#Banana Meter

[karlachismylife]

I just know Gaz is so fucking good at rock climbing. He's just built perfectly for it, he's got the endurance, the flexibility, the grip, the core strength, the agility, the arm spread, he's not too bulky and heavy like Soap or Ghost, his height gives him quite a lot of advantages (even though sometimes there are trails for us hobbits, but mostly being tall helps). Price could probably give him a run for his money, but since I headcanon that Price has seriously fucked up his spine and joints, especially in his fingers, he might be held back by this. Also I feel like Kyle has the best endurance out of all four of them, so he does extremely well on the long ones. He's also got that magical ability to be able to take a rest at the tiniest little handle, like literally catches himself with two toes and a pinch on a non-existent bump in the rock and relaxes as if he's lounging on a beach, all muscles resting before the upcoming difficult few meters.

Also he's one of those who will climb even in slippers, just because he gotta flex like that.

No I'm not drooling over his fingers wrapped in that tape in places where he ripped calluses off, you are.

Also this was induced by a SoapGaz thought where Gaz runs Soap through some intensive training on the climbing walls and enjoys the view of all that muscle bulk flexing and rippling as Soap struggles to find his balance and makes mistakes in dispersing his weight which limits his reach. He's so tense, he can barely slur his Scottish nonsense out, sweat streaming down the dip of his spine and soaking his tank top through.

When he finally falls of the wall after reaching the top handle, his fingers are shaking and he needs Kyle's help to untie the harness knot. Wipes his forehead, leaving a white streak of magnesia stuck to the wet skin, and huffs and grumbles about how he'll still beat Kyle's PR one day.

Gaz won't let him, of course. But he won't stop Johnny from trying either, because after that he gets to massage all those sore muscles Soap didn't even know existed, and listen to him groan as he shamelessly leaks into his boxers. Because why wouldn't Soap get off the post-gym muscle strain, really. And why wouldn't Gaz enjoy watching him get painfully hard and sensitive from barely sexual touch, exploding into his mouth as soon as Kyle wraps his lips around Soap's tip.

[fleeglefazbeagle]

Prepare to get booped!>:3

[obstinaterixatrix]

my memory’s pretty spotty but surprisingly I remember a fair amount of lyrics from a song I haven’t listened to since… at minimum 7 years

[deathandthesoul]

Pls send asks I need human contact

[ohnojoeyjo]

Boopnana

[prongsx]

Favors in exchange for kisses

warnings: kisses, English its not my first language, small mention of blood. f!reader

1,5 K words

⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷《 ✮ 》⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷

You don't know exactly how you got into this situation with Jason. But you're not complaining.

It started months ago, when your long-time friend Dick Grayson heard you complaining about not having a place to live and mentioned that he knew someone you could trust to share an apartment with, with his brother, Jason Todd.

You were hesitant to accept, after all, you didn't know Jason Todd, but this was Gotham, and finding someone you could trust to share an apartment with was almost impossible. And it would only be for a while.So you went to live with Dick Grayson's brother.

Jason was kind of quiet, mysterious, and his blue eyes left you a little confused and breathless. It took you a while to be able to have meaningful conversations with him, it was hard to learn more about him, but little by little you won a small space in his life.You discovered his favorite books, learned his schedule, understood how sometimes he didn't want to talk, other times he was more open, and you learned to appreciate those moments when you both talked, laughed and smiled softly.

Then came the biggest problem.

Jason was too helpful.

You simply didn't know how to deal with someone who did so many acts of service. When he found out that banana pancakes were your favorite, he woke up early and cooked them. When you complained about that wood that was making noise in the living room, he fixed it immediately. Even when carrying your bag down the street, he would magically appear and hold it. Your coffee was always with those three drops of milk, just the way you liked it.

And when you tried to reciprocate, he seemed almost offended. Like the time you made a big meal, he was offended, you seemed tired from the effort and he didn't like that. Even when you cleaned his things he seemed irritated, you weren't supposed to do things for him.

After months of looking for ways to thank him for his helpfulness, you discovered it in an unusual way. Your room wasn't fully furnished, even months after moving in you were still buying furniture and needing to assemble it. Jason dismissed all the delivery people from the store and said he would assemble it himself, using the excuse that he didn't like strangers in his space.

"You spoil me," you joked with him, sitting on the floor as you watched Jason working on your new vanity. It wasn't a bad sight, Jason's large hands proving skillful and efficient, his t-shirt revealing his biceps that made you a little dizzy.

"I find doing manual labor relaxing." He replied, glancing at you and smiling slightly. You hummed in response, resting your chin on your knees and admiring Jason. You wanted so badly to find something to thank him for, something to show him that you were grateful for him.

When he finally finished the job, he stood up and held out his hand to help you. After gaining momentum, your hands instinctively went to his arm and gave it a squeeze.

"Thank you so much, Jay."

He was silent, you were silent. It seemed too intimate a touch, you were nervous, afraid he wouldn't like it, that he would ask you to never touch him again, which would be a shame because your hands could feel the heat of his skin. Then he smiled. He smiled, a dimple in his cheek.

"Nothing, princess."

After that, the touches became more frequent. Every time he did something adorable, you would touch his arms or his hand. Like the time he carried all your college books for meters and you held his hand in thanks (you stayed like that for longer than usual).

Another big step was when you arrived tired, from a horrible day, and you found Jason smiling shyly at you, the apartment smelling of your favorite food. As you washed dishes side by side, your hips touching, you lifted your feet and kissed his cheek, whispering a thank you. His reaction was adorable, his neck slightly red, his eyes blinking at you in a silly way that made you smile back.

So you continued, becoming a little bolder every time he did something to please you. It seemed impossible now to go back to the time when you didn't touch him, and you could swear he liked it. There were times when you could almost feel him sigh when your kiss on his cheek went all the way to his jaw.

When he came back from patrol, bruised and bleeding, he wouldn't let you help him. He would never dirty your soft hands with his blood. But he enjoyed it when you sat next to him, stroking his hair and talking to him in that calm tone, trying to make him relax with more pleasant conversations. A routine was established.

Jason was a little quiet sometimes. At first you thought he was grumpy and moody, but you soon discovered that he was just someone with poor social skills, and you managed to establish a way to show that you cared about each other.

"Hum, I stopped by the pharmacy, but your order had already been picked up." You jumped, startled by Jason's sudden arrival. For such a big guy, he had an impressive ability to be silent. Damn Batman training.

"Jay, hi." You greeted, as you leaned on the kitchen counter, casually scrolling through your phone. "Dick got it for me, he was just passing by."

He fell silent, making you look up from your phone to look at him. Jason's eyebrows were furrowed, his lips forming a frown.

"Why?" You blinked slowly.

"Why what?"

"Why Dick got it for you. I was going to get it for you." He looked almost... annoyed, frustrated that he hadn't gotten the product for you.

You blinked slowly again, tilting your head.

"He...was closer. I didn't mean to bother you."

He let out a huff, looking annoyed, like when a dog sees his owner reading a newspaper another dog brought.

"Jay?" You called out to him, almost shivering when his blue orbs stared at you.

"I'm the one who does your things. Why is that idiot Dick getting involved?"

"I don't want you to feel like you're my employee, that's all."

He huffed again, looking indignant. Another problem with Jason Todd: he didn't say what he was feeling, it was like trying to win the lottery with blurry numbers. Then he approached you, his posture looking like he was preparing to interrogate a criminal, his hands resting on the counter.

"Did you kiss him?"It certainly wasn't what you expected to hear. Your mouth fell open, your eyes wide.

"What?"

It was the only intelligent thing your lips formed.Jason still had that indignant look on his face, his blue eyes half-closed. He was too close and you felt a little cornered, the kitchen seemed small, the air harder to breathe. You stared back at him.

"Why do you think I kissed Dick?" You repeated, still that confused expression. You would be offended if your brain was working perfectly.

"You kiss me when I do favors for you!" He murmurs.

Oh. That was it.

You let out a breath, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

"Jason. Do you think I kiss the mailman every time he brings letters?"

"God, I hope not."

You both stay silent, your hands going to the hem of his shirt, unable to control yourself, squeezing it between your fingers, the weight of the unspoken words.

"Jay. You know...you don't have to do me favors to receive my affection, right?" You whispered, your eyes roaming all over his face, his beautiful features, his slightly crooked nose, his lips that looked so kissable.

"But I like it. I like taking care of you. Fuck, I want to take care of you always."

He himself seemed shocked by the intensity of the words, his eyes widening, his heart beating out of control, just like yours.

"Jay." You let out a breath, your hands rising to his face, caressing his cheekbones. You shivered when his hands held your hips, keeping you firmly against the counter. You didn't know what it would be like to kiss Jason, of course, you had already thought about it a lot, more than was healthy.

And when you finally pulled his face to you, pressing your lips, slightly chapped but still soft, against his. You dominated the kiss for a few seconds, being gentle as you held his face, but then something seemed to snap in Jason, he held you with impressive ease, pressing your hips against the counter and thrusting his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your soft moan. His hands were all over your body, hungry, as if he couldn't lose you.

"Only I can take care of you," he growled against your lips, his breathing heavy.

"Yes. yes," you said, caught in the haze of Jason's kisses, your eyes almost closing again.

"Good," he whispered, before kissing you again, fiercely, his hands gripping the back of your neck.

You were fine with this deal of favors in exchange for kisses.

⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷《 ✮ 》⊷⊶⊷⊷⊶⊷

Inspired by a post I saw about Jason's love languages headcanon. Jaybean is just a guy who doesn't know how to show love in a normal way!!! But we love him anyway. I hope you liked it! I'm very happy to start posting things here, slowly gaining courage.

[todays-xkcd]

'This HAZMAT container contains radioactive material with activity of one becquerel.' 'So, like, a single banana slice?'

Farads [Explained]

Transcript Under the Cut

[Cueball holds a stick while talking with Megan and White Hat.] Cueball: This stick is one meter long. Megan: Cool. White Hat: That's a nice stick.

[Cueball holds a smallish rock.] Cueball: This rock weighs one pound. Megan: I'd believe it. White Hat: Looks like a normal rock.

[Cueball holds a small battery.] Cueball: This battery is one volt. Megan: Seems fine. White Hat: Might need a recharge.

[Cueball holds a capacitor while Megan and White Hat panic.] Cueball: This capacitor is one farad. Megan: Aaaaa! Be careful!! White Hat: Put it down!!

[ranchwamen]

I've been thinking about the dunk a lot recently and doodled out what I'd like a Dunkleosteus terrelli to look like in my fish poster. And, well.... I might just have to make the canvas bigger once more. D. terrelli absolutely dwarfs most fish here, which even fit snugly inside its body!!!!!!

Alright, here's dunky with only the four other biggest fish (feat. the terrestrial megafauna apex predator, and the banana). Keep in mind I'm using the most up to date, most reliable estimate of ~3.5 meters. And people dare claim that "short" dunk wouldn't be frightening!?!?!? Short my ass!!!!! I would NOT want to be within biting distance of those massive jaws.

[animeomegas]

rook is the type of character that i want to be mean to. ooh he a freak i bet if he finds an alpha he fancies he observes them very meticulously. ace would mention u off handedly, wondering where u were so that he can pass grim off to you and rook (who they didnt notice was there) would go "As we speak, they are approximately five meters east of Sam’s shop, holding a chilled banana milk. In three minutes, they will enter the nearest restroom. After which, they will walk to alchemy class—ten minutes early, as always.”

Ace would startle and would be like, "Dude?? How do you know that-"

Rook would sigh and look out the window, “C’est naturel, when one is enamored. To observe is to appreciate… and to prepare.”

hes such a freak, i say w all the irritation and love in the world

fdgjhdfgjdfg yes!

Honestly Rook needs an alpha who is also unhinged. He needs the kind of alpha that reads yandere stories sighing about how romantic it is lol.

I'm imagining an alpha who carries around a bunch of cardboard hearts, and at various intervals they hold one up for Rook to shoot an arrow through. It's their way of knowing which direction he's hiding in, which they find super cute! Everyone else is super concerned!

Or them messaging him that they're lonely late at night, and literally ten seconds after they sent the message they hear him tapping on their window.

He is another level of freak, I swear. And if MC falls for him, people will start speculating about how weird their original world must be for them to fall for Rook of all people. They don't know that their original world was even more normal than Twisted Wonderland, which is why they fit in better here! 😊

Also though, imagine omega Rook never nesting because he literally doesn't have the urge unless he's got an alpha to obsess over. And when he does then get the urge, the nest has to be built in his new amour's bed :) Nothing else will suffice.

[miharuki]

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐏 195 - EP.07

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐏 195-masterlist

@WinnieB3d0:Hello everyone, Bedo here! If you don't know me, I'm one of the co-creators of Loop alongside Haruki. I post my stories on Wattpad, Ao3 and Quotev while Haruki posts here on Tumblr. I came to let you know that unfortunately the chapters may take a long time, just like this one because I unfortunately broke my leg. The story came out a bit confusing, but I hope you like it.

@Miharuki:I'll leave all her social networks here in case you want to see

Wattpad Ao3 Quotev

It was training day with your mentor on the Mount of Justice. Leaning against the wall, your hand moved up and down, playing with the yo-yo—sometimes using both hands to perform tricks. Compared to missions and previous days, you could say today was a "calm" day. Not the whole day, but the day itself. With your eyes closed, you listened to your team playing a game nearby, Wally winning the match. But before anyone could say anything, the transporter activated, its voice announcing:

"Recognized: Superboy, C04."

You groaned internally. Because, of course, the day's main problem would revolve around him—just like in the thousands of previous timelines. Honestly, you couldn’t remember a single moment in any past timeline where he had been kind or even decent to you. No, he never had. Out of all the timelines, there had never been a genuine friendship between you.

"Hi, Superboy. How was Metropolis?" Megan said in a sweet, affectionate tone. She had a crush on the boy—just like in every other timeline. In the past, you’d wondered, "What does he see in her?" It was strange. You couldn’t deny that there had been timelines where, unfortunately, you’d liked him too. And even when you’d "stolen" Megan’s chances with Superboy sometimes, he had never chosen you. In fact, no one had ever chosen you. Always second. Always forgotten.

"Ready for training, guys?" Black Canary said, coughing as she entered alongside Martian Manhunter. You stopped playing with the yo-yo, storing it before slowly walking closer to the group—but still keeping your distance.

"Black Canary! Uncle J’onn!" Megan’s sickly sweet voice rang out as she ran toward the older man. Her behavior was irritating—you couldn’t deny that. You glanced at your mentor, who simply smiled and approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. She was one of the few people you allowed to touch you. Not even the other older heroes had that privilege. It would be a lie to say that, out of everyone in that room, Black Canary—Dinah Lance—wasn’t important to you.

"M’gann, I was nearby... so I thought I’d check how you’re all adjusting," the elder said, smiling at the Martian girl.

"A few bumps, but I’m learning."

You felt Canary’s hand leave your shoulder. Turning to see where she was looking, you spotted Superboy, already walking away.

"Stay. Class is in session," Canary said before stepping in front of the group, holding her jacket and surveying the young heroes as the floor lit up in white, filling the circular space.

"I consider it an honor to be your teacher. I have a lot to teach you..." The woman removed her jacket, grunting in pain as she moved her arm. "...everything I learned from my own mentors—unh—and from my own injuries." She tossed the jacket aside, letting it fall a few meters away.

You noticed the injury on your mentor’s arm and, without thinking, asked:

"What happened?"

Your tone wasn’t cold, harsh, or rude—unlike how you usually spoke to your team. That earned you a few looks. Wally, who was nearby eating a banana, and Robin, who raised an eyebrow at your tone, both turned their attention back to the woman. Black Canary smiled gently, as if she’d glimpsed something hidden.

"The job," she said before her expression turned serious again.

"Now, combat is about controlling the conflict—setting the battle on your terms. You must always act, never react. I’ll need a training partner."

Canary looked at you, as if expecting you to raise your hand. Hesitant, your hand was about to lift when Wally shouted:

"Right here, yeah!" He walked toward the older woman while still devouring the banana in his hand.

"After this..." Wally finished the banana, tossing the peel like a basketball. "...touché. I’ll show you my moves."

Kid Flash smirked confidently, making the teacher raise an eyebrow. In a flash, she threw a punch—which the boy blocked—but then swept his legs, sending him crashing onto his back. The floor beneath him displayed his hero name, followed by a red "FAILED."

"Oww. That hurt," the redhead groaned as he got up.

"Good block. But did anyone see what he did wrong?" Canary gestured to the group, pointing at Wally.

"Oh, I know—he hit on the teacher and got owned?" Robin joked, smirking.

Wally gave him a disbelieving look. "Dude."

You raised your hand—not high, just to chest level. Canary nodded for you to answer.

"He left openings in his attacks, letting you dictate the rules—"

"Oh, please!" Superboy cut you off from behind Canary, crossing his arms.

You lowered your hand with a "Tsk," glaring at him with pure disdain. Your fist clenched, knuckles cracking.

"Oh, please. With my powers, the battle is always on my terms. I’m a living weapon—this is a waste of time."

Canary raised an eyebrow before challenging him. "Prove it."

Superboy stepped forward, raising his fist to strike—but Canary caught his arm and threw him to the ground hard, making him grunt in frustration. She looked down at him before shifting her stance, transferring her weight.

Robin laughed but quickly covered his mouth after receiving an elbow from Kaldur.

"You’re angry. Good. But don’t react—channel that anger into..."

Superboy tried again, but the woman jumped behind him, sweeping his legs once more. She offered a hand, which he refused.

"That’s it. I’m done." He stood up angrily.

"Training is mandatory," Canary frowned.

But before the boy could storm off, the screen behind them lit up—Batman’s face appearing.

"Batman to the Cave."

Everyone gathered around as a smaller screen popped up beside Batman, showing a villain speaking:

"Five hours ago... a new threat attacked Green Arrow and Black Canary. The attacker was capable... of studying and then duplicating the powers and abilities... of his opponents."

The image changed, showing the villain fighting the heroes—grabbing Superman and using him to slam into Red Tornado and the Flash.

"Green Arrow called for backup, which almost proved disastrous... as our enemy gained more and more power with each new combatant."

The footage paused on the villain firing eye lasers, destroying what looked like Batarangs.

"Whoa. A guy with the powers of the entire League?" Wally commented, shocked.

Batman continued:

"In the end, eight League members took four hours... to defeat and dismantle the android."

Robin stepped forward, confused. "An android? Who made it? F.U. Turo?"

"Good guess, Robin... but Red Tornado doesn’t think so."

"The technology bears the signature of Professor Ivo," Martian Manhunter said.

Kaldur spoke in a worried tone. "Ivo? But Ivo is dead."

Canary glanced at him. "That’s what we all thought. Or hoped."

"To ensure this threat is permanently neutralized... we’re sending two trucks carrying the android’s parts... to separate STAR Labs facilities in Boston and New York... for immediate analysis."

Batman’s voice was calm and explanatory as a map displayed the trucks’ routes.

"We’ll have four additional decoy trucks to create confusion... in case Ivo—or anyone else—tries to recover the remains. You’ll split into covert teams to guard the two real trucks."

"Yay! Road trip!" Wally cheered, nudging you playfully.

You shot him a glare and stepped away. He raised his hands in surrender, muttering an apology.

"So now we take out your trash?" Superboy scoffed.

You clenched the yo-yo, veins pulsing with anger as you resisted the urge to tell him to shut the hell up.

"Got something better to do?" Batman raised an eyebrow.

The boy just looked down in silence.

"That’s what I thought."

"Coordinates received. On our way," Kaldur said, already running to gear up.

Canary and Superboy were left behind as the boy slowly walked toward the team. You ran a finger over your choker—a private screen appearing, visible only to you.

Options flashed:

"Call Renjiichiro"

"Weapon Info"

"Suit Info"

"Death Style" (a list of ways the choker could kill you)

Above the screen, numbers displayed the date, time, and how many times you’d looped back in the timeline. This was your 195th timeline.

You barely glanced at the info, thinking only:

"Bike suit."

In the locker room, your hero suit shifted into a biker outfit—different details, but the mask remained. You cracked your neck before mounting your bike alongside the others.

LITCHFIELD COUNTY AUGUST 3, 20:08

You eyed the helmet that came with your bike before putting it on, sighing as you prepared to move out.

"Boston is on the way," one driver said, starting the truck.

"Manhattan is on the way," another replied.

Batman’s signal flashed—all six trucks began moving.

You and the team revved your bikes, taking off. Unfortunately, you were stuck with Robin and Superboy.

"I’d rather have died today," you thought, gripping the handlebars tightly as Limp Bizkit’s "Take A Look Around" blasted inside your helmet.

Robin glanced at Superboy, who seemed deep in thought.

"If dislike is the opposite of like, is disaster the opposite of aster? Like, instead of things going wrong, they go right."

Superboy didn’t respond.

"Uh, clearly, you’re not feeling the aster. What’s wrong?"

"Canary. What does she know about teaching combat skills... to a guy with super strength?"

Robin shrugged. "Taking down stronger guys is part of the job."

You gritted your teeth, pulling up beside them.

"You should be grateful she wants to teach you. Canary is the best fighter there is—she outmatches Batman in that department."

Robin blinked. "I don’t think Batman—"

You accelerated, cutting him off as you pulled alongside the truck. Cranked-up music drowned out everything else as you focused.

Then—monkeys latched onto the truck.

You hit a button, switching your bike to autopilot, then whipped out your yo-yo—hooking one monkey and yanking it off. The blade-tipped yo-yo pierced its metal shell. You shook it violently, using it like a flail against the others.

One monkey went flying, rolling across the road.

"Hey, watch it!" Robin yelled.

Ignoring him, you stood on the bike as it sped ahead, pulling alongside the truck. With a flick, your yo-yo hooked onto the truck’s roof. A sharp tug—and you launched yourself upward, landing roughly.

Your magnetized boots kept you anchored as you kicked off more monkeys.

The music roared in your ears as you ripped off your helmet, swinging it like a mace with the yo-yo’s cord.

"(Hero), you good up there?" Robin’s voice crackled in your earpiece.

"Oh, just peachy—fighting off monkeys ALONE!" you snarled.

"Sorry—"

"I DON’T WANT SORRY, GET BACK HERE!"

You yanked the yo-yo, but the monkeys swarmed, cutting the cord. The case slipped away—your yo-yo still attached.

"Dammit!" You slammed a fist against the truck wall.

Tapping your comm, you growled: "(Hero) here. They took it."

You glanced at the others before swiping your wrist—your bike swerving back toward you.

A finger brushed your choker.

"Call Renjiichiro."

The screen vanished.

You leaped from the truck, landing on your moving bike.

"That damn Superboy and Robin—messed things up AGAIN!"

You snarled, shoving the helmet back on and gripping the handlebars, turning sharply to chase the monkeys.

"Mine, yours, theirs, mine—kukuku! Reijiichiro here! How’s it going, (Full Name)?"

The cutesy, playful voice echoed in your head as a small creature materialized on your bike’s handlebars, curling into your lap.

"The damn mission—lost my yo-yo, all because of those—argh! Need help tracking it and a new weapon."

The creature giggled. "Kukukuku~ Every new timeline, you impress me more, (Name)."

You tightened your grip. "Are you helping or not?"

Reijiichiro licked his paw casually. "Of course, angel. That’s what I’m here for."

With a retching motion, he coughed up a glowing sludge that hardened into a new weapon—a small, cutesy yo-yo with ribbons and charms, matching his aesthetic.

You stared at the frilly thing. "Seriously?"

He wiped his mouth. "What? I delivered. Now, you know the rules—"

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the yo-yo with one hand. "Yeah, yeah. If I lose this one, I have to find the original myself. Blah, blah. Once I get the original, this one returns to you. Got it."

The creature laughed, tail swaying. "Kukuku~ See you later, (Nickname)."

He hopped off, vanishing into a portal.

You sighed, opening the decorated yo-yo. A tracking screen displayed your original yo-yo’s location—still attached to the case.

"That’s where we’re headed."

[floralhuqzz]

Mine, Not Yours (Joe Goldberg x reader(fem)

(Chapter 2: The Window)

MASTERLIST

⸻

I come home to Love.

The sound of Henry cooing. The scent of something too organic cooking on the stove. The life I built. The life I chose. The life I’m supposed to want.

“Hey babe,” Love calls from the kitchen, eyes glowing like she’s proud to be domestic. Like she hasn’t crushed skulls for love. Like she’s healed.

She kisses me and I kiss her back, and for a moment, I pretend.

I pretend I didn’t spend the afternoon with you. That I didn’t memorize the way you held your coffee like it was the only warmth you’d known all week. That I didn’t hang onto every word you said—your dreams, your disappointments, your laugh.

I pretend I didn’t think about your lips.

I pretend a lot these days.

But pretending gets harder the longer I stay in this house.

“Everything okay?” Love asks as she spoons something quinoa-based into a bowl.

“Yeah,” I lie. “Long day.”

She nods, believing me. Why wouldn’t she? I’ve been so good lately. So present.

Except I’m not here.

Not really.

Because you’re out there.

Somewhere.

And tonight, I can’t sleep. Again. Surprise, surprise.

I sit in the room upstairs. The “office.” The one with the creaky floors and peeling paint. Love wants to renovate. She wants to fill it with nursery toys and dreams I don’t share.

I sip cold tea and stare out the window. This window doesn’t look like much. Just some trees. A streetlamp. And then—

There.

You.

What?

You’re right there. A few meters across. Second floor. A mirror image of mine. Your curtains are wide open. Lights warm and soft behind you. You’re pulling your hair up, your silhouette framed like art in motion.

You don’t know I’m watching.

You don’t mean to be doing this. Right?

Or do you?

No. No, of course not.

You don’t know we’re neighbors. Yet.

Fate’s funny like that. It likes to throw me lifelines disguised as red flags. It likes to test me.

I lean forward, careful not to make a sound. You move away from the window, but I see enough. Just a glimpse of your world. Your walls lined with books. Your bed half-made. A coffee mug by your laptop. One I watched you sip from hours ago.

Are you writing? Journaling? Maybe you’re thinking of me, too.

Or maybe not.

But that doesn’t matter.

Because this?

This changes everything.

We’re neighbors.

That means I don’t have to follow you anymore. You’ve come to me.

And that has to mean something.

No more “accidental” encounters. No more guesswork.

Now I can really learn who you are.

Now I can protect you.

Now I can get close… slowly.

Naturally.

Perfectly.

You have no idea I’m just a window away.

And that’s what makes this so exciting.

So deliciously dangerous.

So inevitable.

⸻

The next morning tastes like obsession.

Love is in the kitchen humming something soft, feeding Henry mashed banana like this is a normal life. It’s not. Not when you are on the other side of this house. A few feet. A few fragile walls between me and the one thing I shouldn’t want.

I barely slept. How could I? You were right there—your light, your movement, the shape of your world dancing just behind that open window.

And now, it’s morning.

And I hear you.

Your voice floats over the fence. You’re laughing. Talking on the phone maybe. The kind of carefree sound that cuts through the air like a blade.

I peek through the slats of the wooden gate in the backyard, pretending to water a dead plant Love swears she can revive. And there you are. Standing just on the other side, your back to me. No makeup. Oversized sweatshirt. Hair messy and perfect.

You live there.

Right there.

So close I could count the freckles on your shoulder if you turned around.

I shouldn’t talk to you.

I should go back inside.

But I don’t.

Instead, I do something harmless.

I toss a book. Over the fence. Not one I care about. One I planted, just for this. A softcover, dog-eared Hemingway. Something that wouldn’t hurt if it landed wrong. Something just believable enough.

It hits the grass with a soft thud.

You jump, spinning around.

“Hello?”

Your voice again. Closer.

I wait. Two seconds. Three. Then I make my move. Slowly. Naturally.

I crack open the gate like I’m surprised. Like this is some kind of accident.

“Oh—hey,” I say, brows raised, playing dumb like a seasoned liar. “Sorry, did something land over there?”

You bend down and pick up the book, flipping it over in your hands. Your eyes meet mine. And I see the moment it clicks.

“You’re the guy from the bookstore,” you say, a small, surprised smile pulling at your lips.

Caught.

But not in the bad way.

In the perfect way.

“Joe,” I say again, stepping closer. “Didn’t realize we were neighbors.”

You laugh, holding up the book. “You throw books over fences often, Joe?”

I fake a sheepish grin. “Only the ones I don’t like.”

And there it is. That silence again. That flicker of curiosity in your eyes.

This isn’t a coincidence anymore.

This is fate.

And you have no idea how far I’ll go to make sure it stays that way.

You’re still standing there. Holding the book like it’s more than paper. Like it’s a key.

To me.

To this.

“I guess this means I owe you a new one,” you tease, glancing down at the Hemingway. You don’t know yet that I own three extra copies. That I picked this one because I knew the spine would crack just right when you touched it.

“Or maybe I’ll lend you something better,” I say, stepping just close enough to smell your shampoo. Vanilla and storm clouds.

You shift your weight and smile, playful. Unaware.

“I won’t say no to book recommendations from the guy who runs a whole bookstore.”

God. You make it too easy.

“Deal,” I say. “Come by whenever. I’ll put something aside for you.”

Your eyes squint a little, studying me. Not in a suspicious way. Not yet. Just curious. Interested.

“I still haven’t finished the last list you made.”

Of course you haven’t. That list wasn’t made to be finished. It was bait. A door I left open.

And you walked through.

“I could curate something new,” I offer. “Tailored. To you.”

You laugh softly, tucking your hair behind your ear. The same way you did when we first met. And it kills me. That something so small could feel so intimate.

“I like the sound of that,” you say. “I guess I’ll see you soon, neighbor.”

And then—just like that—you walk back to your side of the fence.

My pulse slows, but my thoughts spin faster.

You’re in my orbit now.

A neighbor. A routine. A reason to step outside.

And I tell myself again:

This isn’t stalking.

This isn’t obsession.

This is fate.

And fate doesn’t knock.

It throws a book over the fence.

⸻

[the-northern-continent]

Rhythm and Breath in Dragon Age: Inquisition

Inquisition plays around with a couple recurring rhythms:

iambic pentameter (dagger skill tree, Maryden)

trochaic tetrameter (Saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe)

the cadence from the song Hallelujah (Solas)

Many folks have already written technical comparisons of these different rhythms, but I specifically wanted to talk about how they handle breath.

Without even paying attention to the word content of these rhythms, the breath patterns help set the mood. Are my breaths regularly spaced? Am I gulping for air? Am I breathing slowly and calmly?

As we go through the different rhythms, try reading them aloud to see where your breath lands.

Iambic Pentameter

Iambic pentameter is a five (penta-) foot meter, where each foot is an iamb. An iamb is a two-syllable “da-DUM” sound, an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. So each line has 10 syllables total.

Here’s an example from the dagger skill tree, with the feet color-coded:

You leap through shadows to attack your foe

With deadly strikes that hit them from behind.

Before your target turns to face your blow,

You move to stealth, impossible to find.

If we read this aloud, we find that 10 syllables is a lot! There are very few mid-line commas, so we naturally want to breathe between lines. But each of those breaths needs to last for ten syllables. If we don’t want to pass out, we’re reading the lines a bit faster than we normally would.

The iambs add even more forward momentum. Since we need to save more breath for the second syllable in each pair, we hurry slightly faster over the unstressed syllables.

Because we keep repeating that same syllable count and stress pattern, the overall effect is one of speed and precision. This is a rogue rapidly making blow after blow after blow with their daggers, hitting every single time. This is Maryden rattling off each sentence with perfect poise and musical training. There’s no time here for thinking; no room for mistakes. The next line is going to be ten syllables too. And the next. And the next.

Trochaic Tetrameter

By contrast, the Saga of Tyrdda Bright-Axe only has 4 (tetra-) trochees (DUM-da) per line. On every other line, the final unstressed syllable is dropped (catalexis).

That’s a lot of jargon, let’s color code the feet:

Tell the tale of Tyrdda Bright-Axe

mountain maker, spirit’s bride:

Free, her people, forged in fastness

made in mountains, hardy hide.

This is a classic meter, often found in nursery rhymes and folk songs. Because there’s only 8 syllables per line (plus lots of mid-line commas), we can read each line at a casual pace, without speeding up. The catalexis adds extra emphasis to the rhyming lines, since we get to the last (7th) syllable with more breath to spend. And even within each foot, we don’t have to manage our breath as much, because the stressed syllable comes first.

This creates a comfortable rhythm that lends itself to memorization and recitation. We can easily imagine this saga being passed down beside a campfire.

Hallelujah

Since the Hallelujah cadence comes from music rather than poetry, it has an additional kind of stress, the mid-measure secondary stress.*

We don’t exactly have feet, but we can color code each measure:

I lay in dark and dreaming sleep

while countless wars and ages passed.

I woke still weak a year before I joined you.

For the first two lines, each measure is 4 syllables long, so we get 8 syllables in each line, similar to the Tyrdda poem. If we read it aloud, it’s easy to do it slowly and thoughtfully. The secondary, quieter stresses also create an echoing effect, which emphasizes that Solas is thinking about the past.

Then the last line goes absolutely bananas. It abandons the unstressed-stressed repetition and gets much longer, flying up to 11 syllables — even longer than the 10-syllable lines in iambic pentameter.

Additionally, Solas tends to glue the first two lines together, which is SIXTEEN syllables, so they sound closer to an octameter** than the tetrameter(ish) sound of the original song.

The overall effect is of someone trying to be measured and thoughtful, but partway through he gets hit with nostalgia and the lines spill out in a long breathless rush. Bro has to speak quietly so he doesn’t totally run out of air.

*Music theory sidebar: Leonard Cohen’s original version is in 12/8 time, so the secondary stress isn’t as prominent. It shows up in one or two verses, but not all. A lot of the subsequent covers, including k.d. lang’s, sound more like 6/8. That means every measure has a 2-beat count: 1-2-3 4-5-6. I think the 6/8 version fits Solas’ speech pattern a bit more. But he’s not singing, and secondary stresses are harder to place. Syllables don’t have to align 1:1 with melody notes (in fact, in Hallelujah there are several places where the syllable alignment changes from verse to verse). So someone else could easily hear a slightly different stress pattern.

**This implies a cursed version of Solas where the last line is omitted and he’s actually syncing his speech to Modern Major-General.

[pseudowho]

My next Smutfic...

...I'm going to use all Tier 5 to 6 synonyms for a penis, and see if it's still sexy.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento lifted you against the wall, his thigh between your legs as you squeaked in alarm, pleasure pooling deep in your belly. His schlong dongadoodle was now so apparent, rock solid against his thigh.

"Tell me," he rumbled, low and mesmerising against your throat, "do you want my custard launcher in your pussy...or your mouth?"

"In-- in my mouth--" you choked out, "I want your purple-helmeted warrior of love in my mouth, Kento."

Forcing you to your knees, your mouth watered at the sight of Kento's tan banana against your lips-- and Kento gave you exactly what you had asked for.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Ah--shit--" Ino groaned, gripping you by the fat of your hips as you sunk down onto his beaver basher.

You shook and mewled, his heat-seeking moisture missile stretching your plush, velvet walls so nicely. You had always loved how his mayo-shooting hotdog gun felt as it kissed your cervix, so deep, so sweet as Ino plaited his fingers behind your neck and pulled you in, his kiss breath-stealing and honest.

"Only for you," Ino whimpered as you rocked your hips on his Little Ino, "this steamin' semen truck is only for you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Take it-- take it-- hnnnng--" Higuruma's seed shot deep into your pussy, his meter long king kong dong pulsing as he moaned, his thighs flush against your arse.

You moved to pull away, exhausted and shaking; Hiromi gripped your thighs, holding you in place, his yoghurt shotgun still hard inside you; "Don't move," he croaked, voice breaking from the strength of his orgasm, "my baloney pony stays until I'm finished with you."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Come on pretty girl-- I know my single barrelled pump-action bollock's the biggest you've ever had, but-- haah-- don't cry."

Gojo folded your thighs hard against your chest as you cried with pleasure and pain, his beef whistle pounding into you at a relentless pace. Tears streamed into your hair as you begged.

"Satoru-- your thundersword-- please--"

Gojo pulled out, his spawn hammer dripping precum as he stroked it, flipping you onto your belly before slamming back into you so powerfully that you squealed.

"Thought we were done? Plenty more left in this whoopie stick yet, sweetheart."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Inumaki's breath trembled with anticipation; there you were, eyes full of tears, pink lips parted just for him, and he couldn't deny himself from leaning down and kissing you sweetly, his lips usually so forbidden, and now electric against yours. You kissed him back, leaving him breathless, pulling away with a gasp.

"Wing wang doodle," he murmured, his breath fanning warmly over your mouth. Your eyes pricked with tears, wishing you could communicate in more than just penis synonyms.

Inumaki's thumb brushed softly over your eyes, his meeting yours in silent understanding; "Piss weasel," he reassured softly. You nodded, nose against his as you gave him a watery smile.

"Baby arm. Flesh flute," he whispered against your lips; with those words, you knew you were done for, finally caving to stay the night as he pressed you gently back onto his bed.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

I write because they understandably won't let me out of the house anymore.

[c0eu4]

OP81 | Hard work ☁︎

Summary: After the biggest exam of her entire life, y/n found Oscar in front of her university, waiting for her.

Warning: fluff, anxious reader?

A/N: Just had some inspiration for that after one exam I had and totally fucked up it lol

MASTERLIST requests are open

Her hand hurts, she can't write anymore. Her copies filled with blue pen in front of her, she read it again one last time until the time limit rings.

A weight immediately lifts from her shoulders. She knows she succeeded. She didn't spend nights and days behind her computer, scribbling things on her notepad and repeating her lessons to Oscar for nothing.

She untied her hair down, puts her pens in her pencil case and puts it in her bag. She puts her coat on her back and grabs her copies. She puts her bag on her back, places her copies in the storage area and heads towards the exit of the building.

She closes her coat as she walks, putting on her mittens and shoving her hands in her pockets.

The cold of winter is felt. She pulls up her coat to hide her chin and leaves the building. Her cheeks and nose quickly turn red from the cold as she walks towards the gate.

Once on the other side of it, she walks towards the street which leads to the metro, to return home.

Her friends suggested that they spend time together in their usual little café but she preferred to refuse, knowing that she would be too tired after her exam.

She continues walking a few meters before seeing her boyfriend, leaning against his car, a coffee in his hand and looking at her, a big smile on his face.

She smiles when she sees him and walks more quickly towards him. She takes refuge directly in his arms, on the verge of crying. After all the stress she has accumulated, all the work she has done, she has every right to take a break. He hugged her tightly, warping his warm arms around her waist.

''I'm so proud of you my love.'' She can't help but blush a little more when she hears his compliment, his australian accent still makes her fall in love even more.

She separates from him, taking the coffee that he offers her.

''Don't burn yourself.'' She nodded quickly and took a sip of the warm liquids.

''Thank you baby.'' He kissed her forehead and opened the passenger door for her.

She sits there and Oscar sits next to her, behind the wheel. He starts the engine and drives them to their shared flat.

Throughout the trip, she talks to him about his exam. Passing by the two hundred and thirty three bananas that a man bought in a problem to triangular figures mixing the theorem of Pythagoras and Thales.

He listens to her, without interrupting her, taking advantage of her voice that he hasn't heard all day.

Once home, she continues talking about her exam. She speaks faster and faster and spreads the subject even more. And Oscar feels that it makes her stressed to talk about it.

So he cuts her off, ''Y/n, don't you want to stop talking about that ? You always speak fast when you're stressed.''

She sighed. Not in a disappointing way, but more because she knows that he's right.

''Yeah sorry if I bother you with that.'' She simply says, taking off her shoes and coat.

''You never bother me love. I just said that for you to relax.'' He takes a hanger to hang his and her coat.

They both walk towards the kitchen, she is already taking the milk out of the fridge and him rummaging on the shelf to get two cups.

It's a little ritual that they both have. Every time, when one or the other is stressed, they prepare hot chocolates. Because it's not a secret that Oscar loves chocolate and it's not a secret that y/n loves the feelings of hot liquids.

He puts the cups full of milk in the microwave and takes out the cocoa. She rummages through a shelf and pulls out some little chocolate marshmallow teddy bears.

Once the milk is hot, Oscar adds the cocoa to the two cups and a few teddy bears to his cup.

''I will never be able to understand how you drink your chocolate with teddy bears.'' She always hated putting teddy bears in her chocolate. Not that she doesn't like marshmallows, but she hates anything that's hard and gets mushy (Without a second thought).

''You don't know what you're missing.'' She puts a few bears in her mouth and eats them.

''Na you, you don't know what you're doing.'' He giggles and steals a few bears from her hands to eat it.

''Hey! I'm going to tell Mark what you're doing !''

He kisses her cheeks, putting one of his hands in her lower back, heading her towards the couch. They sit in, they cups of hot chocolate in hand, a warm blanket on them.

She is looking for a new series to watch on Netflix, Oscar eating his teddy bear with his spoon.

When she finally finds something good to watch, she takes a sip of her chocolate and gets a little closer to Oscar.

They end the day like that, in front of their series, cuddling each other.

[deathandthesoul]

Lamenting how there is only 1 chest hair with toned muscles option in GW2 and it's locked to a certain body type and only comes in black and no red. So GW2 has Aidan all shaved and he has no freckles... and... (bursts into tears)

[bootleg-nessie]

Predatory Bananas: an Evolutionary Horror

(Pls read, I literally spent HOURS on this <3)

A friend sent me the following video about the various potential methods of banana locomotion. It got me thinking. How would a banana move? Naturally, as an autist with a special interest in evolutionary biology, I took the joke a little too far and wrote a whole piece on the matter, analyzing the feasibility of each method and the changes they’d need to evolve in order to achieve them.

(Video courtesy of Burning Onion Animation on TikTok, they make great content, go check them out)

The first and most likely way bananas would move is if banana trees evolved to spread their seeds through their fruits rolling down hills like the morphology of #1 suggests. The only major mutations that need to happen are a more pronounced curve and increased rigidity to facilitate rolling and absorb the impact from falling from the tree. Overall, evolving to this point is relatively straightforward. #1 is the most feasible and realistic answer.

For bananas to develop motility like in #4 is theoretically possible with the right environmental pressures and with enough time, though much more difficult. I see this working in one of two ways. First, they could evolve rigid structures that change shape depending on moisture content, using natural dry/wet cycles to move a little more each time it rains, much like the seeds of Erodium Cicutarium (pictured below). The fruits of the banana tree would most likely evolve to have hooks on the end of said structures, contracting and pulling themselves forward a little each time they dry out, and relaxing and resetting their grip on the soil each time they get wet.

The second way I could see this happening is if they evolved true locomotion. True locomotion in bananas would take at least a few million years to evolve (probably more like tens of millions), and even then, movement would be incredibly slow. There exists a plant called the “walking palm” (socratea exorrhiza, pictured below) that’s capable of “walking” using its roots, but it can only travel about 20 meters per year in ideal conditions, and has the resources of the entire tree at its disposal, not just that of a single fruit.

While this is the more likely explanation as to how #4 might happen, it’s not what the video depicts. The video clearly shows a banana dragging itself along like an inchworm, indicating motor cells such as those present in Dionaea Muscipula (venus flytrap, pictured below). Whenever this type of movement in plants occurs, it takes an extreme amount of energy and is generally rather inefficient and slow. In addition to this, the banana is moving its entire mass every time, so it’ll have to move much more slowly to compensate. This means that the banana would probably only be able to travel a few centimeters before decomposing beyond the point of functionality. After a few million more years it’s possible that bananas could evolve to travel as far as several meters after falling off the tree, but the further they go, the more fit each individual fruit needs to be, and the more energy and resources they need. Eventually, it’ll reach a point where the energy expenditure will outweigh the benefit and the fruits will stop evolving to travel any further, which I imagine would plateau somewhere in the 0.5 to 3 meter range. However, the fruits still require a significantly higher amount of energy at this point because they’ve evolved to move autonomously, so trees would likely evolve to produce fewer, but more developed fruits as a result. Overall this is the second most likely way bananas would evolve to move, but the video depicts a time lapse, not footage taken in real time.

The next most likely option is #2, which is where things start to get much more interesting. At this point we are quickly beginning to leave the territory of the banana being a fruit and stepping closer towards the realm of the banana being its own independent organism. Whether the banana is still a single fruit from a larger tree depends on if the video is stabilized or not. First, let’s assume that the video has automatically stabilized the banana within the frame. This means that the banana is moving erratically and aimlessly, with the goal of simply moving as far from its origin as it can. The most simple form of this would be a ballistic dispersal method in which the banana grows curved and under tension, falling off the tree when ripe. Upon impact, the tension is released and banana extends, springing itself upward and outward with a single bounce. But this isn’t what the video shows either, it depicts clear and repeated movement, again suggesting the presence of motor cells much like those likely found in banana #4. In this case it probably evolved in roughly the same way as banana #4, but works less effectively due to having a less stable method of traveling.

But what if the video ISN’T stabilized, and the banana’s staying upright all on its own? In the video, the banana isn’t just moving along a single plane with one set of motor cells like the Venus flytrap. It’s full on galloping. This requires multiple groups of motor cells working together in a coordinated effort. This banana has real-time sensory input to orient and stabilize itself. This means that the banana has evolved some sort of internal gyroscope, much like our inner ear that helps it determine what up and down is, and more importantly, angular rotation. While plants have been observed reacting to and even predicting stimuli in ways that still baffle scientists to this day, this is far more complex than any plant every discovered throughout human history. Everything here points to something more, perhaps rudimentary intelligence, dare I even say sentience.

This begs the question: is it even a plant anymore? At this stage it’s evolved sensory organs and can move independently. But why? Organisms don’t evolve the ability to move without reason. This could mean one of three things. First, it could have evolved the ability to run as a means of spreading its seeds further. But this can’t be the answer. Moving more slowly would be way more efficient for a banana in terms of energy expenditure, and spreading seeds the old fashioned way is still perfectly viable, so it wouldn’t have evolved that way due to lack of necessity. This brings us to the first legitimate possibility: the banana is prey. If the banana were prey, then the ability to gallop most likely evolved as a means of escaping predators and to avoid being eaten. This is further evidence that the banana has evolved beyond being a humble plant as this goes completely against the purpose of fruits, which evolved to be eaten on purpose. Now, the banana’s goal isn’t to be eaten so that its seeds may be deposited elsewhere, its primary objective is to survive. At this point it’s relatively safe to assume that the banana no longer comes from a tree, and now reproduces through fragmentation, or perhaps even live birth. Its lack of leaves suggest that it’s evolved beyond being an autotroph and relying on photosynthesis. But if it no longer gets nutrients from a tree, how does it subsist? It must be getting its energy from somewhere. The most likely answer to this is that banana is a herbivore, and gets its energy from plant matter, which contains a lot of the same nutrients that the banana recently used to get by growing on a tree. Overall, this is the third most likely way the banana would evolve locomotion.

But what if it isn’t an herbivore? This brings us to the other possibility: the banana is a predator. The banana that concerns me the most is banana #3. While all the other bananas have undergone major changes to their morphology, banana #3 appears to be identical to any regular banana, yet it still moves. The only way that such movement could be possible is if the banana had some sort of internal mechanism that moves its center of mass around rather quickly within its outer shell, which also requires an internal gyroscope for balance. I know what you’re thinking; “but this is an incredibly complex mechanism, wouldn’t it be easier to evolve one of the other ways?” To which the answer is yes, it would. But this raises another question with an even more alarming answer: why didn’t it? The answer lies in the banana’s identical appearance to that of a typical Cavendish. Clearly, looking like an ordinary banana is central to its survival strategy. At this point, it’s evolved well past the point of being a fruit and has become the first of an entirely new kingdom of sentient creatures descended from plants.

According to my estimates from the video, banana #3 is only able to move at a pace of around a tenth of a meter per second, maybe a quarter or half of a meter at the most. This means that it probably didn’t evolve the ability to move as a means of running from predators. Based on the physics in the video, my best guess as to how the banana moves is through the use of mostly hollow internal chambers with a central mass (probably a calcified seed) suspended by tendons that can move in any direction, accelerating the banana in that direction. Here I’ve collaborated with the massively talented @pholidia to bring my ideas to light.

Picture it. You’re a lone banana farmer in South America. You’re out harvesting your crops when you see a single banana on the ground. It looks a little weird and bruised, but still totally edible. “No good in letting perfectly good produce go to waste” you think to yourself as you pick up the banana. You go to peel it when suddenly, you feel a sharp shooting pain through your hand. You drop the banana, then fall to your knees. You look around for the wasp or whatever it was that stung you, but you can’t find anything. You collapse in a heap on the ground, unable to control your body. It’s at this point you notice the banana start to move. “Are… are those teeth?” you think to yourself. At this point the venom has taken full effect. You are alone and completely paralyzed, unable to do anything besides observe the banana as it starts moving towards you. Sharp teeth and beady black eyes are fully visible now. It ambles towards you clumsily, moving almost as if it were being controlled by invisible strings like a marionette. It reaches you and starts to chew. It is at this moment that you discover, much to your horror, that the venom is merely a paralytic, and not an anesthetic. Helpless to the venom, you can do nothing but watch as your blood slowly drains out onto the ground as the creature consumes you. Slowly, your vision begins to fade to black. You pass out, either from the pain or the blood loss, you’re not really too sure. You take one last look at the creature, then you’re gone forever.