#Mega Cicada

[milk2641]

Here are some of the more normal fan arts, but they’re still pretty meme-ey in nature

Here’s a bonus DTS inspired by how my friends and I’s profile pictures lined up in a call

[spamtonass]

the

[masters-menagerie]

When scientific exploration goes too far and someone gets homo-robo-roused:

Just some Vintage Gays being Antiquely Homosexual!! And to be fair, Neutron deserved it for messing with Cicada's wing ports 👀

Neutron Man belongs to @renegaderobotics Cicada Man is mine <3

[teknikolor-walters]

every w.bg oc needs 1 cursed iteration. its good for the ecosystem

[dc-megatournament]

DC Mega Tournament

Round 1

Please vote for who you think would win between the 2 characters and not who you like more.

[calculated-chaos]

Generally, I have a grudging detente with anything wasp-shaped. I know we need them, they serve an important role in various ecosystems, and so forth, but I've been stung enough times that a yellow-and-black-striped buzz will set my heart racing. Ugh.

So imagine how I felt when I saw something that looked like a massive mutant wasp next to me on a walking path. My brain went AAA GIANT HORNET even though we don't have those in the Midwest. It was huge. I wasn't sure if I should even walk past it.

However...I've been absorbing a lot of bug positivity from @onenicebugperday lately. So I stood there for a minute and watched the mega-wasp.

It didn't act aggressive. It crawled along the curling tendrils of one flower head, then buzzed over to check out another one. I slowly took out my phone and snapped a picture. (From a reasonable distance. Photo cropped for detail...)

Looked it up online when I got home, and it appears to be Sphecius speciosus, the Eastern cicada killer, which is actually super chill when it comes to humans.

Various entomology sites inform me that if it's a guy wasp, he has a pointy butt, but no stinger. He might fly around someone threateningly, but he's basically saying "Hey, get outta my turf." If you leave, he won't follow. If it's a lady wasp, she has a stinger, but she'd rather not waste it on a human unless they do something aggressively stupid like try to catch her. She'd rather save her stings for cicadas to feed to her (eventual) kids. TIL!

[xenith-eats-stars]

me and my buddy @cartoon-leafe came up with a ton of those “she [X] on my [X] till i [X]” memes, so here’s all of them

under the cut bc it’s a pretty long list

she 5 on my nights till im at freddy’s

she asriel on my photoshop till i flowey

he old on my man till i yaoi

she megalo on my vania till im stronger than you

she W. on my D. till i gaster

she tomo on my dachi till i life

she spring on my lock till i failure

she insane on my clown till i posse

she scott on my pilgrim till i defeat her 7 evil exes

she team on my fortress till i 2

she nagito on my komaeda till her rhinestone eyes are like factories far away

she tally on my hall till im hidden in the sand

she I/ on my Me/ till i Myself

she cicada on my days till i pack my stuff

she ink on my machine till i bendy

she X on my men till i mutate

she dwell in my vault till i fallout

she W on my M1 till i believe in magic

she Jack on my Skellington till im the pumpkin king

she amazing on my digital till i circus

she Honda on my Odyssey till i get chills, theyre multiplying

she Hazbin on my Hotel till i get redeemed

she Monty on my Gator till i wanna rock and roll

she pound my head till im against the kitchen floor

she hammer on my car till i explode

she pyramid on my head till im silent

she dungeon on my dragon till i roll a nat 20

she 9 on my 11 till i never forget

she laplace on my angel till i hurt people? hurt people!

she poké on my balls till i catch ‘em all

she rock and roll on me all night till i party every day

she lady on my bug till im miraculous, simply the best

she Miles on my Morales till im like what’s up danger

she ink on my splat zone till i splashdown

she calamari my inkantation till i stay fresh

she ebb on my flow till i dont get cooked

she anarchy my rainbow till i catch her later

she [[HYPERLINK BLOCKED]] on my [[KEYGEN]] till i become a [[BIG SHOT]]

she birds are singing on my flowers are blooming till kids like you burn in hell

she autism on my spectrum till i disorder

she obsessive on my compulsive till i disorder

she golden on my freddy till it’s me

she appreciate my skeleton till i can feel my mind unweave again

she animation on my meme till i headbop

she Chappell on my Roan till im hot to go

she azumanga on my daioh till i america ya!

she project on my diva till i mega mix

she little on my shop of horrors till i feed her to a plant

she watt on my pad till i lemon

she pop on my team till im epic

she fire on my paw till i alone will save our clan

she legends on my arceus till i make the first pokédex

she ponder my orb till i ruminate

she migrate my coconut till i swallow

she stardew on my valley till i farm

she visit my friend till im the visiterrrr

she my on my little till i pony

she swipe left on character ai till i ask her a question

she Mandela my Catalogue till i will know her greatest fear

she scarlet on my violet till i time travel

she star on my platinum till i the world

she hatsune on my miku till im the #1 princess in the world

she miracle on my musical till im alone at the edge of a universe humming a tune

she harpy on my hare till i bury all her children

[freakartack]

If my memory serves me correct, you've shown us your take on Mona's parents and 5-Volt's hubby. Have you devised anything about the other parents? Like Kat and Ana's or 18-Volt's? I know we heard only snippets about those and 13-Amp's in canon...kinda. It's interesting how many gaps imagination could fill in when it comes to WarioWare.

Sure have! Ashley's, too. And Wario's mom. And Spitz's dad, although I never actually showed my design of him because it's kind of underwhelming. I also have Dribble's extended family rattling around in my head too (similarly underwhelming because it's just a bunch of dogs). Really I just find it fun to take cartoon characters whose family has been vaguely alluded to at best and fill in the blanks to explain why they're like that. It's like a coloring book. I haven't drawn Kat+Ana's or 18-volt's though...my take on Kat and Ana's parents needs more time in the oven, because 1) i feel like i need to get my finger more on the pulse of campy ninja movies before I can successfully pastiche them, and 2) I don't think I can top this bit from jan Misali's esteemed novella Wario Faces Consequences For His Actions:

I haven't drawn 18-volt's mom before, although I'd probably end up drawing her sooner than the twins only because I have a better handle on her situation. According to 18-volt's stage in Gay Man Wario, his mom is a lot less smothering than 5-volt and is instead rarely around, letting 18-volt play video games whenever he wants. He's clearly a latchkey kid with a single mom who works long hours to support them both, which is both sad and also on par with the rest of the lonely children of WarioWare. 18-volt has been sidelined for so long, but given the crazy deep cuts that Warioware throws out sometimes (e.g. cicada, the music box from WL3, the fact that 5-volt herself was hinted at all the way back in mega microgames), there is a non-zero chance, however slim, that we may one day see her for real. She deserves to have fun too!!

[quitealotofsodapop]

Cicada Beat:

Grouping these two together because they're both similar.

One older ref for angry Tripitaka.

I love the lore of Tripitaka, the model of Buddhist virtues, allowing himself one sin by completly decking Macaque in the face the first time they meet.

Tripitaka: (*has taken a vow of non-violence*) Wukong: "Yeah my mate left me just before I found out I was carrying my Egg. It was a messy break up and I don't know how to find him." Tripitaka, feeling parental rage for the first time: "Is that so?" Macaque, shadow-portals in: "Hey-" Tripitaka:

The shadow monkey ain't even mad. He was just pleasantly surprised that Wukong had found a friend so protective of him as to break a vow of pacifism.

Guanyin had heard Tripitaka's reasoning for his lapse in judgement, and absolved the monk of sin shortly thereafter. But not before cracking their thousands of knuckles at Macaque in threat.

Then cue so many centuries later when Macaque crash lands on the airship, Map to the Samadhi Rings in hand.

Macaque, injured and brooding: "Peaches... I finally-" Tang: (*Uses Mega Punch!*) Macaque, shocked he didn't hear it coming and covering his newly formed black eye: "Ow. Ok, deja vu..." Tang: (*Uses Mega Punch x2!*) "That one's for MK!" Macaque, bruised and confused: "Huh?" Pigsy: "Way to leave him out of the loop ya bum! Now we're all mixed up in this Bone Demon business! If you had told Wukong back then what was bothering ya, you could've both prepared to take her on but noooo. You had to handle it yourself and leave with barely an explanation and not contact him the whole time. I am speechless!"

Note: Despite saying he was speechless, Pigsy continued to yell at Macaque for the next forty minutes. And that was before Wukong got involved in the yelling. Wukong only held back because he was both trying not to laugh/cry at the simialrity to how protective Master and Bajie were of him back in the Journey.

Macque is of course melted into a ashamed puddle on the deck of the airship, weakly explaining his case, but even he knows its not really possible with so many people rightfully angry with him right now. He'll have his moment to vent to another about his reasons for trying to do the mission solo soon - Sandy most likely.

[ghost-proofbaby]

Hi Ghost! Mega congrats on 3k!! 🥳can i get a filthy martini with eddie munson? Maybe with some sneaking around fun? Thankyou!!

thank you so much!! ngl, i'm very proud of this one. i definitely got carried away, but i swear the smut is there, somewhere amongst the 3k+ words!!! this is really just one long love letter to eddie munson. hope i did your idea justice! also got heavily inspired by taylor swift's song "cruel summer", but what's new?

come party with me!

summertime and stardust (eddie munson x fem!reader)

warnings: smut, p in v, raw dog heathen prevails (aka unprotected sex). also a lot of references to mythology. my bad. i think i got too much prose all over my smut. oops.

Hawkins was always boring in the summer, and maybe that’s how the two of you ended up in this predicament. It was a sweltering wasteland of quarries that had started drying up long before July even arrived, and twenty four hour diners that were occupied with waitresses that made it very clear that they were sick of seeing yours and Eddie’s faces before even a week of freedom. Half of the usual hangout spots the two of you had considered hidden gems were quickly overrun by the middle-schoolers and freshmen that now had nothing but time on their hands (Eddie had taken the loss of the Arcade badly). So it was no surprise that you two ended up here, at the shore of Lover’s Lake, side by side on a blanket that Eddie had kept in the back of his van. 

“Which one is that one?” you ask, lifting a finger to trace out a constellation winking down at the two of you. 

“Orion,” Eddie immediately answers, hardly having to squint to make out the stars as you were, “Want to hear the story behind that one?”

“Is that even a question?” 

This is how the two of you had spent the last hour. On your backs, gazing at the stars, exchanging stories and theories that did not belong to either of you. Tales of Greek Gods and Goddesses, smartass remarks and make-believe when one of you couldn’t identify the constellation. There’s nothing else but you, Eddie, and the cicadas this far out of town. A buzz of relief and tranquility to bask in. Every so often, you could make out the lake water lapping at the shore not far from where both your feet rest, Eddie’s stretching past the blanket. 

It was nice. Every night you had spent out here had been very nice.

You turn on your side to listen to Eddie ramble about Orion, somehow both eloquent but still unfairly funny in his side comments of his opinion on the tale. He makes it very clear that he finds Orion to be deserving of losing his sight - “Seriously, fuck that dude!” - and you can only watch on, entranced by the boy and his starry eyes. 

“I think the version where Artemis murked his ass is pretty good, but I also like the idea behind Gaia sending a Scorpion to kill him, because then they’re opposing constellations and sh- Are you even listening to me?” Eddie pauses when you bring a hand up to his chest, fingertips dancing over the damp cotton of his t-shirt. 

You can’t hide the small smile tilting your lips as you nod, biting back giggles, “Oh, absolutely.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, arms crooked up to rest behind his head, biceps straining against the worn sleeves of his t-shirt. You resist the urge to just bury yourself into him, curl against his side and press, press, press until the two of you conjoin, never to separate again. 

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he lowly chuckles, eyes looking back up to the sky as your fingers begin to trace patterns higher, now skimming his barely-exposed collarbones. 

This is how it usually goes. He’s watching the sky, you’re watching him. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the change. 

Everyone in town knew that the two of you are friends; it’s not a secret. You’d met in school, partnered for a chemistry lab, and the rest was history. Everyone knew that you were the first person Eddie showed every new Corroded Coffin song to, and everyone knew Eddie was the last person you spoke to at the end of every day. And surely, they had to know to some extent, that you both reserved your summer nights for each other. 

The change is what they didn’t know. 

Steve and Robin would tease you two when you’d come into Family Video, a new thriller or horror movie always in hand at the checkout. Dustin would make gagging noises when Eddie would dramatically bid you farewell before Hellfire Club would commence, making endless jokes about his wife returning from war, how lonesome he would be now as you walked through the door and out of his sights for the next several hours. Even Mike, even Max, even Joyce, had made off-handed comments about your attachment to each other. 

But they were all always joking. They never saw any purchase in their words, their relentless teasing never serious because they couldn’t fathom a world where those jokes were actually correct. 

They could never fathom the nights you and Eddie would end up cuddling each other while studying, pressed together too tightly to leave space for friendly speculation. They could never fathom the way Eddie would drag you into the darkest corners of the arcade, his hands tight on your hips and your breath brushing his cheek as he nuzzled his way against your neck, teeth and lips alike nipping at you in desperation until you caved and gave him a chaste kiss. They could never fathom the way Eddie had been holding you to him by the end of these nights spent by the lake, pressing his body into yours and reveling in every whimper that was only his to hear. 

No, they couldn’t fathom that half of the story. They knew you two were close, but they didn’t know just how intertwined your lifelines had become with the boy lying beside you. And that was fine, you didn’t care for them to know about those sacred moments laden with secrecy. All you really cared about was that the boy before you was all your summer nights and all your starry skies, brimming with clandestine glances and whispers of worship in moments alone. That was enough for you. Here, in your bubble of privacy by the lake sans persistent cicadas and gentle waves, he was yours. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie murmurs, bringing a hand up to yours that continues to explore his body innocently, intertwining your fingers with his before resting them over his heart. 

It was drumming in his chest – you could feel each beat perfectly, breaking through the Iron Maiden logo and against your skin. After a few moments, your own racing heart synced with his, a quiet rhythm coursing through your veins. You hope he could feel it, too. 

“Just thinking about how it’s just us out here,” you whisper back, voice low and careful not to break this moment. All of the paths, all of the dead-end streets you had both endured, just for moments like this, “How it’s always just us.” 

You mean more than the fact that you never invite anyone else out on your endeavors, but Eddie takes it that way anyway, snorting. 

“You wanna start inviting the guys out here?” he jokes through more laughter, making you attempt to break your hand free from his in order to smack at his chest. He doesn’t let you, though, only tightening his fingers’ grip on yours, “Think that Gareth would like the show? Or maybe Jeff?”

“Stop,” you whine, starting to fight him with your whole body now, still trying to get your hand free. You nearly roll on top of him, your giggles now joining his, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” 

He doesn’t reply as the two of you continue to wrestle. At some point, he takes his free hand and begins to tickle you, making your giggles turn into awful screeches, echoing in the warm, stale air around the two of you. You twist and twist and twist, trying to get away from his merciless grip. You’re no longer holding hands, him now utilizing both to attack your sides before moving toward your armpits.

“Don’t!” you gasp out, realizing what he was about to do. He’s on his side now, you flat on your back as he begins to hover over you, “Edward Munson, don’t you dare!” 

But he does dare. And even as you’re slapping at his shoulders, even when he overexaggerated how much your knee knocking against his thigh hurt, even when the weight of him presses you down into the blanket and threatens to bury you into the soft dirty of the small-town beach, you know it in your heart – there is no where else you’d rather be in this moment. 

The compromising position that results from the ridiculous tickling and wrestling is welcome, Eddie’s body heavy between your legs as his torso drapes over yours. Your face-to-face with him, now looking in those dazzling brown eyes for constellations rather than the sky above. 

His grin from the entire interaction has begun to ache, but it doesn’t falter as he bumps his nose to yours gently, “I’m sorry. I get it, I know what you mean. It’s always been just us,” he pauses before scrunching up his face, rearing up to continue to tease you before he playfully mocks, “You and me against the world, baby.”

You smack at his chest with fruition this time, making a soft oomph fall from his lips that pass over yours, “I was just trying to be sentimental, you dick.” 

The grin finally falls away, but the corners of his eyes stay crinkled, “I know.” 

When his lips finally meet yours, it’s like a breath of fresh spring air. You’re no longer in Hawkins’ muggy summer weather, instantly transported somewhere far away where the sun is just warm enough for comfort, where the breeze is just soft enough to wrap around your shoulders like a favorite blanket, where every strawberry is the sweetest and nothing will ever hurt. 

The world can be cruel, both in heat waves and hurting souls, but he never is. He’s a sanctuary – he’s your sanctuary. 

His sickly sweet kisses continue, taking your breath away in a willing way, leaving both your lips shades of summer blooms and spring flowers. His tongue is a welcome prodding, almost as if tending to your garden as he tries to get the two of you even closer. It’s not possible, but it doesn’t stop either of you; chests crush together as foreheads clash, and you yearn for a world where you could just curl up beneath each other’s skin, clamber your way into his chest and nestle right beside his pounding heart.

Only Artemis knows that he’s already made residency in yours, decorating your ribs and lungs with his flowers of adoration. 

Between desperate breaths and needy hands, hips beginning to roll and curse the clothing you two have yet to get rid of, you silently wonder where the two of you will end up in this lifetime. You hope it’s amongst the stars. You hope your constellation can find his across the night sky. 

 “Baby,” he begs. You don’t know what he’s begging for – for closeness, for your legs to fall further open and welcome him home, for you to swallow him whole with all the love pounding just beneath the surface of you – so you can only kiss him back with more urgency. 

The urgency follows through both of your movements. Urgency is what removes his shirt, your hands shaking as his chest is exposed to you in the moonlight. Urgency is what unbuttons your shorts, prickles of thorns when his fingertips make contact with your nude hip. Urgency is the slip of his hand into your panties, fingers curling and swirling in every right pattern to have you preening against him. 

“Off,” you plead with him once he has you down to just your underwear and him just his boxers. Your palms rack down desperately over the waistband before trailing down to his bulge, fevered movements earning more purpose as you press down on him and elicit a moan. 

He recovers his composure, only to shake his head down at you, curls ticking your cheeks, “Ever heard of a thing called patience, sweetheart?” 

“Fuck patience,” you immediately argue, pulling yourself back from his lips fully, eyes meeting and lips slick with each other’s spit, “We have the entire summer to be patient, Eddie. Just… Just fuck me. Please.” 

You awakened something in him with those words, you saw away whatever restraint he was holding onto so tightly. These nights always ended the same way, but they never felt the same. 

Familiarity waits in the shadows as each graze of his skin against yours ignites something new in you. New flowers, new petals, new budding growths that scream that this can’t last for just the summer. Whatever this is, as he removes your panties and his boxers, is not just a coming and going on the seasons. It’s not just a constellation only to be seen in the quiet of the night by two lovesick fools sneaking off to observe it. The heat of the summer that frizzes both your hair and his repeats it, the cooler breeze that rolls off the lake behind you guys encourages it. It may have taken the summer to tend to it, but this is only the beginning of it. Not the end – never the end.

And he fucks you like he knows it, too. He can hear the whispers of it all, telling him to pull you closer, telling him to take his time as he pushes into you and feels your walls stretch around him. It isn’t quite patience, it isn’t quite cruelty. It’s just you, and it’s just him. 

“Fuck,” he moans out once he’s fully sheathed inside you, cock pulsing as your wetness tightens on him. Really, it’s a shame that no deity will ever experience the devotion you feel pouring off of him as his mouth falls open for you, as his head rolls back and his eyes flutter close. He’s devoted to you – he’s yours just as you’re his, “Always so wet for me, baby. Always so good.” 

He finds a familiar rhythm to have you both gasping and groaning, and it still feels brand new. The way you feel him deep in your stomach, the way your thighs quiver and his abdomen tightens. It is all always new and it is all always euphoric. 

If you lift your eyes to find the stars above you almost winking at you, you can feel that he’s not fucking you as you’d requested; he’s making love to you. He is confessing his past sins and he is professing that he’d spend the rest of his days here, inside you, against you, with you. 

The roll of his hips don’t stay slow for long, though. You both know the love is there, and you both know what the two of you need. Eventually, soft confessions and loud professions become slapping of skin on skin, teeth knocking as you try to keep your lips on his. You swallow every moan and he grabs every mewl. You can feel his hands on your waist, your hips, your thighs. He is everywhere all at once, and it still isn’t enough. 

It’s not enough until his movements stutter, until his voice has grown hoarse from calling out your name for only the two of you to hear. Your nails rake down his back at some point, and you know that come tomorrow night, beside the lake, you’ll be tracing fading red lines that spell out a clear message: he belongs to me because he chose me. 

Your walls flutter around him and he knows without you saying a single word other than ramblings of his name that you’re close.

“Cum for me,” he’s begging again, lifting above you and looking down with wide, wet eyes, “Fuck- I- Please cum for me, baby. Need you to cum. Please.” 

You whine out in response, head tilting back into the grass around the edges of the blanket, consumed by him. Your ears ring as your vision blacks, the last image you see being his face contorted in pleasure, and you can’t decipher whether it’s the lake again that you hear or simply your own waves meeting his shore. 

The echoes of his voice surround you. 

“Just like that, sweetheart.”

“Doing so good for me.”

“Always such a good girl.” 

When his own high has its hold on him, his head is falling to your shoulder, his nose buried into your sweet spot behind your ear as you listen to every grunt and moan. He holds you painfully close, like he’s scared that maybe this is the end. You ponder bruises in the shapes of roses forming on your hips as he buries deep in you and he paints your walls with warmth, with devotion, with something unspoken only between the two of you. 

He collapses on top of you in the afterglow. Savors the moment, lets his lips pucker against your salty skin slick with sweat no longer just from summer. His own hair is matted at the knape of his neck, his cheeks, his forehead. 

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your chest. It’s overflowing, mingling with the still crying cicadas. He lifts his head and glances up at you, smiling shyly. 

“What?” 

You continue to laugh, unable to answer him, as he pulls out and cleans you up with his t-shirt. If you weren’t so delirious with unbridled delight, you’d scorn him. 

He doesn’t bother with redressing as he rolls to his original side of the blanket, laying on his back and wrapping his arms around you to pull you into him, “What’s so damn funny, my beautiful girl?” 

You think Artemis, maybe even Orion, would smile down at the sight of the two of you. Perhaps Gaia is sending her well wishes to the love-stricken look you two exchange in the form of a breeze that doesn’t bring more heat, only relief, only sanctuary. 

“We are not inviting Gareth or Jeff out here, ever,” you finally explain breathlessly, “This place is for just us, Munson.” 

He joins you in your lingering giggles, his chest shaking with them more than he vocalizes them as your cheek finds his heart and presses into his cheek. 

Whatever this is, label or not, is good. And it is only the beginning, never the end. Whether the others will ever know or not, the two of you always will, and that’s all that matters for the time being. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, holding you just a little bit tighter, “Always just us, you heathen.” 

He brings a finger to your chin, tilting your face up. When he kisses you, it tastes like summertime and stardust, just as it should.

[thecouncilarchive]

Profile picture by @/silmecicle [x] (animated on desktop!)

An archival blog for JRWI/council posts on all platforms. From July 11th, 2024 onward. (This is a glorified and weirdly elaborate updates account.)

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[masters-menagerie]

(( Huh. I wonder who he's looking at...? ))

[summ6rbummer]

PATRICK HOCKSETTER X FEMALE BULLY VICTIM PT. 3

FUCK YOU FREAK

so we're starting to get somewhere with this story yayy!! patrick is a mega stalker now, on the count of breaking-and-entering!! anyways, last time, you, the reader had set out to fuck up patrick! (yay for you)

overall tw for all counts of violence and assault and more violence ofc

ily all

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it was a colder night, crickets were chirping and cicadas were buzzing and mosquitoes were nipping at my legs. i could care less. all i could feel was anger and disgust and fear at the acts and past of patrick hocksetter. i still had the bread knife clenched in my clammy palm, and my breathing was heavy as i stomped down the street towards patrick's house. i remembered memorizing his address and the way his house looked and the schedule of his family, all so i would know to avoid it. to take a different street after school, to know to start running if i see his bedroom light come on at night, and to never make eye contact with his mother when she waters her flowers in the morning in the fear of her acknowledging me and him over hearing.

just living in fear of him. and im so sick of it. it ends tonight. i stood at the end of his driveway and his parents car wasn't there. perfect. i stomped up to the front door and a sudden wave of overwhelming fear washed through my body.

why am i scared now. I've spent my whole life being afraid of this fucking asshole. whatever happens i can't be afraid of him. im so tired of this.

i turn the doorknob handle, knowing it was unlocked. i swiftly stepped inside and silently closed it behind me. i practically tiptoed through the front hallway, tightly gripping the knife in my clammy hand. the second door on the left side of the hallway was his bedroom.

i could hear him moving around in his room, maybe unlacing his boots considering he was done stomping around my room like a fucking bozo.

i reached for the doorknob and my fingertips just barely grazed it when the door swung open and i was face to face with Patrick’s chest. my blood froze.

then suddenly i was reminded that he had been making my blood run cold my entire life. and i was tired of it.

my brow furrowed and my lip curled and i cracked, lunging at him with the knife in my hand and pure hatred in my eyes.

i really don’t know what i was thinking. hes much bigger than i am, definitely stronger, and definitely crazier.

not even a second had passed before i was on the floor with the knife flung down the hallway; Patrick standing at my feet. my breath stopped in my throat and i felt nausea pilling in my stomach.

fuck fuck fuck. why did i think i could do this? im gonna fucking die in patrick's fucking house and they're going to use a terrible photo of me in my obituary.

i scrambled away from him, scampering down the hallway and reaching for the knife. a wrecked cry flew from my throat as his muddy boot came down on my hand. he grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled me back down the hallway. away from the door, away from the knife, the street, my life.

i was dragged into his bedroom, the rug folding up under my writhing legs. i kicked at his ankles, and scratched at the floor. after i was fully in his room, he tossed me sideways and stepped to slam his door closed.

why did i decide to be brave. why did i think i was strong enough to do anything? why am i so stupid.

patrick stood in the entrance to the bedroom, just standing there. staring. i had scrambled back against the wall, hugging my knees. i couldn't understand the look in his eyes. he looked angry.. but in a way that was sad.. almost disappointed. it was a long, tense, silent moment before he said anything.

"why would you do that."

it wasn't a question. all of a sudden i was angry again. i lunged up and at him, hands ready to claw at his face.

"because of you! its you and Henry and fucking Victor and Belch! its you! you make my life a living hell! i hate you i fucking hate you and everything you've done to me in my life! i want you dead!'

i clawed at his neck and he grabbed my wrists, holding me away as i screamed in his face.

"im tired of having to live with you terrorizing me!"

i was cut off when he shoved me back, my hip hitting the backboard of the bed. i groaned in pain.

"why do you think i 'terrorize' you?" "hm? ive told you before. its because you're real. like me."

i sighed. "oh shut the fuck up patrick. what does that even mean? you're real. im real. of course i am! this is fucking real life!"

his face faltered. he stepped towards me again with a darker look fallen over his body. "the last time someone else came into my life and was real, he ruined everything. i had to fix that. and now im the only one left. or i was. but then you showed up. i realized you were real too and that i had to fix it early. and i did." a crazed smile started spreading on his face. "everyone else is fake! its just us that are real! and its only going to be us!"

so much shock surged through my body that i laughed. an exasperated, tired laugh of pure confusion wheezed from my lungs. "what the fuck is wrong with you? oh my god you're fucking insane! im talking to an insane person! you're crazy!" i gasped in between laughs. his face fell.

"no." he stepped forward, his eyes darker than ever. 'im not crazy. im real. and.. you are too. i knew you wouldnt understand. you think you can fool me? you just want to replace me." he stepped forward again, his hands stiff and shaking and his face stone.

the wheezing laugh had left me, as well as all the air left in my lungs. the tone in his voice was telling. i never should've called him crazy. you cant call crazy people crazy.

im not going to make it out of this house alive.

suddenly his hands were around my throat, squeezing, tearing ripping at my skin. i screamed, a bloodcurdling scream and tore at his shoulders. my nails dug into his face, and his into my neck in return. i could feel the air struggling to enter my body.

i was gasping and screaming and sobbing, suffocating.

and i could only look at him.

i could only see his eyes. they weren't brown anymore, they were black. like a sharks eyes, dark and unforgiving. inhuman.

as darkness crept into the corners of my vision and my limbs went numb, i could only think of one thing.

what if i wasn't in that class in fifth grade.

[initiala]

I love seeing the absolutely unhinged cosplays that come out of DragonCon every year. It’s such an all-encompassing pop culture convention that people do really go “should I cosplay as that pop-up ad about saving the incompetent king in your mobile games that’s never an actually playable thing? Why yes I should!”

I have so far seen that, I saw a group of the 2024 Mega Brood cicadas standing against a wall holding signs and spinning matraca toys, I saw Bermuda Merlin from the 1963 Disney animated movie The Sword in the Stone, and an entire group of people dressed as Raygun holding the Olympic flag.

Never change, DragonCon.

[pollenallergie]

Re: cicadageddon

I LOVE BUGS AND LIVED THRU A DOUBLE BROOD EMERGENCE 20 YEARS AGO AND CAN'T WAIT TO SWARM WITH ALL MY BESTIES AGAIN ‼️💕

i love this for you, bestie!!

i wish i could say the same!! i like non-flying bugs and quiet bugs, but loud ones give me sensory issues (especially up close, and i have problems with bugs getting in my house, so ik these cicadas will be up close and personal) and flying bugs just freak me out (idk why, i guess i just don’t vibe with assailants of the sky).

but i’m happy at least someone’s happy about this mega swarm!! it’s definitely a huge win for entomologists and entomology-hobbyists, so more power to them!!!