#‘ll keep it that way

[gingergari]

i was busy on the actual day (it was my dad’s birthday!) but tako yaki’s birthday was on the 21st!

[kazzu120]

Walking to the clubroom with your crush

[artzybumpkin]

I Need Your Help...

CW/ mpreg, language, slight angst

Pt. 1

St@nley heard the nauseating sizzle before the pain registered, radiating white hot agony from where the back of his right shoulder made contact with the metallic mass he was pressed against. A tortured scream tore itself from his throat as he tried to wriggle himself away from the hot steel. He crumbled to a heap on the floor, eyes squeezed shut as he gripped his shoulder.

"St@nley!!" F0rd's voice rang as he scrambled up to his feet, a mortified expression plastered to his face as he rushed to his brother, book in hand.

It all happened so fast…

One moment Stanf0rd was explaining the basics of his plan: to take his journal and take it far, FAR away, where it could never be stumbled upon again… and in the next, he ended up tackling his brother to get it back when the latter threatened to burn the damn thing. It turned into a violent game of keep-away, with them pushing and shoving and cursing each other as they each tried to pry it from one another's grasp. The tussle lasted several minutes… and ultimately led him to unintentionally slamming his brother up against the blazing surface of one of his machines.

How could it have gone so wrong?

Breathing harshly through his teeth, St@n stiffly managed to sit upright enough to lean his good shoulder on the doorway, his left hand white-knuckling the fabric of his jacket sleeve as he attempted to quell the feverish throbbing. His vision was blurred, his ears were ringing, and he could just barely make out that a figure was approaching him… speaking to him… or maybe at him, but in that moment it only read as static and noise.

He felt like a cornered animal. And with a fresh rush of adrenaline, instinct overcame rationale in a flurry of pain and pure, pent up rage...

F0rd knelt down in front of him, frantically apologizing and trying to assess the damage. "Ohhh my gosh I'm so sorry!! Are you alr-" but his words were abruptly cut off as St@n's fist made blunt contact with the underside of his chin before he could come any closer, knocking him silly for a brief moment. He stumbled back, dropping the journal, and landed flat on his ass a few feet across from him. He groaned into his hand as it caressed his aching jaw.

"What the HELL is wrong with you??!" St@nley exclaimed scornfully. "Are you CRAZY??!"

"ME??!" came a muffled response before F0rd uncovered his mouth. "You punched me in the FACE!!"

"YOU tackled me to the ground over a goddamn BOOK, you jackass!!" A frustrated, pained sound slipped past St@n's lips. 'Scorched the SHIT outta my shoulder too... fuck!...' he thought bitterly. The pain of the burn was slowly dulling enough to become manageable but was still deafeningly there. "Do you not see how insane that is?? Do you have ANY idea what you could've-... y-you could've..." His face suddenly fell, his complexion somehow paling even more than it already had. Quietly mumbling an inaudible 'Oh no!.,' he shakily fumbled with the zipper of his jacket.

F0rd was about to spat a venomous retort… then all those thoughts vanished as he watched his brother, who's attention was no longer on him at the moment...

Self-consciousness took a back seat as, with a little less effort than he'd like to admit, St@nley all but tore his jacket open... fully revealing the impressively sized bump as he frantically palpated the sides with his free hand. In the heat of the moment, he'd temporarily neglected the fact that he had a passenger on board, and an air of fear and desperation loomed in his eyes as he tried to garner SOME reaction from the babe inside. He couldn't take the possibility of anything happening to them as a result of carelessness on his part. Not after they've stuck with him this long...

After a tense wait, he jumped slightly when he received a harsh yet responsive jab(what was most likely a punch back of annoyance from the little one for disturbing their peace). "Ohhhh you're okay... you're okay..," he breathed, more to convince himself than anyone else, as he let his head fall back against the doorframe.

Meanwhile, F0rd's nerves were steadily building in intensity. Realization hit him with the force of a semi truck, but the shock made it hard to formulate the words that were buzzing in his exhausted brain. How in the world did he not notice until now?!... "St@nley, I... You... Y-You're..?"

St@nley's eyes popped back open, making contact with his brother's... before following his gaze back to his own stomach. He groaned, exasperated. He knew this conversation was coming, he dreaded it the entire drive up here... now the proverbial cat was out of the bag. "Right... um..." He did a half-hearted, one handed mock 'jazz hands' motion. "Surprise, I guess... You're gonna be an uncle."

"Pregnant?!..." came a shrill, horrified whisper.

"Figured that was obvious, poindexter."

"Why didn't you tell me you were PREGNANT??!!"

"Oh I dunno, maybe cuz I thought you were in trouble?? That the message you sent was clearly urgent and you needed HELP??"

Stanf0rd, his head swimming from both the adrenaline rush wearing off as well as the slew of new information he'd just been forced to absorb, promptly flopped to the ground onto his back. He covered his face with his hands, breathing out a rather defeated sound. "I should've never sent that damned postcard..."

St@n huffed. "What? Was I supposed to just NOT come, then?? I didn't haul ass all the way from New Mexico just because! I had to!! You're my freakin' brother, I couldn't leave ya hangin' if I knew you were in trouble!"

"Still..," F0rd let his hands fall from his face and out to his sides. "It was reckless to come all this way when you're in such a..," he fumbled for the right words, " ... condition."

"Do you seriously think I'd skip out on ya over an inconvenience? I'm pregnant, F0rd, not inert."

F0rd opened his mouth as if to respond, but quickly gave up. The pain from where he'd been slugged was starting to made it difficult to speak.

The room went quiet, sans the sounds of machinery blipping, metallic creaking, as well as each of their own attempts to regulate their breathing. They stayed like that for a while, simmering down.

St@nley glanced over to see that the journal, the very thing they were hashing it out over just mere minutes ago, had landed within arms reach of himself. He reached for it, grunting when the movement made his core muscles tense up. He ignored it and and picked the book up. He let go of his shoulder to hold it in both hands, turning it over and inspecting the leather craftsmanship.

Flipping through a few random pages, though the written contents read more or less like Greek to him, it was obvious the sheer amount of love and passion that went into putting the thing together. The time and effort put into the extensive research documented on every single page was astounding. All in his brother's recognizable penmanship…. 'And here I was about to set it on fire..," he thought with a slight pang of guilt.

"What're we doing, Stanf0rd?..," he finally spoke up. "It's not been an hour since I got here and we've already been at each other's throats…"

"Yeah... yeah, no kidding..," F0rd sighed. "We might've lost our heads a bit, there... er, I did..." he admitted, solemnly. "I panicked... reacted rashly..." An apology seemed to hang loosely from his lips, but he didn't quite allow it to slip.

St@nley recognized that but decided not to comment on it. He made an amused sound. This all suddenly felt very familiar. It felt a lot like one of those times when they were just kids, when Ma would not-so-gently encourage them to reconcile after one of their petty skirmishes... skirmishes not unlike that of street cats duking it out over a stolen fish from the boardwalk docks. Seemed it was what Jersey boys did best: Fight. Fight and then make up as if they weren't just about to kick the ever-loving shit out of each other. Oh the nostalgia... Maybe they hadn’t completely changed all that much, after all…

St@n looked back to his brother, who was still sprawled out like a starfish on the floor. A deep sigh rolled from his chest. "Listen..," he started, voice just loud enough to hear over the white noise of the lab, "just so you know, even if there was no emergency... even if there was no rhyme or reason to send for me... I still had every intention to come when you asked me to." He swallowed, hesitating continuing the thought… but pressed on. He needed to say this. "... I wanted to see you, Stanf0rd. I've wanted to for a long, long time..."

F0rd remained quiet, head tilted in his brother's direction, listening.

"I just… after all this time, after all these years, I just thought… maybe you actually wanted to see me again too…"

"..."

"I've missed you, brother…"

F0rd's face softened for a moment, emotions could be seen conflicting behind his eyes. It seemed like he'd wanted so badly to say something... to say anything to clear things up... but right then the appropriate words came up short. He squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself as he turned back away from St@nley, facing back to the tall ceiling. "You should've stayed home."

And just like that they were plunged back into deafening silence. The gap between them seemed to grow ever so slightly wider once more.

Then, as if on cue (and much to St@horror), an obnoxiously loud but familiar gurgle broke the silence, echoing off the metal bunker walls. His face went beet red as he pressed his hands to his stomach, in a frugal attempt to silence it. "Ah geez…" he mumbled under his breath.

At first it wasn't clear if F0rd had acknowledged the sudden sound or not, as he still laid motionless where he was, but after a moment he let out a soft sigh before limply dragging himself up from the floor, dusting himself off in the process. It was then that he approached his brother... and offered his hand. "Take this to the kitchen?"

From his spot on the floor, St@nley's eyes bounced coldly from F0rd's eyes to his hand before finally accepting the aid. After a quick countdown to 3, and then another as they attempted to get momentum on their side, he was hefted back onto his feet with an unintentional grunt of discomfort. Not only did his shoulder sting like hell, but the already strained muscles in his back knotted up in protest as he stood.

To be honest everything hurt, but he tried not to let it show too much. Instead, he awkwardly shoved his hands back into his pockets.

Er, he attempted to, only to realize in one he still held tight to the leatherback of the journal.

"I didn't come here expecting you to feed me, y'know," he grumbled as he held the book out to his brother, who took it notably less aggressively in comparison to earlier.

"Oh shut up and come eat," F0rd muttered flatly as he passed his brother, meandering lazily towards the elevator. "We'll get a look at that shoulder while we're at it..."

St@n rolled his eyes but diligently followed. His gaze landed on his belly as he walked, where the kid really hadn't stopped moving, obviously still agitated by the rude awakening from earlier. He placed his hand atop the bump just under his ribs, where he could feel what he assumed was their foot. "Your uncle's a real piece of work, kiddo. Remember that."

'But he's family…,' he added mentally to himself, 'Remember that, St@nley...’

TBC

[toxintouch]

yk how in veres likes on his character sheet it says he like cooking (badly)…… WHY HAS NO ONE DONE A FIC ABOUT THAT YET‼️⁉️⁉️ THAT SHOULD NOTTT BE A WASTED OPPORTUNITY. i’m not even joking im ab to send this to so many people because i can’t let this go to waste 😞

Here u are anon!  For the record, you are completely free to send this prompt around wherever you’d like!  It was such a fun idea, I’d love to see more takes on it. ^^

Warnings: Vere talking Innuendos? Innuendos.  So many, and I don’t guarantee that they are funny lol.  Just a general silly vibe and imo: absolutely  tooth rotting fluff.

‧₊˚ ⋅ 𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅SOUS CHEF ‧₊˚♡₊˚

You find yourself wandering through Lowtown during the lunch hour, trying to decide what sounds like a good meal.

Your mouth waters at the scents being carried on the breeze, a plethora of pleasant aromas wafting out of the eateries nestled inside the Amaryllis District, so fragrant that you can smell them all the way down on the bustling streets of Lowtown as long as you stay downwind.

However, if there’s one nice thing about knowing Leander it's that you also know you don’t have to go that far (or spend that much) for a delicious lunch. 

Near enough to the Wet Wick, there’s a series of side streets that make up an eclectic amalgamation of Lowtown and the Amaryllis District, and in it: a small and inconspicuous eatery.  The menu changes often, though you aren’t sure if that’s out of innovation or necessity, but the food is always filling and reasonably priced.

You follow the winding streets, getting lost for a brief moment before correcting your course, traveling until you see colorful chipped girih tiles and wide, clean windows.  You let yourself into the shop, the now familiar sound of hinges in need of an oiling welcoming you.  

There’s an assortment of goods on display–jars of honey and spiced fruit and loaves of braided bread with seeds–all kept safely locked away beneath an enchanted pane of glass.

Looking around, though, you don’t see anyone selling said fantastic wares.

You call out, expecting the shop keep or her wife to come running but instead you hear…silence.

Followed by a loud metallic clatter.

You freeze, unsure what to do, what the threat is–if there’s even a threat?–but before you can make up your mind, you’re greeted by a most unexpected sight.

Vere comes out of the kitchen area, his hair swept into an artfully stunning up-do that reveals the long line of his neck and clavicle, blemished only by the heavy collar locked around his throat. 

He’s wearing a weighty linen apron over his clothing, presumably to protect his outfit, though–his long gossamer sleeves are completely discordant with the notion, making you think that maybe the apron is more of an aesthetic choice.

“What’s this–?  A mouse?  In my kitchen?” Vere asks playfully as you continue to stare, dumbfounded.  He wields a spatula in his hand like a weapon–swatching it into his off-hand like a riding crop with a decisive snap.

“Where is–?”

“–The shop keep?  Wherever she pleases–the shop’s closed on Mondays.”

(You really don’t like the way he’s watching you…  Or the way he keeps inching closer…)

You take a step backwards, your eyes never leaving his.  “Oh,” you say, bandaged hands reaching blindly behind you.  “I didn’t realize.  The door was unlocked, so…”  You trail off.

You find the doorknob at last.  You attempt to turn it only to find that it won’t budge.

“Was it?”

Vere saunters up to you, tail swaying behind him.  You manage to tear your eyes away from his predator stare to search for possible exits, though you know for a fact you won’t be fast enough.   You look back and he’s already in your space, crowding you against the entryway.

(He smells really good, actually.  Like leather and spice and the subtle cling of perfume and incense.  And beneath that, something–earthy–animalistic, but in a way that’s intoxicating as opposed to unpleasant.)

“I was just about to make myself a snack–how nice that a snack came to me.”

“Stop playing around.” You try to steel yourself and inject the perfect amount of scolding into your voice while combating his heated stare.  “I know you’re just fucking with me to try and get a reaction; you and I both know you’re not going to eat me.” 

If he was, he would have done it by now.  Sometime within the weeks you’ve known him.  …Probably. 

Unless he just likes to play with his food.

“I didn’t realize you knew me so well,”  he says, looking amused.  “Perhaps I didn’t plan to, but now I simply can’t resist.  You look so absolutely delectable, how could I possibly contain myself?”

You don’t get the chance to reply.  Vere’s countenance changes suddenly–you watch his ears flatten a second before you hear the screaming whistle of a teapot.  His ears twitch in annoyance at the sound, his perfectly sculpted face showing a sour sneer.  He gives you a sideways glance, calculating.

“Then again.  I find myself in need of a sous chef.  Congratulations on your promotion.  Come along now.”  He hooks a finger into your cloak and pulls you easily into the kitchen.  (To be fair, you don’t struggle.  Anyone would want to see where this is going, right?)

He releases you once you’ve crossed over the threshold, waving his fingers uncaringly towards a second apron affixed to a hook on the wall as he beelines to remove a glass teapot from the stove and stifle the noise.  He moves quickly as you watch, casually throwing aside the spatula in his hand in favor of an ornate silver teaspoon.  He measures a vibrantly colored tea into the inlaid steeping container of the equally ornate teapot and takes a pleased inhale as the tea’s fragrance blooms, humming as he flips over a delicate hourglass to keep track of the steeping time.

There’s silence for a moment–

Him watching the teapot and you watching him.

“Well?”  He asks, without looking up.  You’ve seen this look before, you think – this pensive, almost lonesome look that makes your heart ache against all better judgment.  “Staying or going?”

He grins when you put on the apron.  You search his face for some sincerity, but he’s all sharp teeth and tall ears, covering any glimpses of deeper emotion with a sheen of smugness.  He circles you once you have the apron on, taking in the image.

“Mm, don’t you just look adorable.  Very domesticated.”

You’re pretty sure that the word he’s looking for is domestic. But of course, he knows what he said and he meant to say it.  You decide that he’s probably betting on your correction, already armed with a witty retort.  You smooth the apron down while pointedly looking away, deciding that you won’t give him the satisfaction.  You hear him chuckle.

Since you’re avoiding looking at Vere, you look around the kitchen for the first time.

It’s a spacious workspace–moreso than the storefront, even.  There’s a large iron stove unlike anything you’ve ever seen, covered with magical runes and dials, with a large hearth built into the belly of it.  A plethora of pots and pans have been placed on the burners, left to sizzle and pop in the red hot heat.  

Oil is singing from the heated, shallow basins but you don’t see anything cooking inside.  

There’s a slab of meat diced into neat squares and a heaping bowl of lumpy batter set to the side of the stove top.

“What are you making?”  You ask, trying to make sense of the scene.

“Panko crusted fish filet.  And there’s a pasta in the oven.  For dessert, I was thinking–” he gives you a sly look, one that makes your ears feel warm, “hmm, well.  I just had a much better idea in regards to dessert.”  He makes a show of licking his fangs, the movements of his tongue slow and sensual.

You think you tied your apron too tight; your airway is feeling a little constricted.  It seems to be getting worse the longer you watch.

You clear your throat, tearing your eyes away.  More ingredients, most partially prepared, and a host of dirtied pots and pans greet you.  You turn your back to him as you explore, fully engrossed in all of the views that the mess of a kitchen has to offer.  You’re almost afraid to ask: “So, what am I here to help with?”

“Oh?”  You don’t hear Vere come up next to you, but you feel him brushing up against you.  “Does my darling sous chef require…instruction?  A guiding hand, so to speak?”  You freeze, feeling his breath against your ear, shivers running down your spine at his light and teasing chuckle.

But then he’s breezing past you, making a wide dramatic gesture toward the large tome perched surreptitiously on the counter.  “Lucky for you, I’ve a recipe.”  His tail wags swishes elegantly behind him as he beams with pride.

His tail knocks the whisk out of the mystery batter beside the fish filet but he takes no notice.

Vere hops gracefully up onto the counter, reaching for the batter.  He does an impressive twist in order to grab hold of another whisk and you take the time to appreciate that.  Then, with Vere occupied and seemingly ignoring you, you take a look at the recipe book.  

The text is old and withered with the occasional dash of sprawling spidery script painting the margins.  (Said writing is utterly illegible–you’re actually not sure if it’s in a language you can read, though if you squint you think you can see something that looks like the word ‘cake’.)  The page it’s opened to is ripped in half, rendering precious steps of the recipe lost to time.  You spot a mysterious bite mark piercing through the corner of the leather cover.

And can’t stop yourself from surreptitiously glancing over at Vere.  He’s moved on from the batter (which looks as lumpy as it did a minute ago) and is now eating skewers of raw fish with his nails.

“You’re not supposed to eat while you cook,” you say, the time worn words out of your mouth before you can examine your personal stance on them.

“Says who?  Some limp dick?  No shame in indulging, pet.”

“You’re not even gonna have anything left to cook,” you warn.

“Hum, sounds like my sous chef should get to work covering them in batter instead of just standing there before I eat them all.”

You roll your eyes, but follow through with instructions.  The space is unfamiliar and your movements are slow and unsure with Vere looming over you from his perch on high, watching.

One of the pans of oil gives an ominous pop.  “Hmm, sounds like it’s hot enough,” says Vere.  “Move over.”

“Is that safe?”

“For me,” Vere says simply.  “And it’s faster.  Now stand further back or you'll get splattered–and not in the fun way.”  Idly, he tosses a batter covered filet into the shallow pan.  The resulting hiss makes you both cringe.

As if on queue, the hourglass for the tea gives a gentle chime, lighting up with a golden glow.  (You’re beginning to wonder how this humble shop can afford all these magical items, but then again this is the city of secrets.  You’re probably better off not knowing.)  Vere’s ears perk up, pleased.  He tosses the remaining fillets in the pan without a fuss, setting lids on top of each to contain the oil, acting as if doing so is going to stop any potential disaster.

Main course forgotten, he moves on to digging something out from inside one of the many cupboards.  “Be a dear and cut this for me, will you?”  He hands you a delicate peach before heading to the tea pot, stirring the contents and adding what must be a priceless amount of honey.

The peach in your hand is overripe but still vibrant–amazing, as you haven’t seen fresh fruit at all since you came to Eridia.  Your mouth waters anew as you remember what led you here in the first place–your quest for a meal–and you’re almost tempted to take a bite, follow Vere’s advice and sink your teeth in.

“My, my.  I’m almost jealous.  I thought you only looked at me like that.”

Vere shushes the denial from your lips, bossing you around regarding how he wants the peach sliced before shooing you out of his way and finishing his remaining tea preparations,with the look of an artist at work.  The tea is a warm oolong color, made only more alluring once the infusion of peach is complete.

It’s refreshing, too, once Vere serves it to you over ice.

You can almost ignore the great plumes of smoke coming from the oven.

Vere cooks how others might enjoy a leisurely stroll. 

Which is to say, he seems to be having fun, but you’re not convinced he intends on really going anywhere.  Still, there’s a rhythm to it–a dance, though he leads you in expected loops and turns, changes the tune at a moment's notice.  He’ll get bored of the task at hand and find some new spice to peruse, demand you taste test an ingredient or give your opinion on a dizzying new flavor he’s concocted.

(He manages to convince you to sample a bit of cucumber soup from the cold box.  You retch, proclaiming it salty, downing another glass of delicious peach oolong–

“I can still taste it in the back of my throat…!”–and he cackles wildly.)

Thick locks of hair are falling out of his up-do by the time he’s satisfied, framing his face and bringing your attention, again to the inviting line of his clavicle.  He tosses his loose hair over his shoulder, preening.

The recipe book is basically ruined, and the pasta is null and void, but some of the fillets look mildly edible.  The artful garnish is beautiful, at least.  The kale and orange slices really bring out the crispy burnt bits.  Vere seems to enjoy plating the food a great deal, humming and rearranging and circling the display until he deems it arranged to perfection.

He’s elegant when he takes a bite, biting down with a crunch.  His tail goes very still for a moment, then shivers microscopically as he chews.  He swallows in a manner that you can only describe as dignified, dabbing his lips with a napkin.  You wait in anticipation, but Vere says nothing for a long time.  Then, he quietly takes the old recipe book and throws it away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t insist on you trying it too.

You end up snacking on some of the pre-made goods, drinking the remaining tea and lounging at one of the shop’s cozy little tables.  The mood is light and easy, and the view is magnificent.  Outside, there’s nothing but trash littered streets and urchins, but inside…the afternoon glow coming from the window illuminates Vere like a sunset, painting him in dazzling shades of gold and red and bronze.

Vere hums, peering at you pointedly through his sooty lashes.  “So, dessert?”

You can’t imagine the look that comes across your face–whatever it is, it makes Vere laugh.

“What are you giving me that look for?  My intentions are pure.” His voice is a masterclass in syrupy false-innocence.  “As clean as Leander’s bed sheets after–”

“Please don’t finish that sentence and give me any mental images,” you beg.  “I have to sleep there tonight, I’d rather not know.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”  Vere agrees, closing his eyes and appearing to bask in the sun for a moment.  His face does something that you don’t quite catch–some hidden expression–but then, he’s smiling easily.  He must really be relaxed if he can still smile seconds after thinking about Leander.  You’re still admiring him when the shadows against the walls flicker, and suddenly he isn’t sitting next to you any more.

Instead, he’s returning from the kitchen, a tray in hand.

He sets it down in front of you, revealing an assortment of strawberries and an ornate silver porringer of what appears to be melted chocolate.  Vere sets it down on the table, plucking the small dessert spoon from the chocolate once he’s seated across from you again.

“Occasionally, life does offer up something sweet to savor–only for those willing to go out and take it.”  His tongue darts out to lick the chocolate off the spoon in his hand.  He maintains eye contact as his tongue laves across the basin and–embarrassingly–you think you get a little lightheaded from the intensity with which your blood rushes to your face.  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes tell you that he know exactly where your mind has gone.

Setting the spoon down, Vere instead picks up a bare strawberry, leaning in closer to press it gently to your mouth.

The chocolate is overly bitter–a little burnt, perhaps, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you’re tasting the remnants of it on Vere’s lips.

(Before leaving, you plop a few coins down on the counter as payment.  You brought enough to cover your food…but definitely not enough to cover the mess in the kitchen.  There’s really nothing you can do about that.  

You hope you don’t get blacklisted.  You’d like to come back next Monday.)

Hope you enjoyed if you made it this far! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[liauditore]

something about the way joel can't ever seem to get anyone on his side.

inspo

a friend sent me this video when i showed him the wip and I......

[pleasedontcareaboutme]

It's missing my father hours rn so imma just dump a bunch of pictures here and cry

( sorry i don't know the source of anything I just had them on my phone)

(also dont read the tags i just need to let it out lol)

[iwatcheditbegin]

Conservatives who’s brains are just melted from Andrew Tate and shit aren’t surprising when it comes to thinking AI SA is funny. But liberals who brush it off as okay and say that she’s not a real victim because Taylor’s rich, white, and famous are also disgusting. I don’t care if the woman is a white billionaire, that���s absolutely not something that should ever be downplayed.

[berryblu-soda]

still not over how badly they fumbled the entirety of garmadon´s character in crystalized hadsbfhjfdshufgfdh

they had everything set up!!! it could´ve been perfect!!! *screams and bites into the drywall*

he clearly doesnt work as a villain anymore, but the shell of a man trying to reconnect with his son while barely grasping the concept of empathy, but making an *effort*?? that could´ve been amazing aghh-

they shouldve gotten whoever did the garmadon comics to write them frfr

[deus-ex-mona]

series i’m gatekeeping from my family vs series i’m ✨ok✨ with my family knowing i’m into:

[hqmillioncorn]

True love will NOT bloom on the battlefield

“Bull’s eye!” Oleo pumped a fist into the air and let out another holler.  Another dot had pierced their dartboard and even though Oleo had far less points than Butter at the moment he was still glad to celebrate every little victory that he got. “Do you think Momoka would believe me if I told her I hit a bull’s eye?” Oleo asked his best friend Butter.  “I think she’d believe you!” That was just like Butter to say, ever the optimist.  “Ha! Knew it!” Oleo smiled and watched as Butter got ready to take his turn. “Yeah! Get em’ Butter!” Truthfully Oleo had no idea why there was a drawing of B’ig Nunh on Butter’s dartboard but if that’s how Butter wanted to play then who was he to say no to it.  Maybe it would explain how good Butter was doing this game as opposed to the rest but who could really know?

ffxiv write day 19: taken with @windupnamazu 's lunya and @windupiceheart 's vertical and (sorry) b'ig nunh

babycorn practices her reading in what perhaps is the worst way possible

“LUnyaaaaaaaaaaAAAAA!!!!”

The sound of someone knocking about a million times per second was enough to knock Lunya out of her weaving. “Babycorn.” There were only two people in the mansion that ever knocked on her door like that. One of them was Coco and the other was Babycorn. 

And since there was no more than ten seconds of uncontrollable wailing on the other side of the door–the more likely it was that it was Babycorn. 

Lunya stabbed her sewing needle in its cushion and hid it away just outside of Babycorn’s view. “Coming!” She yelled back, hoping that would get Babycorn to stop hitting her door so hard. It did not. 

“Lunya! Lunya! Lunya!” 

Babycorn was knocking and saying Lunya’s name in a rhythm now. It was almost impressive how long she was able to keep it up. 

The knocking finally came to a stop when Lunya grabbed her doorknob, swinging her door open not long after that. As Lunya had correctly guessed, it was Babycorn on the other side of the door all along. “Hi Lunya!” Babycorn innocently waved at her. Almost like she hadn’t been knocking on Lunya’s door like a maniac. “I have a question!!” 

Lunya watched as Babycorn wiggled her raised hand around all over the place. “Hi to you too Babycorn!” 

“Lunya I read a book!” Babycorn smiled. 

Of course Babycorn had forgotten about her earlier question. Lunya figured she would ask again when she remembered. As always. “Oh! Congrats!” Lunya knew Babycorn was slowly learning to read and had even started to practice her writing too. 

She was making progress according to the writing Lunya had seen on the walls earlier that week. “You’re not writing on the walls anymore right Babycorn?” 

“Nope!” Babycorn shook her head. “I’m writing on the ground now!”

“You what?” 

Before Lunya could ask Babycorn to elaborate more on what she had just admitted, Babycorn remembered what she had come to Lunya’s room to do in the first place. “Oh! That’s right Lunya! I wanted to ask you something super duper important!!” 

Things that were super duper important to Babycorn often ranged from either the most mundane thing ever to asking Lunya what she was supposed to do when the kitchen was on fire.

While Lunya tried to smell the air for any sign of smoke let Babycorn know she could ask whatever question she had burning in her mind. Which hopefully was the only thing burning. 

“Lunya! Am I dating B’ig Nunh?”

Suddenly Lunya started to wish there was smoke in the air instead. “...C-Can you repeat that?” By now there weren’t too many things Babycorn did that would surprise or shock Lunya, having known the girl for years now. But every now and then something would happen that reminded Lunya she could never keep her guard down.

Surely she hadn’t heard Babycorn right. Right?

“Am I dating B’ig Nunh?!” Once she asked the second time, Babycorn pulled up the book she had been holding under her arm the entire time. “This book said I went on a date with him!” The book she held up had a picture of B’ig Nunh on the cover along with the very concerning words of Go and date and with. Not in that order. 

The aforementioned catboy was mysteriously shirtless and posing on a beach looking straight at the person looking at the cover. There was a sticker on the cover that gave Lunya all the answers to the newly born confusion in her head.

“Y slash N…” Lunya stroked her chin. She didn’t want to look at the cover any longer than she had to and pushed the book down and out of sight, Babycorn didn’t seem to mind, she thought it was fun. 

“Babycorn what did I say about reading books with B’ig Nunh on the cover?”

“Not to…” Babycorn held the book up, trying to use it as a shield between her and Lunya. “But I didn’t read it! Someone else read it for me!” 

Lunya thought she also made sure to tell everyone she could to not read any books with B’ig Nunh on the cover to Babycorn. The mystery of how Babycorn could have read the books wouldn’t stay unsolved for long. 

A sprinkle of green cookie magic started to come down from the ceiling. Until it all came to a head when Airy landed on Babycorn’s head without a care in the world. “Hey.” Airy greeted Lunya in her own callous way. By acting as if Lunya wasn’t even there. 

Of course. “No Babycorn. You are not dating B’ig Nunh.” Lunya didn’t even want to imagine a world where that even had the slightest chance of happening. 

“Are you sure??” Babycorn sniffled. 

“Yes. Very sure!” 

“Really sure????”

Lunya knew where this was going. “I’m. Sure.” No matter how many times Lunya would tell her the opposite of what Babycorn was afraid of, she wouldn’t take her for her word. Even if Babycorn lived by the singular life rule that Lunya knew everything. No matter the topic. “Alright you know what-” 

Lunya grabbed Babycorn’s hand and spun her around towards the outside. She was sure that B’ig Nunh was home and if even she couldn’t convince Babycorn of the obvious, then surely hearing it from the mouth of B’ig Nunh himself would. 

If not then, Lunya would just have to kill him. 

“Woah where are we going Lunya?” Babycorn smiled, her worries of her dating B’ig Nunh had probably blown out of her head by now. 

“We’re going to go find B’ig and talk to him!” Lunya hummed. She of course was just a very normal lalafell and there was absolutely no danger involved in B’ig Nunh talking with Lunya Lanya about this. 

“And you-!” 

Lunya grabbed one of Airy’s wings and tugged on it. “OW?! Watch the wings!” Airy tried to shake herself out of Lunya’s grasp but her struggle was in vain. 

“You’re grounded.

“You’re not even my MOM?!?!”

Regardless, Airy flew all the way back to Babycorn’s room and spent the rest of the day there. Something about Lunya Lanya specifically scared her out of her wits. 

Outside of the mansion B’ig Nunh and Vertical Height were playing fetch with Cherrypit. Throwing cans at him to watch him catch them and eat them. It was enriching for the tiny little normal baby lalafell and also entertaining to watch. 

“okay cherry catch.” Vertical threw a can way up in the air and watched as Cherrypit caught it, biting down on it. “cool.” Cherrypit crunched the can with his very sharp teeth like it was a soft sugar cookie. 

“Again! Again!” Cherrypit cheered. This was way funner to do than whatever b’oring book his sister was reading. 

B’ig Nunh picked up another can from the pile and threw it in his hands. “Alright I’m gonna put all my strength into this one! Get ready!!” Cherrypit showed him how ready he was by running around in a circle very excitedly. 

“Go!” The can flew upwards! Just as B’ig Nunh had warned, it went really high up!

Just as Cherrypit got ready to leap after it, he heard something. It sounded like a door opening. He turned to see the front door of the mansion opening. Out from the inside of the house came Lunya followed by Babycorn, who was practically being dragged outside. “Bebe! Lulu!” Cherrypit cheered and ran over to hug them both.

Which was entirely possible with the way his arms worked. 

Cherrypit extended his arms out wide and grabbed both girls in a great big hug. “Hi Cherry!” Lunya managed to squeeze her arm out and give Cherrypit a little pat on his arm. “Are you having fun with B’ig and Verty?” 

“Yeah yeah!” 

“How much fun?” Babycorn rested her head on Cherrypit’s arm to ask. Cherrypit nodded and stretched out his arms wiiiiide open, dropping both Lunya and Babycorn to the ground. While one of them gently floated to the ground the other fell flat on her face and no I won’t say who did what,  it should be so obvious by now. 

“hey lunya hey babycorn.” Vertical raised her hand to greet her good friends, while still looking up at the sky. 

B’ig Nunh also got ready to say hi to his friends but happened to be stopped right in his tracks by Babycorn running up to him, crying her eyes out. 

If that wasn’t bad enough the next words out of her mouth were almost shocking enough to kill him.

“B’iggy are we dating?” 

Babycorn was sobbing, snot coming out of her nose.It was very dire. 

B’ig Nunh froze like a statue. “What? What? What? What????” His situation was also very dire. “NO???!!! NO WE’RE NOT???”  What kind of question was that?! Where did it come from!? Why was Babycorn asking him this?! 

B’ig resisted the urge to run away and hide because if he did that he couldn’t explain to Babycorn how wrong she was. Then that would lead to her to actually think what she said was true. Which it obviously wasn’t!!

All of this was hitting B’ig Nunh at once like a���like a…

“like a can from the sky?” 

“Well actually I was going to say like a ton of bric-”

Then a can from the sky bumped B’ig Nunh on his lovely moogle cap, right before tumbling to the ground, free for Cherrypit to bite and run off with. His current plan was to bury it in the backyard for later. 

Lunya let B’ig Nunh gather his bearings before talking to him. “See Babycorn? If B’ig Nunh says you’re not dating, then you’re not dating.” There was a very threatening aura around Lunya,  “End of story! 🤗” 

Babycorn looked down at her book. She didn’t understand a single word on the cover or on the back. All she knew was that her good friend B’iggy Nunh was on the cover and he would never lie to her. “But my book said…”

“If a book told you to walk off a bridge would you?” Lunya asked.

“...Well…”

“Babycorn Corn!” 

“No! I wouldn’t!” She was scared of heights! 

Vertical looked down at the book Babycorn was holding in her shivering hands. There was something about it that she recognized. “is that the book that told you you were dating b’ig nunh?” 

Babycorn nodded, tearfully. 

Now Vertical remembered. “i saw b’ig carrying a pile of those books. he said they were advanced copies made to sell later.” Vertical also remembered seeing B’ig Nunh reading one of them from the time she went to bed to when she woke up early the next morning.  

“They’re part of the B’ig Nunh self shipping collection…sniffle…” B’ig Nunh cried, sobbed, whined, all of the above. There were currently around ten books in the collection. They were best sellers for some reason. 

(the reason was that babycorn always bought half the stock. Something nobody but tataru knew yet) 

“Yeah. I figured.” Lunya huffed. “No more reading those kinds of books. Okay Babycorn?” Otherwise they would have to have this conversation more than once and once was already enough for Lunya. 

“Okay…” Babycorn sighed, “Do I also have to not read the other thing too?” 

Everyone was afraid to ask. Especially B’ig Nunh who was basically already dead. 

“what other thing…” Vertical finally decided to ask. 

Babycorn opened the B’ig Nunh takes you to the B’each book and pulled something out, it somehow looked larger than the book itself. “This!” She turned it around and showed her friends the Sexy B’ig Nunh Calendar for the current year she had. It was a costume edition, featuring B’ig Nunh in all sorts of different costumes for the different months!

“woah.” Vertical said while she also noticed B’ig Nunh dissolving into dust and blowing away in the wind. 

Without even taking a second to ask why she had that, Lunya grabbed both the book and the calendar from Babycorn. “NO! You cannot read either!!” She also made sure to grab Babycorn and carried her back to her room with Cherrypit following right behind her. 

“Aww…” Babycorn sadly sighed. 

“Don’t worry Verty! I’ll get the broom and you can sweep up B’ig when I get back!”

“thanks.” Vertical gave a thumbs-up.

[luridparty]

oh and the back of my shitty ipod ive had since i was like. 8yrs old has begun to split in half? like the back is coming off. my siblings are like 'DUDE THE BATTERY IS GOING TO EXPLODE SOPT IT' buuut idrgaf.. will keep an eye on it but uuh it still works so 🤷‍♂️

[iknowwhereyousleepatnight]

anyway not to sound like i love collecting things and sorting them into categories but i'm so excited to collect things and sort them into categories for this project

[coffee-without-anesthetics]

y;all remember what i said about milgram mvs having french lyrics available for t2? i have the drive for that today

[lord-squiggletits]

You know, I think my thing about liking “asshole Megatron” more than “good Megatron” (speaking in terms of IDW1) isn’t just the fact that I find evil Megatron more entertaining and sexy, but that I suppose I don’t like the way good guy/Autobot Megatron’s personality is?

Like mmmm I’m not trying to be one of those people who goes “he’s OOC!” or “he’s such a wimp!” or “he’s evil and doesn’t deserve to be redeemed,” but there was just something slightly grating about the way Megatron is/acts in MTMTE/LL. If I had to pick a word for it, he just seems very... self-pitying? Ratchet said it perfectly while the DJD were attacking and he told Megatron “Oh of course it’s all about you, what a surprise.”

There’s something about Autobot Megatron that makes me hate him as a person, not like in a “haha what a pathetic bastard” way the way I see villain Megatron, but in a way that’s like “god you are so fucking stuck up and annoying” in a non-enjoyable way. Maybe it’s because Autobot Megatron was a last minute plot change and I’m sensing how JRO “forced” Megatron to be part of the narrative last minute? But that would just be a matter of shoddy writing, and MTMTE/LL aren’t shoddily written.

It’s presumptuous to try and assume the motivation of an author, but I guess it kind of feels like JRO was trying so hard to make Megatron a better person that it backfired and made him more unlikeable in my eyes. Like, Megatron’s dialogue about how if he goes back towards violence he’ll never come back out again because the guilt will be too much is poetic yeah, it’s a very cute notion, but the context is that the fucking DJD (who Megatron made) is attacking and killing members of the Lost Light (who Megatron is in charge of) and was it supposed to make me think of Megatron as noble or pitiable or something? Because instead it just pissed me off and made me want to scream “this isn’t fucking about you Megatron, stop being an angsty mope and DO SOMETHING GOOD FOR ONCE instead of crying about how hard it is for you to not enjoy killing people.”

It’s fucking weird because I of course love the concept of redeemable Megatron, and I’m fascinated with the way in which he adopted violence as a coping mechanism for trauma, but the way he’s written in MTMTE/LL just makes him seem more like he’s a self-justifying asshole trying to make pitiable attempts at good deeds than like he’s actually improving as a person. Which of course is a problem caused by the fact that JRO shoved him into the plot last minute and it didn’t actually make sense for Megatron to be on the Lost Light.

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i am Thinking about nine and his hair, how his relationship with it and autonomy, and with caring for himself through it--and lack of such--are so much of a direct response to the type of abuse he went through from sandor, and to escaping from it, and how it is a near perfect foil to five's relationship with his hair and augh AUGH chews on a table it's so interesting and i could write so much about it, i really really wish they had kept NL!nine for that alone

[chompmon]

I need kana and aqua to talk or some shit broo it s a huge misunderstanding and its just hurting both of them for Nothingg 😭😭 im not blaming kana for how she s acting she s literally just a dumb teenager and she feels hurt and betrayed its FINE it just hurts my soul pls make up you two