before he blows up the ship."

"THANK YOU!" Wander called after you, dropping to his knees in exaggerated relief. "Thank you, sweetie pie! You're my hero!"

You rolled your eyes but smirked, ready to wrangle your little mini-me into some semblance of order. And as you approached your giggling little chaos gremlin, a plan began to form in your villainous mind. You had dealt with Wander enough to know his weaknesses—both of them. And if genetics had truly cursed your son with all of your partner's quirks, there was one foolproof method to tame the beast. Sliding a hand into your pocket, you fished out your secret weapon: a laser pointer. It was sleek, compact, and your absolute favorite tool for handling Wander-level chaos. Why? Because the fuzzball was irresistibly drawn to laser dots like a cat hopped up on caffeine.

“Oh no,” Sylvia wheezed from her perch on the observation deck. “You’re not… You wouldn’t—”

“Oh, I would,” you said smugly, holding up the laser pointer with a flourish. “Watch and learn, Sylvia. This is how a true villainess wrangles the fuzzy plague.”

You clicked the button, and a bright red dot appeared on the floor, flickering back and forth like a tiny, dancing star. Your son’s eyes widened instantly, his tiny body freezing mid-waddle as if he had just spotted the Holy Grail. His grip on the blaster slackened, and it dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. “Dot!” he screeched, dropping the other object entirely and pouncing at the laser like his life depended on it. His little legs scrambled as he chased the dot across the floor, giggling uncontrollably every time it darted out of reach.

Wander, standing nearby, gasped in awe, clutching his chest like he had just witnessed the birth of a galaxy. “Oh my stars… He’s just like me!” His voice cracked with an overwhelming mix of pride, disbelief, and something that sounded suspiciously like he was about to cry. “He even pounces the same way! Look at him go! Oh, sugarplum, this is—this is beautiful! It’s… it’s a family tradition!”

“Yeah,” Sylvia drawled, leaning over the railing with an amused grin, “a family tradition of being ridiculous.”

Wander didn’t even hear her. He was too mesmerized by his son’s laser-fueled antics. That is, until the dot slid a little too close to his own feet. His eyes locked onto it, his pupils dilated, and for a moment, all higher reasoning left his mind.

“Wander, don’t—” you started.

Too late.

With a little yelp, your partner dove for the laser dot like an overexcited kitten, tumbling to the floor and scrambling after it on all fours. “I got it! I got it—wait, no! Come back here, you slippery little rascal!”

The zbornak burst out laughing, nearly falling off the railing. “This is better than every soap opera I’ve ever watched combined.”

“Control is key,” you said with a wicked grin, flicking the dot around in erratic patterns that had both your son and your fiancé scrambling in dizzying circles. The resemblance between the two was uncanny—and downright hilarious.

Hater, still clutching Peepers for dear life, gawked at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “They’re both like this?! BOTH OF THEM?!” But you only smirked, aiming the laser pointer upward, and flicked it right onto Hater’s forehead. The red dot landed square between his lightning bolt-shaped horns. “NO!” he screeched, swatting at his face like it was infested with bees. “GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF ME!”

Wander and your son froze mid-pounce, their eyes snapping up to the dot like they were programmed. For a split second, there was silence—a moment of shared understanding between father and son.

And then they both lunged for the skeleton overlord.

“AHHHH!” He screamed, his voice cracking into a terrified wail as he turned tail and bolted, dragging Peepers along with him like a human shield. “YOU’RE ALL INSANE! THIS ISN’T A FAMILY—IT’S A FUZZBALL INVASION!”

Peepers, flailing in his grasp, groaned. “Sir, put me down! This is humiliating!”

“You think I care?!” Hater shrieked, skidding around a corner with Wander and your son hot on his heels. “I’M THE VICTIM HERE! I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS!”

And so, the chaos continued, with Hater screaming nonsense, Wander and your son fighting for the dot, and you standing triumphantly in the middle of it all. The galaxy’s most feared villainess—and, apparently, the galaxy’s greatest wrangler of fuzzy chaos. But then, you decided to drop the biggest bombshell of the day. Watching the whole charade was entertaining, sure, but you had an ace up your sleeve—one that you just knew would throw the chaos into overdrive.

“Wander!” you called out, your voice carrying the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas.

“Y-yeah, sugarplum?” he asked, trying to untangle himself from your son, who was currently using his father’s hat as a chew toy.

“I’m pregnant again.”

Time. Stopped.

Wander froze mid-struggle, his head snapping toward you with the kind of wide-eyed look that could only be described as pure, unfiltered disbelief. Your son took advantage of his distraction to tackle him to the floor, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “WHAT?!” His voice cracked so hard it could have shattered a window. He scrambled to his feet, almost tripping over his own legs in his rush to reach you. “You’re—? Again? Really?!” His face lit up with a mixture of awe and panic, his hat now dangling off. “Oh golly, sugarplum, are you serious?!”

You crossed your arms, the smuggest of grins plastered across your face. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

He practically vibrated with excitement, hugging you tightly as if you were the only thing keeping him from exploding into a shower of glitter. “Oh my stars! We’re gonna have another one?! Oh golly, oh golly, oh golly—” He suddenly froze, his expression shifting from joy to terror.

“Wait, we’re gonna have another one.”

Oh Grop.

Hater, who had been hugging Peepers and screaming nonsense about his legacy, abruptly stopped mid-shriek. His glowing green eyes widened in horror as the realization hit him like a truck. “YOU’RE WHAT?!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the spaceship. “THERE’S GONNA BE TWO OF THEM?!”

The small Watchdog, who had been doing his best to pry himself free, let out a resigned groan. “Sir, please don’t—”

“THAT'S HORRIBLE NEWS!” The skeleton wailed, releasing Peepers to grab another chalkboard out of nowhere. He began scribbling furiously, this time drawing two stick figures with scribbly orange heads. “TWO! TWO FUZZBALLS! DOUBLE THE HUGGING! DOUBLE THE CHAOS! WE WON’T SURVIVE THIS!”

Wander, meanwhile, had gone full spiral. He dropped to his knees at your feet, clutching your hands like a man possessed. “Oh golly, darlin', I promise I’ll be the best dad! I’ll knit booties for both of ‘em! I’ll make matching hats! I’ll—oh no, what if they both want the same toy? Or what if they team up and we can’t handle it? Or—”

“Honey, breathe,” you interrupted, patting his head like he was a hyperactive puppy.

“I can’t breathe!” He exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with both excitement and existential dread. “We’re having another baby!”

Your son, blissfully unaware of the gravity of the situation, toddled over to Hater and pointed at the stick figures on the chalkboard. “THAT ME!” he declared, jabbing at one of the drawings.

The skeleton shrieked like someone had doused him in ice water. “GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FUZZY LITTLE TERROR! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE BACKUP SOON, AREN’T YOU?! THIS IS HOW IT ENDS! I KNEW IT!”

Peepers groaned and rubbed his temples. “Why do I even bother?”

Sylvia, still lounging on the observation deck, let out a low whistle. “Well, looks like you two are gonna be really busy.” She grinned at you. “Congrats, though. You’ve officially made Hater’s life a living nightmare.”

You smirked, leaning back with your hands on your hips. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

And as the tall villain started drawing increasingly nonsensical apocalyptic scenarios on his chalkboard, Wander alternated between crying with joy and hyperventilating, and your son continued zapping random walls (because of course he picked up the blaster again), you couldn’t help but think that life was about to get a whole lot more chaotic—and you were more than ready for it. Hater though? He had now scrawled what could only be described as a doomsday manifesto on the whiteboard. It was an incomprehensible mess of colors, shapes, and terrifying figures, all pointing to a giant, red arrow labeled: 

💀 'THE FUZZBALL REVOLUTION IS COMING.' 💀

He climbed onto a nearby table—knocking over a pile of precariously stacked crates in the process—and raised his arms to the heavens like some kind of deranged prophet. “HEAR ME, GALAXY!” he bellowed, his voice echoing dramatically through the halls of the Skullship. “I WARN YOU ALL: THE FUZZBALL REVOLUTION IS COMING!”

The Watchdogs, peeking out from behind crates, corners, and each other, stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. “The what, sir?” one brave soul dared to ask.

Hater jabbed a bony finger at the nearest chalkboard, which now resembled a preschool art project on steroids. “THE FUZZBALL REVOLUTION! Look at this!” He pointed wildly at a series of stick figures labeled Wander (the worst), Wander Clone Army, Baby #1, Baby #2, and inexplicably, Larry the Rebel Watchdog. “This is the future! Hugs everywhere! Blasting everything that moves! DO YOU WANT TO LIVE IN A GALAXY WHERE EVERY DAY IS JUST... THIS?!” He gestured behind him, where your son had somehow managed to climb onto Wander’s head, using his dad as a jungle gym, while the nomad spun in circles trying to avoid getting zapped by his tiny offspring. “Do you see that?!” Hater screeched, pointing dramatically. “This is the end! The end of evil as we know it! It’s... it’s positive chaos! Nobody’s safe! Not me, not you, NOT EVEN LARRY!” He grabbed a random soldier by the shoulders and shook him violently. “Larry, listen to me! You must prepare yourself! Buy snacks, hoard helmets, stockpile as much anti-hug spray as you can find! IT WON’T BE ENOUGH, BUT DO IT ANYWAY!”

The Watchdog, who may or may not have actually been named Larry, just whimpered. “Uh, yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

“And you!” Hater spun toward the imaginary audience, his skeletal face twisting into a grimace of despair. “I’m talking to YOU out there! Yes, YOU, sitting in your cozy little spaceship or whatever! Laugh now, but when the fuzzball invasion reaches YOUR doorstep, don’t say I didn’t warn you! They’re coming! They’re small, they’re fuzzy, and they have no concept of boundaries!” He threw his arms wide for emphasis. 

“THEY WILL HUG YOU INTO SUBMISSION!”

...

The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of the Skullship’s engines and the occasional “pew-pew” from your son’s blaster. The skeleton stood there, panting, his dramatic ranting having taken every ounce of energy he had left.

Peepers, dusting himself off from where he had been unceremoniously dropped earlier, sighed heavily. “Sir, you need therapy.”

“THERAPY CAN’T SAVE ME!” Hater howled, collapsing into a heap of cloak and despair.

And with that, the self-proclaimed greatest villain in the galaxy curled into a ball on the table, muttering incoherently about laser pointers, hugs, and the impending doom of all evil, while you and Wander exchanged amused glances. Sylvia, still wheezing with laughter, summed it up best:

“Yup. This is why I stick around. You just can’t pay for entertainment like this.”

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

Can we get some headcanons for the Star Nomad crew? (Any! Just some random nonsense!) 🥰

Headcanons for The Star Nomad Crew (from the fanfiction titled "Nothing Ever Changes" - a Wander x Reader story, post canon.)

Ah, the Star Nomad. Home to the weirdest, most dysfunctional family of cosmic chaos. How do they live? Well, let’s take a peek at the insanity that unfolds every day.

Wander, the Ultimate Optimist (but Now with a Slight Dark Side): While Wander is still the epitome of sunshine, post-apocalypse, he's developed a slightly darker sense of humor. He might be the one to make light of the situation—“Oh, sure, everything’s falling apart, but hey, at least I can make a mean pancake!”—but there’s a glint of nervous energy behind his eyes. The joy of spreading happiness and helping is starting to feel like a desperate need. He's been singing more, playing his banjo obsessively in the corners of the ship. No one has the heart to tell him that maybe, just maybe, he should slow down.

The Watchdogs Have Started a "Support Group": After everything went south, the Watchdogs began holding very informal support meetings—because if there’s one thing they all had in common, it was emotional trauma. They’ve tried to keep it “professional” by forming a group therapy session, but it’s mostly just yelling about their failures and trying to share their feelings without completely falling apart. The best part? Hater still insists on leading it, but no one listens to him because, well… he's Hater.

Emperor Awesome’s Bizarre Workout Routine: In the aftermath of the apocalypse, Emperor Awesome has decided he needs to get fit to maintain his “godlike status.” He’s taken up yoga (but not with Jeff because ew) and insists on doing it in the most ridiculous places—in the middle of the mess hall, right next to the engine core (where it’s most inconvenient). One day, someone caught him doing an extremely awkward downward dog pose with Something the So-and-So watching, confused. Awesome's response? "I do it for the culture, bro."

Lord Dominator’s Weird "Unavailable" Status: Dominator loves/hates the apocalypse. Why? Because now no one can disturb her, but she can disturb others. She used to be the center of attention, but with the galaxy dying, she’s been playing the role of a mysterious recluse. Every few weeks, she’ll randomly appear from an undisclosed location on the ship, drop some ominous line like “The time for vengeance will come,” and disappear again, leaving people to speculate whether she’s plotting or just bored.

The Black Cube’s Existential Crisis: The Black Cube of Darkness, now a reformed "Little Black Cube of Sunshine," is still learning the ropes of positivity. He used to take over galaxies and steal souls with his ominous power. Now? Now he’s trying to learn to enjoy... things. He once tried to meditate with Jeff and ended up sobbing (in his own way) because he couldn’t grasp the concept of just existing without trying to steal someone's soul. To his surprise, the other former villain was super supportive, offering to play a game of "chase the cosmic butterfly" with him. Cube still wonders if that's how normal people do fun, but for now, he’s quietly enjoying the chaos of simply existing.

Peepers’ Control Issues: With the entire galaxy crumbling, Peepers has become obsessed with keeping his plans for total galactic domination intact, even though it doesn't matter anymore. In his rare moments of vulnerability, when the weight of everything sinks in, you might hear him muttering about how “no one appreciates his strategies.” The only thing that keeps him going is making sure he's still in charge. So he micromanages everything, even down to what the watchdogs eat for lunch. And he wonders if anyone notices his daily breakdowns between overly-structured meetings. But then again, who would care about his stress?

Sylvia's Reluctant Leadership: Despite her tough exterior and love for punching things (and people), Sylvia is secretly becoming the second glue (first one being Wander) that holds the group together. Between fixing broken machinery and dealing with Ripov's intense desire for vengeance (she finally admitted to Sylvia that she was deeply touched by the gesture), she’s become the designated "I-got-this" person. While the Zbornak would rather be doing anything else, she’s actually kind of thriving in this leadership role, secretly enjoying how much more efficient she is than most of the galaxy's professionals (including the former “Emperor Awesome” whose glittery pants are about as effective as a space trash can).

Lord Hater’s Crisis of Confidence: Post-apocalypse, Lord Hater is this close to having a full-blown existential crisis. His empire is collapsing, he’s stuck on a ship with his so-called “enemies,” and worst of all—he has no chairs. He rants about his legacy, but deep down, he wonders if he’ll be remembered for all the wrong reasons. Peepers, while extremely stressed himself, has to act as the “parent” of their weirdly dysfunctional household, taking notes on “how to stop Hater from having a meltdown in public every five minutes.” Even Captain Tim, his beloved pet, seems to be doing the emotional heavy-lifting these days. As Hater practices his “evil laughs” in the bathroom, he sometimes wonders if anyone actually takes him seriously or if the universe is playing some sort of cruel joke.

Roommate Drama (Reader and Wander Edition): Post-apocalypse, the reader and Wander’s living situation has reached new levels of chaotic hilarity. While you would normally be annoyed by his incessant optimism, there’s a strange comfort in the absurdity of living with someone who genuinely believes everyone can be helped. You’ve learned to accept the random gifts he leaves for you—somehow, a 10-foot-tall banana suit and three sparkling rocks made their way to your side of the room this morning that he had found on a supply run. (You’re pretending not to care. You’re pretending.) Meanwhile, he constantly bursts into your room with weirdly detailed plans for group activities—think karaoke, scavenger hunts, and competitive knitting—but with a twist: each one somehow ends with him dragging you into a bizarre, unintentional hostage situation in front of the entire ship. And the worst part? You secretly enjoy it. Because somehow, despite all your protests, Wander might just be the most genuine, infuriating, and (okay, fine) lovable thing about this mess of a ship.

And that’s it for now! More headcanons to come later, because let’s be real, this galaxy isn’t going to destroy itself—yet. In the meantime, stay tuned for more absurdity, chaos, and maybe some questionable life choices. Oh, and if anyone finds a way to make this ship stop smelling like burnt popcorn and lost dreams, hit me up. Until next time, my fellow space misfits. ✌️🚀

P.S. Wander still thinks you’re amazing.

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

Has anyone tried to unionize against having to wear the ugly (I say that with love, because the image of Wander in an oversized shirt is pulling at my heartstrings) grey uniforms yet, or have they just accepted their fate? Also, why are they wearing them, since most characters never wore anything?

(from the fanfiction titled "Nothing Ever Changes" - a Wander x Reader story, post canon.)

Did anyone try to unionize against them? Something like that, but not exactly, close though. First off however:

WHY IS EVERYONE WEARING THESE UGLY GREY THINGS?

Simple. Laundry. This entire ship is stuffed with over four thousand beings of all shapes, sizes, and hygiene levels. The only way to keep the entire Yonder Galaxy from becoming a giant, stinky pit of despair was to enforce one uniform. One color, one fabric, one easily washable, stain-resistant, rip-proof outfit for everyone. People like Wander just wore them to make others feel better about the situation (or in other cases, just so everyone knew each other with the help of the nametags that were on them.)

But at first? Wander had a vision. A dream.

He wanted rainbow uniforms. Matching color-coded outfits based on personality because "wearing what makes you feel special makes you BE special!" . . .there was a musical number.

Hater was not okay.

He screamed. He begged. He clutched his chest like an old man seeing his medical bill. "I REFUSE TO LOOK LIKE A WALKING FRUIT SALAD!!" Peepers was seconds away from passing out. The Watchdogs? Sobbing, because they feared being assigned pastel pink. You thrived on the chaos, of course. But the argument escalated into a five-hour debate that ended with Hater throwing a chair so hard that it broke physics and disappeared into another dimension. (Nobody talks about The Lost Chair.)

Thus, a compromise was reached: Grey. Bland, inoffensive, neutral grey. The universal color of "fine, I give up."

And as an extra slap to the face, Wander still wrote a jingle about it.

WANDER'S OFFICIAL–okay, not really–"GREY SUIT JAM" (Feat. Hater)

(Verse 1 – Cheerful, Banjo-Powered)

"When life gets messy, and ya got no flair, Don’t stress about fashion, don’t pull your hair! Just grab your suit, the best you’ll see, ‘Cause matching outfits build unity!"

(Hater, screaming in the background: "IT BUILDS OPPRESSION, WANDER!")

(Verse 2 – Increasingly Peppy)

"Grey’s the color of the sky before rain, It’s simple, it’s sleek, it’ll keep ya sane! No stains, no fuss, just zip and go, Now nobody has to worry ‘bout fashion—WOAH!"

(Hater, shrieking: "WHY AM I BEING PUNISHED FOR HAVING A PERSONALITY?!")

(Verse 3 – Wander why?)

"So wear your grey with pride today! A uniform ship, hip-hip hooray! No chaos, no clashing, just laundry that’s dashing, So smile in grey—it’s here to STAY!"

(Hater, in the distance, broken and exhausted: "…this is worse than Dominator.")

And now. . .

THE GIUSEPPE INCIDENT (a.k.a. The Great Nametag Fiasco)

Listen. Tailoring for four thousand people is hard. Giuseppe, the Watchdog tailor of the Star Nomad (formerly the tailor of the Skullship), was under immense pressure to produce thousands of uniforms as quickly as possible. And it would have gone fine—if not for one tiny, glitter-coated, muscular distraction.

Enter Emperor Awesome.

Who, upon hearing about the uniforms, demanded a glittery version. But he didn’t just ask—oh no. He monologued. He posed dramatically. He flexed mid-sentence. And every time Giuseppe tried to concentrate, there was another bicep flex accompanied by a completely unnecessary hair flip (that he did not have). And so? Mistakes were made.

Instead of writing names normally, Giuseppe—half-distracted, half-furious—just wrote down whatever came to mind based on who annoyed him most that day. The result? Pure chaos.

🚨 HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE NAMETAG DISASTER: 🚨

> Sylvia’s tag: "Zbornak Extra Large" (Implying that she is, in fact, built like a refrigerator. So she squinted at the tag, then at Giuseppe. He shrugged. "What? You are big. Not Giuseppe’s fault.")

> Peepers’ tag: "Little Angry Dot" (He was SO mad about it. Tried to argue, but Giuseppe just said, “If da Watchdogs don’t look good, Giuseppe no look good, but you? You ALWAYS look mad. So.”)

> Dominator’s tag: “Scary Emo Bitch” ("She wanna rip da sleeves off? Fine. Giuseppe let her. But she no wanna pick up a mop? Now she’s Scary Emo Bitch forever.")

> Lil’ Bits’ tag: “Evil Meow Meow” ("Dis tiny little menace, dis furry demon? She no need name. She need warning label.")

> Hater’s tag: “The Drama Queen” ("Ohhh, boss man is da ‘Greatest in da Galaxy’? He screams over every little thing, Giuseppe sees only da galaxy’s biggest diva. A skeleton soap opera.”)

> Wander’s tag: "Hugs With Legs" ("I look at his face, I see dis name. I do not change it. He too happy. Suspiciously happy. He give too many hugs. It make my eye twitch." Wander loved it.)

> The Reader’s tag: “Menace to Society” (You framed it. Like an award. "Giuseppe sees da chaos in your eyes. You think Giuseppe don’t know what you did? Giuseppe knows. Oh, Giuseppe knows.")

> Ripov’s tag: "One-Woman Death Wish" ("She look like she tryin’ to fight da entire galaxy at once. Even her lunch. I just call it how I see it.")

> Ryder’s tag: “Divorced Energy” (Ryder: "Hey, I'm not even married!" Giuseppe: "Exactly.")

> Screwball Jones’ tag: “The Seven Of Swords” ("Da worst kind of clown.” No one knows what Giuseppe meant by that. Not even Screwball.)

> Neckbeard’s tag: “Reddit Mod” (Neckbeard read it. Adjusted his robes. Then just... nodded solemnly.)

> The Watchdogs’ collective tags: “Crybaby #1”, “Crybaby #2”, “Crybaby #578” (Peepers had to physically stop them from unionizing over it.)

> Westley the Watchdog’s tag: "Pure, Gentle, Baby Boy" ("I look at him. I see innocence. He not like da others. He too good for dis ship." Westley teared up.)

> Brad Starlight’s tag: "Discount Prince Charming" ("He look like a bootleg fairytale. I expect him to break out in song and be annoying. He did. I was correct." Brad was horrified.)

> Something the So-And-So’s tag: "Nervous Wreck" ("I never see a man say sorry so much. I am tailor, not therapist." Something took it personally… so he just apologized.)

> Kragthar’s tag: "Fire Hazard" ("He got flames. He got rage. He pronounce his name 12 different ways. He a problem." Kragthar was insulted.)

At the end of that day, Hater stared at his tag for a full five minutes, twitching violently. Then he turned to Giuseppe and screamed, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘DRAMA QUEEN’?! I’M STILL YOUR SUPERIOR!!!”

Giuseppe, already lighting a cigarette despite the fact that smoking was strictly prohibited on the ship, just shrugged. “Eh. You break a chair. You cry about da fashion. You got da cloak like you in a soap opera. You a whole theater production, boss.”

It took Peepers and five Watchdogs to hold Hater back from electrocuting him.

Giuseppe did not care.

And so, if anyone wanted to change their tag, they had to do it themselves the next day.

(I'm sorry, I had too much fun with this. I'm sick and I can't focus while writing the next chapter so I'm happy that you sent me this question! It made me really happy <3)

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

Wdym the smut is going to be skippable? Because I really enjoy the story so far, but I'm not comfortable with smut in fics. I mean, if it's implied or smth, or if it's talked about then fine, the scenes itself are just weird for me lol. So I'm wondering what you meant exactly by that

(from the fanfiction titled "Nothing Ever Changes" - a Wander x Reader story, post canon.)

Oh-ho-ho, my dear curious reader, fear not! The smut in Nothing Ever Changes shall be as avoidable as Lord Hater trying to confront his emotions—which is to say, very.

How will it be skippable?

Easy! It’s gonna be a standalone chapter, locked safely away in its own little “Do Not Enter Unless You Seek Madness” containment zone. You won’t accidentally stumble into anything saucy when all you wanted was more chaos, feelings, and Watchdog suffering. The previous chapter will do a nice little fade-to-black—classy, respectful, leaving all the suggestions floating in the air like one of Wander’s love-struck sighs.

What will you be missing if you skip it?

Absolutely nothing vital to the plot. No “secret, hidden character development” nonsense. No “oh, by the way, this chapter contains a critical piece of lore that will explain the entire ending” trickery. If you skip the smut, you’ll just miss out on:

Some well-placed comedy (because my notes for this scene are a fever dream, and yes, it is WILD).

Some fanservice-y feelings (but again, those are also explored in the main story, just with fewer… compromising positions).

One hell of a ride for those who do read it (because it is, indeed, a ride).

Think of it like a DLC side quest in a video game: You don’t have to play it, but if you do, it’s gonna be a rollercoaster of “Oh no, oh yes, oh WHY.”

TL;DR: The smut is like a limited-edition promotional event—entirely optional, probably a little ridiculous, and Wander would absolutely blush himself into another dimension if he knew people were even considering reading it. 😌

[selfless-solipsist]

Hey author, I haven't seen any update for a while from you. Is the Honeyed Confessions story for Wander x reader ever going to be finished or did you abandon it?

I'm sorry if this sounded rude! I'm just curious, I'm not trying to rush you or push you into writing or anything. I just think it's a lovely story, and it got me hooked especially since the last chapter! I would like to read more if you'd be willing to share 🥰

Don't worry, it doesn't sound rude at all!

And to answer your question: The story is actually at 20 chapters as of now (you can check it out on AO3, wattpad, or quotev), with me writing the next one right as I'm replying to your question. I just stopped uploading stuff here, because I already have three sites to manage and long-fics aren't that great to post on tumblr (because, let's be real, it's better for one-shots).

SO YOU CAN READ IT ALL HERE:

[Wander x Reader] (yandere fic everybody)

Also, originally I planned 21 chapters, but I think I might hit 30 or maybe even more because I just started ACT 4 of the whole thing and welp- There's a lot going down, but it can be a bit too much -especially for a sensitive audiance. But hey, if you want to see a bit of the third season with Wander then this is also a treat for ya! Don't get too close to him though! Just a thought! *cough cough, chapter 17 broke me*

BUT HEY THEY ALL JUST WANT (AND NEED, SERIOUSLY) A HUG, DON'T THEY?!?! LOOK AT THOSE CUTE LIL' FACES!

Why am I using plural? It's just Wander isn't it?

...yeah sure.

ALSO: If anyone is about to start reading this story, please check the tags on AO3! This isn't fluff with a bit of smut. I'll say it louder for the people in the back, this is a YANDERE (maybe yangire?) FIC, and I don't sugarcoat the horrible scenes. Both the lemon parts and the gore elements are graphic so this is not a story for everyone (however if you want some weird love story, with a script-wink wonk to the people who already read the rest-then you can just read the first 7 chapters since they're somehow innocent + smut. The actual plot starts after that.) Fourth wall breaks are everywhere.

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

OMG THIS IS THE BEST EVER-- Didn't expect you to make an entire blog for this whole fic but DAYUM am I excited! So, real talk: What’s the deal with Hater’s obsession with chairs? I feel like we need a full episode dedicated to the psychological breakdown of his need for so many seats. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

(from the fanfiction titled "Nothing Ever Changes" - a Wander x Reader story, post canon.)

Oh, the Chair Saga... Let me enlighten you on this thrilling tale.

Alright, so first things first: why Hater's obsession with chairs? I can see why you'd think it's some random nonsense, but trust me, it's not just for kicks (although, okay, it’s hilarious). Remember that one episode when Peepers said, "Is this one of those things where you obsess over something to cover up the real issue?" Well, that right there is exactly what's happening with Hater and his chairs. 🙄

See, the chairs aren’t just chairs—they’re symbols. Hater’s need for a chair for every occasion? It’s not about comfort, it’s about control. You know, the whole “I am the greatest in the galaxy and everything should revolve around me” vibe? Yeah. Chairs are his way of asserting that control over his environment. But let’s be real, this man has some deep issues that a few fancy chairs won’t fix. And those issues are catching up with him.

Hater’s life is a series of failures, crushing self-doubt, and—let’s be honest—emotional baggage that would fill a whole cargo hold on the Star Nomad. So, naturally, when he's faced with that, he decides to throw his energy into something that seems manageable. Like… obsessively collecting chairs. Because if he can’t control his destiny, at least he can control where his butt sits, right? 🤷‍♂️

And as much as he tries to play it off like it’s no big deal, it’s honestly very real. Peepers sees right through it, which is why he gets so exasperated. Hater's chaotic need for his "evil chair," his "thinking chair," his "relaxation chair" — it’s not just furniture; it’s the illusion of order in a galaxy that’s falling apart, all because of the mess Hater made with his victory over Dominator. But don’t worry, we’re diving deeper into that lightning-powered trauma in the chapters to come. 😎

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

Nothing Ever Changes Playlist

(from the fanfiction titled "Nothing Ever Changes" - a Wander x Reader story, post canon.)

🎶 Want to dive deeper into the chaos? 🎶

I’ve absolutely created a Spotify playlist that perfectly encapsulates the vibe of this story—because, let’s be real, writing chaos requires a chaotic soundtrack. Expect a blend of upbeat jams, heart-wrenching ballads, and—of course—random nonsense. There might be moments when you're questioning your life choices (thanks, Polish songs), but trust me, they fit. As someone who’s Polish, these tracks just hit different, and they’re somehow perfect for this whirlwind of a story. 🌀✨

If you're curious to know what fuels my creative madness between chapters, this playlist is your VIP pass into my chaotic brain. Whether you’re here for some intergalactic drama, random meme-worthy tracks, or a bit of weirdly emotional Polish music—this playlist’s got it all. (Just don’t expect anything too normal, okay? We’re living in a post-apocalyptic galaxy here.)Hit that play button, crank up the volume, and join me as I write this madness! You never know what musical curveball will come next. 🎧🚀

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

I also have a question about the Hater/Ripov pairing in the fic. Why? And I'm not saying that it's a bad idea, I'm just curious because it's so... unusual? (well it wasn't popular is what I'm saying, back in the day)

(from the fanfiction titled "Nothing Ever Changes" - a Wander x Reader story, post canon.)

Oh, you want the real reason behind Hater/Ripov? Grab your seat, because we’re diving deep into the madness that is my chaotic brain. 😎

Alright, so full disclosure, I don’t really ship in this fandom—like, at all. Honestly, I don’t have the energy for shipping wars or piecing together random pairings just to see if it “works” in the fandom’s eyes. My approach? Throw in some madness and see where it lands. But here’s the thing: I love chaos. I thrive on it. So when I was looking for background pairings to toss into the mix, I thought, "Why not make things a little… weird?"

Hater/Ripov was basically the result of me looking at the characters and going, Hmm, how can I ruin their lives even further? Kidding. But also, not really.

First off, let’s talk about Hater. The guy’s had nothing but heartbreak, failure, and his personal journey of trying to prove he’s the greatest villain in the galaxy, all while everyone around him keeps roasting him. The man has massive self-esteem issues—he’s been shot down by Dominator (who has no chill, by the way), humiliated, and now he’s surrounded by absolute chaos, some of which he can’t control. So, of course, I’m gonna throw in some more chaos in the form of Ripov, a woman who's basically the physical embodiment of anger management problems. Who wouldn’t want to watch that disaster unfold, right? Honestly, Hater needs to find some form of happiness in this dumpster fire of a galaxy, and if that happens to be with someone who makes him question his entire existence and possibly leave him in a constant state of confusion, then so be it. He’s earned it. Maybe. Probably not.

And Ripov? Oh, Ripov. She’s a mess in the best way possible. She’s angry and very confused about her emotions (because who isn't?). But you know what she’s not confused about? She knows what she wants, and it's chaos. She's an angry warrior who was so consumed by her rage after losing her crew to the Arachnomorphs that she was basically walking around like a pressure cooker ready to explode. Enter Hater��a man who’s also clearly emotionally wrecked, but is doing it in the most “I’m-the-greatest” way possible. The real twist is that they’re both emotionally screwed, and they might just accidentally end up being weirdly perfect for each other in this totally unhinged way.

But don’t get it twisted: This isn’t some lovey-dovey, hearts-and-flowers kind of ship. No. It’s chaos with extra steps. It won’t be cute. It won’t be comfortable. If you’re waiting for the heartwarming “awww” moments, you might want to adjust your expectations. I mean, it’s literally Hater, who once wanted Dominator to notice him, and Ripov, who will probably end up dragging him through emotional growth (read: trauma and awkward moments) like it’s an Olympic event.

These characters were barely given room to develop on the show. We never got a third season, and that means we never got to see how they would’ve evolved. So, why not take that chance? I want Hater to have some happiness—maybe just a bit of emotional satisfaction, even if it’s from an unexpected source. And Ripov? Well, she’s a total wildcard. Maybe her aggressive nature will soften a little, or maybe it’ll get even worse. And honestly? I’m all for the unpredictability of it. Plus, chaos is what Hater thrives on. He’s miserable, but he’s also so good at making everyone else just as miserable as he is. Let’s see if he can be slightly less miserable with Ripov, who knows how to push his buttons.

But here’s the kicker—Wander/Reader is still the main event, and I promise, all of this will stay in the background. I’m not letting any side ship overshadow the glorious mess that is Wander and the reader. Wander's still the heart of this chaotic universe. If anything, this little experiment with Hater and Ripov will serve as some fun distractions as we work our way through the real heart of the story.

To sum it up: I’m not doing this for the sake of a random, cute ship. I’m doing it because it adds depth, complexity, and—let’s be honest—a whole lotta chaos to Hater’s arc. He’s not the perfect, invincible villain. He’s got baggage, trauma, and a history of making really bad choices (hello, Dominator). If I’m going to continue the story myself and give these characters the ending they deserve (especially since the show didn’t), then I’m throwing in some random ships, a few unexpected growth moments, and more dramatic chaos than anyone can handle.

Because, honestly, it’s a post-apocalypse, and at this point, what else is there to do? 😜

More random ships to come (just passing through), more awkwardness, and—oh yeah—Wander/Reader for life. You’re welcome for the chaos.

[nothingeverchangeswoy]

Welcome to the Official ‘Nothing Ever Changes’ Secret Lair Blog! 🚀💥🎸(Wander x Reader fic)

Congratulations, intrepid explorer of chaos! You have found yourself in the most exclusive, most ridiculous, and most unhinged corner of the Yonder Galaxy. This blog is for the elite few—those who have the mental fortitude to handle whatever nonsense gets thrown their way. If you’re here, that means you’re already tangled in the whirlwind that is Nothing Ever Changes (if not, then you might want to read at least the first chapter), the AO3 fanfic so chaotic that even Lord Hater himself would rather punt it into the sun than admit it exists.

Here’s what you can expect inside this secret space bunker of exclusive content:

✨ Ask Me Anything – Want to know what would happen if Wander accidentally got his hat stuck on Hater’s horns? Curious about how Peepers handles mandatory team-building exercises? Looking for confirmation on whether Sylvia has ever suplexed someone through the ship walls? (Spoiler: She has.) Ask away!

🎨 Art & Doodles – Expect a mix of cursed sketches, weirdly detailed character studies, and probably some redraws of that infamous Watchdog Shipping Board incident (we do not talk about it).

💡 Headcanons & Fun Facts – Things I refuse to elaborate on in the fic but will casually drop here, like: How did Hater get banned from Space Ikea? What if Lil’ Bits is actually the real villain of the story?

📝 Scrapped Scenes & Alternate Takes – Witness the ungodly things that almost made it into the fic but got cut because I stared at them for too long and whispered, “this is too much, even for me.”

💀 Theories & Speculation – Is Monkeyboy actually a time traveler? Is the Star Nomad secretly sentient? Is Neckbeard wrong about everything? (Yes.) Let’s discuss.

🛑 THE DISGUSTINGLY LONG SHIPPING WALL OF SHAME – Otherwise known as THE WATCHDOG SHIPPING CULT, where their crimes are documented and judged. Yes, they exist. Yes, their shipping theories are completely unhinged. No, Hater cannot ever find out about this.

🍹 Absolute trash discussions – Including: If the cast played Mario Kart, who would throw their controller first? How long could Hater last in therapy before getting banned?

🔥 Random Chaos – Sometimes I’ll just drop things here with no explanation. Hater’s actual daily planner? A dramatic reading of Sylvia roasting Brad Starlight’s entire existence? Who knows!

🔻RULES OF ENGAGEMENT🔻

🛑 DO NOT SHOW THIS TO HATER. This man cannot know what’s on this blog. The day he finds out about the shipping wall is the day we all die.

🛑 SAME GOES FOR PEEPERS. The last thing we need is a full-scale military crackdown on Watchdog fan culture.

🛑 Yes, Wander is aware of this blog. No, he is not concerned. In fact, he actively encourages it. He likes the fanart. He thinks it’s neat.

🛑 If a chapter ends on an emotional cliffhanger, you are entitled to exactly one scream. Any additional screaming will be taxed accordingly.

🛑 Shipping wall submissions must be at least 75% unhinged. If it makes sense, it’s not going up.

AND REMEMBER: CHAOS IS FOREVER

Enjoy the ride, trust nothing, and for the love of Grop, don’t let Wander find the smut art.

The fic in question btw: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62804365/chapters/160794688