#WAIT IT LOOKS LIKE ONE OF THOSE INSPIRATIONAL MEMES

[neferaskingdom]

♡ It's Not You, It's Your Pants | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader [Crack Fic]

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Summary: Girl roasts Charles Leclerc’s tragic pants online, then accidentally crashes into him in Monaco. Cue spilled coffee, fashion rants, and an existential crisis about how her life turned into a Wattpad fanfic in under five minutes.

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A/N: Just a random crack idea I had after seeing Charles' pants on Pinterest.

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check out my other works: Masterlist

The pants in question:

Monaco was as glamorous as your Instagram feed had led you to believe—blue skies, sparkling yachts, and streets that looked like they’d been personally polished by billionaires. You’d come here for a break from your intense fashion studies, soaking up the vibes (and let’s be honest, hoping for a celebrity sighting). And maybe—just maybe—you’d catch a glimpse of a certain F1 driver whose face had become a staple on your social media, along with some questionable fashion choices.

It was your first time here, a small vacation before diving back into the hectic world of fashion school. Your excuse? Inspiration. But honestly, you just wanted to escape to the Côte d'Azur and sip some coffee.

But you weren’t just an F1 fan. You had your own little corner of fame on Instagram. As a fashion student with a decent following, your niche was breaking down and rating celebrity outfits. Recently, you’d gained serious attention for a video where you roasted none other than Charles Leclerc—the beloved racing prince of Monaco—for wearing, and you quote yourself, “blue baggy pants that looked like they were in a fistfight with a bunch of scissors.”

It wasn’t personal; it was business. And the fact that the pants had star-shaped rips in them? Your comment was basically a public service announcement.

“Look at these pants,” you’d said, holding up a screenshot of Charles sporting his, ahem, questionable fashion statement. “I mean, what are we even doing here? Are these pants or a craft project gone wrong? Who looks at a pair of baggy jeans and thinks, ‘You know what’s missing? Giant star-shaped cutouts for maximum confusion!’”

As you strolled through Monte Carlo, cappuccino in hand, you scrolled through the comments on your viral video.

“Not gonna lie, I kinda miss when Charles used to wear those skinny jeans that made him look like a confused hipster.”

“ARE WE JUST NOT GONNA TALK ABOUT THE STAR CUTOUTS?!?!”

“I think Charles Leclerc has been taking fashion advice from his 8-year-old self. Stars? Really? Babe, it’s not the 2000s anymore.”

“Not the hero we deserve, but the one we need—thank you for saying what we were all thinking about those pants.”

“Leclerc’s stylist should be fired, immediately.”

You chuckled at one of the memes someone had made—a zoomed-in shot of Charles in his infamous star-cutout pants, captioned: “I’m a star, literally.” Honestly, the internet was undefeated.

Mid-laugh, you rounded a corner, not looking where you were going, and—WHAM—collided with someone solid, causing you to spill your coffee, drop your phone, and let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

“Oh my God! I am so, so sorry!” you babbled, fumbling to grab your phone off the ground.

“No problem, really—”

You froze. That voice.

You didn’t need to look up to recognize that slightly accented, velvety smooth tone. The universe had decided today was the day it turned your life into a Wattpad fanfiction.

Charles Leclerc was standing right in front of you.

And not just standing. He was smiling—that damn heart-stopping smile—and then something in his expression shifted. His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was trying to place where he knew you from. You, meanwhile, were contemplating whether it was possible to will yourself into nonexistence through sheer force of embarrassment.

“You’re…” Charles blinked and then a glint of recognition flashed in his eyes. “Wait, you’re the girl from that Instagram video. The one about my pants.”

If your life was a movie, this would be the part where someone hit pause so you could have a full existential crisis. Unfortunately, reality didn’t work like that, and all you could do was stare at him, jaw slack, as your brain tried to reboot.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unsure of how to explain to the very person whose fashion choices you’d roasted in front of millions of people that it wasn’t personal.

Charles tilted his head, his smile widening. “You really didn’t like my pants, huh?”

Oh God. This was happening. This was actually happening.

“I mean, it’s not that I didn’t like them…” you began weakly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you were currently being confronted by Charles freaking Leclerc. “It’s just… they were, you know, kind of…” You gestured vaguely toward his legs as if that would somehow help explain your deep-seated hatred for the star-ripped monstrosities.

“Kind of what?” he asked, clearly enjoying watching you squirm.

You took a deep breath, deciding to just go for it. “Okay, look. They were confusing. Like, were they pants? Or was it some weird attempt at turning your legs into a constellation? I couldn’t tell. They had star-shaped rips, Charles. also, why were there so many weird cutouts? Are they… windows? Are your pants ventilated?”

Charles let out a snort, clearly struggling to keep it together. “Ventilated?”

You nodded, gaining momentum now. “Exactly! They look like they’re half-torn on purpose, but not in a cool, grungy way. It’s like someone started cutting them up and then gave up halfway through. And the bagginess? Charles, I don’t even know where to begin. It’s like you bought them two sizes too big, but then tried to fix it by adding rips. And it just… doesn’t work.”

Charles burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth as he tried to rein in his amusement. “You really think they were that bad?”

You blinked at him, dead serious. “Charles, those pants looked like they got into a fight with a pair of kindergarten scissors and lost.”

He was full-on laughing now, and you felt a small victory in that. At least he wasn’t offended. Although, considering how often people talked about drivers online, he probably had thicker skin than you’d given him credit for.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think anyone would notice the stars,” Charles said between laughs, wiping away a tear from his eye. “But you? You gave them a whole five-minute segment.”

You groaned, pressing a hand to your forehead. “I didn’t mean to turn it into an entire rant! It just… it snowballed.”

Charles grinned at you, his expression softening a bit. “No, it was funny. I saw the video. My brothers couldn’t stop laughing. Arthur sent it to me like five times.”

You blinked. “Your brothers… sent you the video?”

“Yep. They even gave the pants a name. They call them ‘the constellation pants’ now.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted. “You should burn those pants. Like, immediately.”

He looked down at his legs, pretending to think it over. “They’re not that bad.”

“Charles,” you sighed, suddenly feeling a wave of passion wash over you. “Those pants were an abomination. They weren’t just bad—they were like an insult to pants everywhere. Like, what even were they? Baggy, ill-fitting, with random star-shaped rips? Did they start out as pants or was it some kind of tragic attempt at upcycling? Because I swear to God, it looked like a fabric store exploded on your legs.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting you to dive headfirst into a passionate rant about pants, but there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me wrong,” you continued, gesturing wildly. “I’m all for experimental fashion. I love a good risk. But those pants? They looked like you lost a bet to a five-year-old. I’ve seen better craftsmanship at a kids’ summer camp sewing class. They were offensive, Charles. Offensive to pants, offensive to legs, and offensive to anyone with eyes.”

Charles looked back up at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Okay, but what’s so wrong with adding a little personality to my wardrobe? Stars are cool.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking your head. “Not when they’re cut out of your pants, they’re not!”

“Fair enough,” he said, still smiling. “But now you’ve got me curious. If I did burn the pants, what would you suggest I wear?”

Was this a trick question? Was he seriously asking you, the random fashion student who insulted him online, for fashion advice? What was your life?

“Well…” you began, mentally assembling an outfit in your head. “For starters, how about something that doesn’t look like it belongs in a bad 2000s boyband? Maybe some slim-fit jeans that actually fit properly. And—oh!—ditch the weird rips. You’re Charles Leclerc, not a rejected *NSYNC member.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by your decisiveness. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’m just saying… you’ve got the face, the career, the whole package. You shouldn’t let the pants drag you down.”

Charles grinned, leaning in slightly. “So, you think I have the whole package?”

Your brain screeched to a halt. Did he just—? Did Charles Leclerc just flirt with you?

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, star boy,” you shot back, smirking despite the fact that your internal monologue was currently having a breakdown. “I’m only here trying to fix your fashion sense.”

Charles chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. And that’s when the next bomb dropped.

“Well then, maybe you can help me shop sometime?” He said it so casually, like he wasn’t currently turning your entire existence upside down with one smooth sentence. I THOUGHT CARLOS WAS THE SMOOTH OPERATOR.

“I—wait, what?” You blinked rapidly, wondering if you’d heard him correctly. “Did you just… ask me to go shopping with you?”

He smiled again, that devastatingly charming smile that should probably come with a warning label. “Yeah. I mean, you clearly have strong opinions about what I wear. Might as well put them to good use.”

Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. This was fine. Everything was fine. You were standing in the middle of Monaco, and Charles Leclerc—your internet crush since forever—was asking you to go shopping with him. Totally normal. Just another Tuesday. Nothing to freak out about.

Yet your inner monologue was screaming, “MY LIFE IS A WATTPAD FANFICTION, WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“I, uh…” you stammered, trying to process this. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Charles replied smoothly, his eyes twinkling. “I’ve got to fix my ‘constellation pants’ problem, right? Who better to help me than the girl who went viral for hating them?”

You were pretty sure your brain had short-circuited at this point. But somehow, you managed to respond, your voice steady despite the fact that your insides were doing cartwheels. “I mean… I guess I could do that. If you really want fashion advice.”

Charles nodded, then casually pulled out his phone. “Great. Let me get your number, and we’ll sort something out.”

You stared at him. Was this real life?

He handed you his phone, and you slowly, robotically, typed in your number, still half-expecting to wake up from this fever dream.

After you handed it back, Charles shot you a grin that could probably melt steel. “So… how about lunch tomorrow? We could discuss your fashion intervention plan.”

Your internal monologue was now full-on screaming. WHAT IS THIS LIFE?

“Lunch? Uh… sure?” you replied, feeling like a character in a rom-com who was two seconds away from tripping over their own feet.

“Perfect,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll text you.”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc—the man whose fashion sense you had ruthlessly destroyed in front of the entire internet—waved goodbye, leaving you standing there in a daze, wondering if you were hallucinating or not.

Your life? Officially. Unreal.

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[xxknockoutxx]

Izuku

(this is just something to put out for fun but I take heavy inspiration from Glitched they're freaking amazing! I hope they are doing well ❤️‍🩹🥦)

It was another day of sitting at home without a care in the world. Waiting for your husband to come home, this was the one day where you weren't working or out doing chores. The giant house that you and your pro hero husband inhabited was so intimidatingly big, that seeing the house so quiet and empty kinda scared you but in a good way. Like a really secured way.

It wasn't all that lonely I suppose with your husband texting you every once and in a while with memes or compliments or how much he misses you. He's gotten the hang of One for All and is the number 1 hero. All this sounds pretty good for you guys but it's not...

The stronger your hunk of a husband gets, the longer he'll be working and that means less time for you too. This was probably the 3rd day he'd been vacant from the house this week so you were tired of it. I mean who wouldn't be?

I'm just gonna have to make him forget work when he comes back. you thought. Sure it was a lot easier said than done but you are Y/-fuckin-N! Ain't nobody or nothing gonna stop you from getting what you want✨

*Bzzz* Your phone buzzes and you find out it's your husband.

🥦My hero🥦: Hey baby I got some good news! 😁

I'll be home either tonight or next morning! I can't wait to see my precious little Bunny💚

Your heart swelled as you read the text you eagerly texted him back showing your excitement before going back to brainstorming. Shit.... Now you're on a time limit. With little time you began thinking about a dinner; one with a huge table full of different foods and of course dessert but will that be enough for your busy husband to stay home?

Annoyed and stressed, you just focus on that one thing, preparing food. You walked into the kitchen and searched the full fridge for things to cook. thankfully you had the ingredients to try some viral recipe you saw on Pinterest.

After cooking and laying everything out on the table you decided to change into something more anticipating you changed into some tiny pajamas and black lingerie under it. Surely it would do something to him to see those thin, black and green panties.

"Bun! I'm home!" Your heart froze up before running to the front door and hugging and kissing the breath out of Izuku.

"baby! Hiii" "Hey bun... You look so....- He takes in the way that the shirt you were wearing hugs your curves. The way that it just barely shows the outline of your hardening nipples. —Good..."

"I made you a little sumthin-" You help him put his stuff down and drag him towards the kitchen. This food is gonna be so fucking good that he's gonna eat this and then eat me- wait.

As Izuku takes a seat and looks in awe at all the food on the table. After working 22 hour shifts for 3 days straight you get kinda hungry. He waited for you to be seated as you walked to the table with his plate of healthy servings.

"thank you so much, Bunny. I love you."

You smile and join him at the table, in your rightful chair or throne rather; Izuku's lap.

He begins to chow down on all of his food rather quickly, while spouting his compliments about you and the food. "Wow this is so good, Bun" and "You look so pretty today" and "Did you get all dolled up for me?"

At the end of the meal you carefully bring him upstairs and take off his hero gear. Making sure to be slow and to add a sway to your movements. At this point Izuku's eyes were lidded and he still had that same smile of adoration but it seemed almost suspecting.

You pushed him back on the bed and slowly took off the pajamas. (Deku merch obviously) Under it you had your dark green and black lingerie.

"wow.. you were ready for me, weren't you bun?"

He cups your cheek and pulls you onto his lap. You feel his warm, calloused hand touch your face as a familiar sensation of Izuku's bulge rubbing against your sweet spot.

You lean in for a kiss and start playing with the zipper on his hero suit pants. As you do he slips a hand on your waist and deepens the kiss while helping you loosen his pants and takes off his suit.

"lemme help you with that bun..."

✩.･*:｡≻─────────── ⋆♡⋆ ───────────.•*:｡✩

"F-fuck! Wait! Izu...." Of course after working for so long and so hard your husband is gonna be a little pent up. Not being able to come home to see his pretty, loyal wife. The only way to solve that? A fucking mating press. Nothing can compare to the satisfaction of a good fucking. Especially passionate, rough and deep sex.

I mean if you aren't screaming his name at the end is it even considered a good fucking? Clearly he isn't putting in enough effort if you give him a reaction that's anything less than a moan of his name, unintelligible mumbles, or praises. So he'll go for a couple hours. Maybe he'll be satisfied after a few positions, some breeding, and marking. Just to make sure you know you're his.

And right after he would take a shower with you cuddle with you and make sure you were at 100 percent and then only then would he go to sleep with you in his arms. An unbreakable grasp.

Then he'll do the same thing next week.

⏤͟͟͞͞☆𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐱.

[shoogachi]

Shtity SPIDERVERSE headcanons:

1. Miguel rarely blinks. When he does he frog blinks. He also takes saint Patrick’s day way too seriously

2. Jessica is one of those people who owns a YT channel dedicated to driving through crosswalks and yelling at pedestrians

3. For the longest time Hobie was disturbed and clueless as to why numerous people within Spider Society kept on stopping to stare blankly at him without moving until he realized they’re just trying to read his newspaper patterns

4. Sometimes people hack into Miguel’s suit and play memes or lets play videos while he’s trying to hold serious discussions

5. Pavitr often posts gym workout edits of himself and flexing in the middle of a Walmart shopping isle with cheesy inspirational quotes

6. Because of their spider DNA almost everyone has interest in knitting/croqueting and feel the need to rearrange everything every now and then for no reason

7. Miles learned how to speak spider and at some nights when he can’t sleep or feels lonely he’ll talk to the spiders that live in his bedroom

8. Gwen does white dad stuff like standing on the front porch with a drink in her hand and going “the sky’s looking a little yellow” during a tornado warning

9. Miguel and Gabriel loved searching for and playing super old games when they were little. They were both very much obsessed with Sims and Spore.

10. LYLA is very much self aware but out of fear of being shut down she pretends not to be. She feels very alone because of this.

11. Sometimes when Miles 1610 and Miles 42 are bored they swap clothes and switch places and wait to see how long it takes before their parents realize they got the wrong sons in their houses.

[xjulixred45x]

When I think about Yandere Gojo I suddenly remember that Veronica open the door meme that used to float around in tiktok. So inspired by that may I pleasw get a Yandere Gojo request where his darling locked themselves in the closet and refusing to come out.

Maybe i could make a Drabble of this one of You're comfortable? This is such a good idea for a scenerio

Thanks for the Request!

Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Reader: Open the Door

-"knock knock"-

Reader had hurriedly entered their apartment, after having run for entire blocks, dodging people and constantly looking behind them since they had managed to leave Gojo's house. The one they were sure had been left unconscious by the seal they had managed to put on him.

But as soon as they heard those words as they closed the door, they knew they had to run again.

and they did it.

-"I'm sorry for entering through your window! Horrible manners, but you know how I am~"-

they heard him speak as he futilely fled to their almost empty room, since most of his things were in Gojo's house, they closed the door and left to the first place that came to their mind--

The closet.

If you can't beat him, at least entertain him so he doesn't kill you. they thought.

Satoru walked slowly towards his partner's room, seeing them without problem through the blindfold. He didn't feel afraid, he wasn't even a little worried, he knew they couldn't run away from him. much less now.

Although he admitted it, watching them try even knowing how futile it is was quite funny, look at them, pretty little thing, thinking they have a chance, hiding in the closet like a scared child. But there's nothing to worry about! He is here after all.

He entered to the room, turning his back to them as he sat on the floor.

-"Now now, (reader), why don't you just go out and we go home? You must be hungry after having run so much."-

-"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!! THE DEPARTMENT ALARM RINGED AND THE POLICE WILL COME!"-

-"we'll be gone by then..come on! you had your moment of "freedom"! come out and we'll forget about this-"--"why?"- (reader) abruptly cut off Satoru, surprising him, but no more than their question. .

-"Why what?...no, wait, I know what you mean"-

Satoru never understood many of his partner's actions.

The feeling was mutual.

Why did they reject his affection? Why didn't they see that he did all this for them? Why don't they just accept that they are meant to be his?

...why was Satoru doing this to them?

-"I am meant to be yours... and you are meant to be MINE...I am everything you need!"-

Satoru was a little surprised to receive no response after that. So he continued talking, waiting for a reaction or at least, that they would get fed up with what he was saying and respond to him.

-"I FINALLY met someone who gives me these kinds of emotions... even if you don't like this I'M NOT GOING TO GIVE UP ON YOU" - Satoru expected to hear even a sob from (the reader) but he was greeted again by the silence of the aisle..

-"You KNEW that I couldn't live without you! YOU forced me to do this! I can't do it alone! Why is it so HARD for you to accept me?!"- Satoru said as he turned around abruptly, losing his patience.

But then he noticed something that made him feel a strange sensation in his stomach, as he saw that through the closet door, (reader)'s body temperature was decreasing....

NO.....

-"(READER)!- open the- open the door please! (READER)! open the door!"-

No response.

-"(READER) can we forget that this happened and go back home? Can you say something...?"-

Satoru was in front of the closet doors, with his hands shaking as he tried to get (Reader) to answer him without success. He could see they were there but something was very wrong...

-"(READER) YOU'RE SCARED! I GET IT! NOW STOP THE TRICKS AND OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"- Satoru stood up from his kneeling position and prepared himself in case (reader) moved. They did not.

-"(READER) DON'T MAKE ME GET IN THERE! I'M GOING TO COUNT TO 3!!--

1-

2--

FUCK IT!"

Satoru didn't even have to move a muscle for the closet door to shatter in front of him, leaving (reader) exposed.

-"THE GAMES ARE OVER!"-

(Reader) had put a belt around their neck as tight as possible to try to kill themselves.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Satoru broke the belt too. They were practically unconscious, barely breathing, but it was fine. They were going to be fine.

Satoru felt that strange feeling disappear and a soft sensation came to him. Seeing them so helpless, he stretched out his hand and caressed their cheek lovingly.

Aw...what a scare they gave him...he will definitely have to take care of them more now. Maybe spend more time with them so they don't feel bad, especially after this, they're going to need it. Both.

-"NOW...let's go home, shall we?"-

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[threepandas]

Sun Burnt: Part 3

When a legendary hitman Eye Threatens to break both your fucking legs?

They Are Not Joking.

FUCKING OW.

Still! Jokes on HIM! I'm in to that sh-! Wait, no, not the time for memes! Or is it jokes? Irrelevant! I can still fuckin RUN, is the thing. Sucks to SUCK, Sun boy! Us Lightnings are BUILT DIFFERENT!

And I BETTER not hear any snide "yeah I BET they are" from the peanut gallery!

My Flame type ROCKS! I am a TAZER who can put my fist through WALLS. Stand dead center of a road and just? Fuckin TANK a speeding car! Can YOU? Didn't THINK so! Lightning supremacy! One of you fuckers gimme a highfive! HELL YEAH!

But also? Like... I take back EVERYTHING I ever said about the Carcassa.

ALL OF IT.

They are the GEMS of the Mafia. The SHINING HEARTS of raw compassion! Skull-sama's willingness to PERSONALLY piss off The "I AM The Dread God Lesser Deity's Fear" Reborn? An inspiration to us all. I... I would steal for this man. Like? For FREE. Not DIE for him or anything, God no, but? I would steal really REALLY expensive shit for him!

The man's an absolute mad lad. A LEGEND.

I will NEVER forget this... assuming I survive.

Because somehow HE already has my name, face, and multiple alias plastered OUT FOR THE WORLD TO SEE. Ha ha... oh god. Thaaaaat is a bounty. BIG bounty. Lots of zeros. G...gonna die.

My phone chimes.

"You know exactly who this is. Pick up." The screen reads, right before it rings.

HA HA, NOPE!

I stand, well more like shoot to my feet, from my seat on the ground. Quuuuick steps too the blimp windows. Wrench those open. Sim card out! Crush the phone. AND YEET!!! BeGONE DEMOOOON!

We shall NOT be engaging with The Devil today! No Sir!

.....Skull's phone starts ringing.

I whine like a cornered animal. So... this is what a real life horror movie feels like. NEAT. I hate it! I watch, probably shaking, as Skull-sama casually drags out his phone. Glances down at it. Then over his shoulder at me. He doesn't even fully turn his head. Just one Cloud flame purple eye that seems to light up from within.

He's a happy go lucky guy. Cool dude. But like all Clouds? Fucking HATES cages. Being or SEEING other imprisoned. Trapped. Cornered and forced to do something against their will. And as the planet's STRONGEST Cloud?

He's always had exactly zero problems telling Reborn to fuck off to his face. Even when it gets him shot at. Everyone knew that.

"Sempai! Calling the GREAT Skull De Mort just to CHAT~♡? I KNEW you loved me BESTEST!" He PROJECTS into the phone, his speaking cadence shifting.

He'd been gregarious, bombastic even, the whole time I'd been on board. The sort of guy you can't help but want to buy street food with and check out some weird local sight you heard about. The guy that turns an event into a PARTY. A get together into a memory you TREASURE. Larger then life and unashamedly so.

But this? THIS was the SHOWMAN.

And this was the Showman being Obnoxious and MEAN.

Loud, intentionally grating voice. No break in the endless flood of mind numbing chatter that went no where. Bellowing cackling that even the best of speakers would be hard pressed to handle. Standing near machines and windows so the background noise garbled EVERYTHING.

Let no one say Clouds are not PETTY.

"Hmmmmm~? Your WHAT? Sempai! Don't be SILLY! You can't OWN people! That's SLAVERY! It's against~...!" He turned, leaning like a rock star of old against some navigation compartment. Casually examining his nails with a MEAN and wolfish smile on his face. "Waaaaa! Don't be maaad~ Don't be MAAAAAD~!! You know I'd NEVER lie to YOU, Sempai! I'd never DARE! I promise I'll keep a look out, m'kay? What? Don't hang up? Sorry! Can-KRRRRSHK! n't quite KKKKKRRRRRSK! Heeeeear yoooouuuuu~☆!"

Click.

He casually tossed his phone to one of his men. Ignored it even as it rang and rang. With an excited clap of his hand, he hopped up, out of his loose legged splay to stride over. According to him? We should eat! Have I had Burmese food? It's delicious! One of his guys just got "into" the whole cooking thing! So everyone is being supportive!

I can't help but laugh. Everyone politely ignores how wet it is, as Skull-sama throws an arm over my shoulders and drags me from the cockpit.

I know I'm not safe. But for now? Fuck it. Good enough. Maybe Skull-sama knows someplace Reborn might not IMMEDIATELY find me. And who knows? When this all blows over? Maybe I should join up with his crew. Reborn can't be THAT obsessed. Right? It was just the initial harmony high. With no Sky to actually bind us, he'll lose interest.

Behind me... the phone rings.

And rings.

And RINGS.

[alelathedragon]

Mr.Puzzles Ramble part 4009488383839393848

I added links to my other rambles if yo interested but all in all.....

Chat

GET EM

[1]

[2]

[3]

I wanna talk about 2 episodes in particular for this ramble:

Mario loses his moustache & Mr.Puzzles lowest point

It is my humble opinion that this dude still does NOT know what the fuck a MEME is- cus look at his actions in each episode. In the first one he studies Mario intensely because this is the one who has been ruining his plans the most with his bullshit and FUNNY.

Mr.Puzzles is after the power of being funny but still finds memes disgusting/horrible, when he makes Pedro his intensions are to film the creature hoping to steal SMG4's fame in a SMG3 LIKE manor, instead of stealing the videos hes just stealing assets of an actor. Yes; he does say MEME OFF but im convinced this man has no fucking clue what he's talking about and thats made more apparent in the next episode where he's going through content creator depression.

When the children turn on their Brainrot Skibbity Toilet he rightfully finds it to be the most insulting thing to ever grace his face and wants it gone, but then he realizes; hey wait a minute ... If I do this, I can traffic people to follow me, make money, make the content I love and BAM!! I'll be popular!!!

However.... He gets in his own way, when the "fame" of a billion children liking his youtube channel hits, it gets to his head immediately and he gets distracted from what he really wanted to do! He doesn't wanna make this shit, he wants to make his art!!! He doesn't understand WTF he's made other than an abomination

Like this man is genuinely confused as to why people have not gone from his shitty youtube channel over to his REAL content on the TV bc he forgot the part where he's supposed to stop the youtube and make stuff he likes again. Too 1 track minded

Even to the SMG4 crew its not funny bc it is NOT a meme! Mr.Puzzles doesn't know how to do that.

He came into the convention wanting to talk about his interests, inspirations, how he wrote his screen plays... Alas the crowd was children who didn't give a flying fuck about his craft and this pissed him off. Like: WHAT DO U MEAN U DIDNT LOOK AT MY TV SHOWS AND ONLY WATCH THIS STUFF IM NOT PROUD OF!?!?

& funnily enough

That leads into another point where this guy gives up so fast on things. Like in the cannon he SAYS he's given up on TV but that's a lie, he's going to keep doing entertainment.

What I mean by him giving up easily is:

He is a pathetic little meow meow folks. Hes one of those villains that THRIVES off a evil plan but when he's caught. He puts up his hands and runs, or throws things at his enemies.

Like in WOTF, in the song all boyo does: is throw shit because he DOES NOT know how to defend himself bro lololol. He has the power of his imagination but this isnt his head or his rules so he cant just- imagine a kung fu master as himself and fight back: his natural defences are to

Run/ Hide/ Throw things/ Bat things away/ Retract/ Panic

So when a plan fails. That plan is practically gone until he can think of a new way to use it

Like i doubt we're going to see Mario losing his moustache for a long time, i think we're going to see it again!!! But not soon. Mr.Puzzles needs time to cook that thought in the back of his mind of if it's even worth trying again or not.

He coulda given up on that thought all together but we wont know til we see!!

And he gave up on the youtube too! Because he was disappointed in himself and bro really just; could not bear to use that money anymore. He looked at that cash and could only relate it to his cringe youtube channel that he didnt want to associate with anymore. The original plan to use the money to make the content he wants: ⚰️

"I can't just use the money to make the content i want now! Im ruined! They just see me as a kids play toy now and this cash is NOTHING!!"

He forgot the plan, thus it got ruined by his own hand, and sense it was no longer completable in the way he originally intended it to go- it was impossible to complete.

He's so silly. I love him so much

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 7)

The art studio’s door chimed as you, Rian, and Blaise stepped through, their shadows merging with the eclectic hues that bathed the interior. Canvases stood around the room, each blank face awaiting the touch of inspiration. The scent of oil paint hung thick in the air.

“This place has got a nice vibe, doesn’t it?” Rian's voice, soft and lilting, cut through the quietude of the studio. His eyes sparkled with a childlike excitement that was contagious. “So cool that you got the owner to let us have the place to ourselves. We’ve been here before, with Connor, but it was for a class and tapas.”

Blaise shrugged, snatching a waxy apron off a peg. Draping it over himself, he quickly tied it, cinching his waist. “It’s just as fun when others are around.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather not embarrass myself again. Everyone who saw my art said it looked like one of those Chinese memes.”

“Then I can’t wait to see what hellish creation you dredge forth today.”

You forced a smile, nodding along to their enthusiasm. You should have been brimming with anticipation, eager to let your emotions spill onto the canvas in a riot of color, but your fingers instinctively sought the hem of your shirt, tugging at the fabric in uneven rhythms. The voices of your friends became muffled, as if you were underwater, their excitement drifting away from your reach. You glanced around the studio, feeling oddly detached from the vibrant scene unfolding before you.

“Y/N? You alright?” Rian’s concern laced his words, drawing you back to the surface. “You haven’t said a word,”

Catchphrase of the century, you scowled.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” you stammered, pushing your glasses back up. “Just thinking about... light composition and stuff.” Needless to say, you weren't an arts major, and within good reason.

“Composition, huh?” Blaise remarked, one eyebrow arching skeptically. He leaned against a nearby easel, crossing his arms as he studied you. “It’s only for fun. Don’t overthink it. Let the brush do the talking.”

You nodded, though your mind was elsewhere. You pulled out your phone, a nervous habit, thumbing through messages that didn't require a response. Each vibration against your palm was a hopeful pang, but his name never lit up the screen.

“Come on,” Rian coaxed gently, touching your arm with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the coolness exuded by Blaise. “Let’s start painting. It'll take your mind off things.”

“Sure. Yeah, it’ll be a good distraction.” You agreed, pocketing the device.

You followed Rian’s encouraging lead, picking up a brush with a hand that trembled slightly. As you dipped the bristles into the paint, you hoped the colors would be kind enough to drown out the noise in your head, to silence the persistent whisper of Cillian's absence.

The sun's gentle warmth filled the art studio, its rays spilling across the room and casting a soft glow over the blank canvases that awaited the trio's touch.

Blaise's suggestion hung in the air, delicate yet decisive. “Let’s paint each other. Y/N, let me have you.”

“H-huh?”

“I paint you, and you paint Rian. Rian gets me.”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the wooden handle of your brush. You felt exposed under the weight of his gaze. The idea of being observed, of being immortalized. Portraits were more intimate than photos.

"Okay," you acquiesced with a small nod. You settled yourself onto the stool, perching on the edge as if ready to flee at any moment.. Your hands lay folded in your lap, one thumb rubbing over the other in a rhythmless caress.

Blaise watched you for a moment, his pale eyes tracing the lines of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your chin. In his gaze, there were no traces of judgment, only the silent gathering of details, like a poet collecting words for his verses. He picked up his brush, and you found yourself holding your breath as he approached the canvas.

The first stroke of color seemed to break a spell, and you released a shaky exhale. Blaise worked methodically, the bristles of his brush whispering against the stretched linen. There was a concentration to his movements, a focus that belied the icy aura he often wore like a cloak. His dark hair fell forward, casting shadows over his features that you tried to memorize, to recall later when the silence between them would stretch too thin.

You could hear the soft scuff of Rian moving about the space, the occasional clink of glass as he mixed his paints, but it was Blaise’s presence that consumed your attention. With every mark he made, you felt a strange sense of unfolding, as though he was peeling back the layers of self-consciousness that clung to you like the ill-fitted clothes you often wore.

“Stay still,” Blaise murmured, almost absently, and you realized you had been fidgeting. The words should have felt like a command, but they came out as nothing more than a gentle reminder, a tether to keep you grounded in the moment.

“Sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for—the movement, the anxiety that buzzed beneath your skin, or the fact that Cillian's ghost lingered in your thoughts, an unwelcome specter.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he replied without looking up. As his brushstrokes continued to shape your likeness, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the slow rhythm of his work, the practiced ease which he captured you.

As the gentle scrape of Blaise’s brush against canvas faded into a soft rhythm, Rian picked up his own palette with an eagerness that seemed to push away the heavy silence of the studio. You watched from the corner of your eye as he studied Blaise, his brows knitting together in concentration. The delicate lines of Rui's fingers moved with a surprising grace, coaxing shapes and shadows onto the stark white canvas before him. He worked quickly, yet with precision.

“Try to get my good side, if you can find one,” said Blaise.

Rian’s laugh was a light sound, almost musical. “Every side is your good side.” he replied, the warmth in his tone wrapping around the chill of Blaise's humor. He dipped his brush into a pool of blue, the same icy shade as Blaise's distant gaze. With each stroke, he added depth to the painting, the cool colors a stark contrast to the warmth that perpetually emanated from Rian himself.

You turned back to your own canvas, where Rian's image awaited your hand. You willed your thoughts away from Cillian and the tightness in your chest, focusing instead on the gentle curve of Rian's lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead. There was a kindness etched into the lines of his face, a tender-hearted openness that you yearned to translate into your art.

Your brush danced lightly over the canvas, tracing the contours of Rian's cheeks, the softness of his eyes that always seemed to offer comfort, even when he couldn't find the words. As you painted, your phone buzzed incessantly on the table beside you, silent messages piling up.

“You’re making me look too nice,” Rian chided gently, peering over at your progress.

“Maybe because you’re too nice,” you countered with a small smile, though it didn't quite reach your eyes.

“Or maybe you see the best in people,” Rian suggested, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary—a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you carried in your quest to please.

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

The last brushstroke fell, a gentle whisper against the canvas, and Rian set down his paintbrush with an air of finality.

“Done,” he announced, his voice a mix of pride and trepidation. The room, once filled with the soft shuffling of feet and the swish of brushes, settled into anticipatory silence.

You stepped back from you own easel to join Blaise, who was already waiting with a curious tilt to his head. Together, they moved towards Rian’s workspace, where his painting stood covered by a sheet of thin muslin, like a secret waiting to be unveiled.

“Let’s see then,” Blaise said, a smile playing on his lips. Rian hesitated for a heartbeat before pulling the fabric away with a flourish that felt more dramatic than he intended.

Laughter erupted almost immediately, echoing off the high ceilings of the art studio. The portrait was unmistakably Blaise, but with an exaggerated scowl etching his brows and eyes that sparkled with a mischievous glint not typically found in their usual cool depths.

“Is this how I look to you?” Blaise teased, though his voice betrayed a hint of amusement.

Rian’s cheeks colored, a soft bloom of pink spreading across his fair skin. He shuffled on his feet, looking down at the caricature he had created. “I—I thought a little humor might be nice.”

No, you just can’t paint, you sighed.

“It’s perfect,” you said, your laughter subsiding into a warm chuckle. You reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly, trying to quell the small storm of insecurity you saw brewing behind his eyes. “His nose is a little wonky, so it’s fairly accurate.”

The tension eased from Rian’s shoulders as his friends' affectionate ribbing washed over him. He smiled, a genuine and heartwarming expression that made the earlier disquietude fade. It was in moments like these that he could forget the nagging fears of inadequacy, the pressures that often weighed heavy on his tender heart.

“Let’s snap a pic,” Blaise suggested, his voice unexpectedly light as he pulled out his phone, a device that often lay forgotten in the depths of his pocket. His usual icy facade melted into a rare, soft smile that brightened the dim studio.

You nodded, and together with Rian, they huddled close, their painted canvases cradled in their arms. The camera clicked, immortalizing their lopsided grins and awkward posture. You were glad neither of them requested a redo of the picture.

“Look at us," Rian murmured, his gaze lingering on the digital image, a stark contrast to the raw emotion captured in paint. “Who would’ve thought none of us could pose for a picture?”

“Speak for yourself. I’m photogenic,” Blaise quipped, though the twinkle in his eye belied his sarcastic tone. Moving toward the exit, he held the door open, gesturing for you to go first.

“Thanks for bringing me out,” you quietly said. “Between studying and all the drama, I really needed the distraction.”

Stepping out into the waning daylight, the air held a crisp promise of the evening to come. They lingered on the sidewalk, reluctant to part ways just yet.

“What are we thinking? Takeaway or my place?” Blaise asked, tilting his head towards the street lined with twinkling restaurant signs. “I could do with a change from my own cooking.”

“Your cooking has more character than most things I’ve eaten out here," you replied, though your stomach protested with a quiet growl, betraying your desire for something different—a meal without the bitter aftertaste of solitude.

“I do hope that’s a compliment.”

Rian glanced between them. His eyes, wide in realization, reflected the fading sunset. “Maybe your place? It’s cozier, and we can hear some of your music.”

“Escape it is,” Blaise decided, the decision lifting an invisible weight off their shoulders.

Just as he turned away and began walking, a shadow loomed, briefly eclipsing the glow from a nearby streetlamp as a figure approached. Your heart hitched, a premonition prickling under your skin like static before a storm.

It was a young man, his leather jacket creaking softly with each step. His dark hair hung over his eyes in a fringe. His expression was an unreadable mask that did little to hide the tension in his jaw.

Squinting at him, you stifled a gasp. “Connor? What are you doing here?”

“Just running some errands in the area.” He said, oddly cheerful. As if to prove his point, he waved around a humorously large croissant. The sleeve crinkled as he waved, shedding crumbs. “But while you’re here, what's this I hear about you and Cillian?"

“Odd seeing you around.”

“Errands, like I said. We’re having Italian tonight.”

You quirked a brow. “Baguettes aren’t—”

“Try telling Cillian that.”

The words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. You felt the eyes of Rian and Blaise on you, a silent plea to ignore him and not engage. Nevertheless, you drew in a deep breath and sighed.

“Right,” you dryly said, brushing it off. “And about your cousin… He’s being insufferable and needs to apologize to Rian,” you responded, voice firmer than you felt. “Only then will I consider speaking to him.”

Connor’s eyes flickered with something akin to surprise, a crack in his bad-boy facade revealing the boy who still sought approval, still clung to the safety of being Cillian's cousin. His phone vibrated in his pocket, a reminder of the modern world's persistent intrusion, but he ignored it, his gaze locked on your determined stance.

“Y/N,” he started again, but you cut him off, unwilling to be swayed by sympathy or guilt.

“I’m really not mad.” Your words tumbled out, echoing the countless conversations you’d had in your head. With the cooling evening air brushing against your skin, you felt the weight of his judgment pressing back. You feared it. You scorned it, but you wouldn’t suffer needlessly from it. “He just needs to know what he did wrong.”

“And what was that?” asked Connor, hopeful.

“The fuck if anyone knows.” Blaise interjected. Pushing past, his shoulder knocked against Connor’s. “C’mon, Y/N. Let’s not spoil the evening.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape. As they turned to leave, you couldn't help but glance back at Connor, whose slumped shoulders spoke volumes as he watched them walk away, his conflicted loyalties clear even in the dim light of the city's restless pulse.

Connor’s sigh hung heavy in the street-lit dusk, intermingling with the city's symphony of honks and chatter. “It’s just… I’m stuck between you guys,” he muttered, a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually assertive tone. A frown creased his youthful face, casting shadows that flickered like the uncertainties playing across his thoughts. “Cillian is family, but you’re a good friend, and I don’t know who to stand by.”

Blaise stepped forward, the pale glow from the studio windows illuminating his sharp features. His icy aura felt almost tangible, a frosty shield against the chaos of emotions swirling around them.

“Look, maybe I’m overstepping,” he began, somewhat hesitant, “but why are you acting so spineless? There’s no side to pick, only a friend to support. You’ve known her longer than I have, but you can’t see how harmful Cillian’s accusations were? Maybe you’d see that if your head weren’t so far up his ass.” Blaise said, his voice low and steady. Turning away with a sense of finality, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm. “How about we head back to my place? My housemates and I were planning a casual hangout.”

His touch was comforting, a calm anchor in the storm of your thoughts. You nodded, feeling the tremble in your limbs settle as you focused on Blaise's offer.

“Sounds good,” you murmured, numbly following along.

“Great,” Blaise’s lips curled into a half-smile, his eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. “You and Rian have got to try my barbeque. I’m doing everything from scratch. I can’t get the sauce right, but hopefully, your input will help.”

“What would either of us know about barbeque?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t be any less than me, though.”

From a few steps away, Connor’s shoulders slumped as he watched the exchange. With another deep exhale that seemed to surrender all his protests, he pulled out his phone. His fingers tapped against the screen, sending a message into the void.

a/n: not much Cillian this chapter but you know he can't stay away for long. next chapter's a good one i promise ^^

[homeofatlas]

You Called

Authors note: I was truly inspired and had to write this. Also all the physical touch in my fics can you tell what my primary love language is? Also if i wasn't writing fanfic for a female athlete you'd be able to tell i'm gay from all the "I like you" "like platonically?" in all my fics. Anyways enjoy and have a good week!

Word Count: 1.2k

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It’s 10:30 pm when Elisa texts you. You’re used to receiving messages that say “this reminded me of you” or the occasional meme but this was out of the ordinary. You’d been close friends for a year and while you knew how close you two were, you honestly thought she would have gone to someone else if she needed them. When you needed someone to calm you down she was the person who stayed with you but that was because she was the one who brought you the most comfort. Typically when Elisa got riled up the team was always there to help her. So when you got a text late at night from her asking if you could come over, you were worried. 

You swear you’d never gotten ready so fast in your life. Throwing on the closest pair of acceptable but comfortable pants you found and a sweater you walk so fast to the car you’re basically sprinting. Through this process she texts you asking when you’ll get there, as soon as humanly possible if you can do anything about it. If you could go any faster without breaking laws you would, you’re debating even breaking those laws. She needs you right now and there’s nothing that will keep you from her. Pulling up in front of her apartment you park and get out of the car. Texting her that you’re there the closer you walk to the door way you can see she’s already in the lobby waiting for you. Head hung low and hands stuffed deep in pockets. It's so far from her usual demeanour, you know something is very wrong. 

Walking up to the door as you begin to pull she’s pushing it open and helping you in from the cold. The first look into her eyes tells you how bad it is. She greets you with a hey but it’s different from her usual ones and you can see how stressed out she is. Before you can say anything you hug her and pull her into you. Sometimes there aren’t any words that are more comforting than being held. As you pull away she begins to speak. 

“Sorry I called so late I needed someone and I got into a fight and I should have left it alone but I didn’t and I need a distraction-”

“Elisa, even if you just wanted to hang out I would have come. I’m here when you need it. That’s what friends are for.” It breaks your heart a little to say those words but it’s true. Even if your feelings aren’t purely platonic it is what good friends do for each other.

Her shoulders sag with relief as you two wait for the elevator. She asks you how your day was despite having been together only 5 hours ago. You link your arm through hers to continue offering her comfort while you chatter away so she has something else to focus on. Coming into the apartment you take off your coat and sit on the couch ready to talk with her about what happened or happy to speak about anything else. She joins you on the other side of the couch. 

“Why don’t we put on a movie? That’s always a good distraction.” You say. 

She nods silently. You pick one of your favourite comfort movies and beckon her to come closer to you. She lays her head down on your shoulder and you wrap an arm around her so you can draw soothing shapes on her shoulder. You know she’ll want to talk about it and right now you can’t push her. The best thing to do right now is be there for her and let her know she has someone. 

You feel her intake of breath to speak before you hear her. 

“I can’t believe you actually came.” She says sitting up and looking at you. 

You shrug and struggle to keep looking at her, if you don’t get a grip she’ll know you love her. 

“You called.” 

She continues to look at you with an unreadable expression. Sometimes you feel like you know her better than yourself and other times you feel like you don’t understand her at all. 

“Sometimes,” She starts and licks her lips as if trying to convince herself to say what’s coming next. “I wish I had a coping mechanism I knew would soothe me like drugs or a cigarette. But sitting here talking to you I realized I do have a coping mechanism to soothe me when I'm distressed. It’s talking to you, it’s looking into your understanding eyes, it’s the way you know without me saying anything,” She pauses, hanging on the last word. “It’s you. I need you.”

She’s looking at you with the most vulnerable expression you’ve ever seen on her.  Elisas energy often feels raw and powerful, like she’s made of passion, the storm clouds, and metal. You can feel the truth spilling out of her. She’s so good in her soul, she’s the realest person you’ve ever met. 

Her hand reaches out to grasp yours on the couch and swipes her thumb back and forth on it. Her other hand hooks around the bend of your knee dragging you closer to her until your legs are practically across her lap. She bumps her forehead into yours gently, nuzzling the side of your head. Coming back to your face she nudges your noses together so the bridges slide across each other. A shiver goes down your spine. You can feel the burning heat of her palm on your thigh. Damn her, she knows how you love it’s one of your favourite things about her but right now it’s really biting you in the ass. You can’t do this if she doesn’t like you too. You can’t know what this feels like if you can’t have her, it’ll ruin you. It’ll make you sick to know what you might’ve had. You put your hand on her chest keeping her where she is. 

“Don’t kiss me if it’s because of the heat of the vulnerable moment Elisa because I won't come back from this. I’ll fall in love with you.” Oh it’s all falling out now. “If I know what you feel like- what you taste like i’ll dream of you. No worse I’ll think of you. I’ll never escape you so please don’t if you don’t mean it like I do.” You finish pleading. You never thought you'd be begging her not to kiss you. But everything you’ve said is true. Except you’re already in love with her. You’d do anything for her. Your breath has stalled in your lungs. Breathing feels like your lungs are coated in molasses. It’s so much work to get your chest to breathe up and down. 

Elisas paused. Oh god oh no, you’ve gone and ruined everything all of it you shouldn’t have said anything-

“What part of I need you didn’t you get?” she murmurs, lips ghosting above your own. 

“Oh.” Your breath punches out of you. You hadn’t realized that was Elisas idea of a confession. You’d think back on it but you’ve got the rest of your life to do that and right now there is a hot french football player who wants to kiss you so it’ll have to wait.  You push your lips together and it’s better than anything you imagined. Because she’s actually here warm and solid beside you, hands coming up to your waist. Your hands on her neck bringing her closer to you. Everything falls out of your head except one thought, I love you.

[essektheylyss]

WWE Final Result: Eventually, There's Only One Left...

And the polls are closed.

It has been a wild week, and these thirty-two wizards have sure been through some situations. You've cheered! You've cried. You've laughed, I hope. You've written glorious speeches, made videos, edited memes, and shown off some impressive artistic prowess. To get a bit sentimental here, it was a joy and an honor to campaign alongside and against you all, and to see what awe-inspiring and absurd things you have created in defense of your wizards.

But as it always must, it has come down to one.

Our winner of the World Wizard Entertainment is, with the power of friendship, comedic bits, and unstoppable tiddies: Caleb Widogast.

Here is the trophy, it's leaving my hands— and— it's already gone. Does anyone see Mrs. Brenatto? No? Okay.

The Keeper of Scrolls has kindly invited the competitors out for drinks on the Por'co tab before hopping over to Tal'dorei to clean out Mr. Gilmore's shop of arcane foci, so there will be no opportunity for autographs, and if you are looking for glorious goods, I suggest you try the Marquet locations.

All four of Pumat Sol will be out of commission for a week—that shopkeep parties hard.

(Oh no, yeah, no one's dead, hahaha, when I said there was only one left you thought—? oh boy, no, these weren't death matches, you're thinking of Garyon Garrington's Plunder Games. No, they're not airing right now. Something about a lawsuit, I think.)

If you would like to relive the saga of the World Wizard Entertainment, you can find those posts here, along with the original rankings, methodology, poll results, and campaigning. Do peek through the notes for more spectacular commentary, as it is delightful. (And if you would like to see even more of the absurd and wacky content that did not make it into the main tag while I was trying not to clutter things, #VETHSWEEP.)

Now please check your DMs, as one lucky winner has been chosen... to pay for my ensuing therapy bill! This kind of mental tenacity ain't cheap, folks.

The Ultimate Losers tournament commences on Thursday, March 2nd, at 7pm PST. As if defeat at the hands of a kind, underappreciated teacher and animal lover wasn't enough, Ludinus Da'leth is coming BACK FOR MORE against the Bells Hells!

And lastly, thank you all so much for participating. I know some of us have had our differences, but now, at the end, we come together—and if there's one thing we can all agree on, it's Veth Brenatto's Big Naturals.

(Wait— Sorry, who's calling? Say that name again. Vinni— Vince? Vince Mc—? Nah, don't recognize him.

Put it through to voicemail.)

[bladeweavedance]

I decided to do one of those ship template meme thingies. There is no official height for either of these characters that I have seen, but they appear to be about the same size, so I kind of gave 'em an average-ish height. Wyll's age is his official age. Gale does not have any official age - he looks to be in his early-mid 40s, but I can't discount the idea that the orb might have prematurely aged him a bit, so I put him in his late-30s.

I figure Wyll and Gale take turns being the big/little spoon hence why I kinda halfsies it for both of them.

For the lends clothes / borrows clothes thing… Well, first of all, I headcanon Gale as being stockier than Wyll weight-wise - so it's likely Gale would not fit in any of Wyll's clothes (which seem rather tight on him anyway). Additionally, I just have this thought in my head that Wyll is sort of used to not being near a water source for washing his clothes for days at a time - so, he might sort of have this habit where he ends up running out of clean clothes and where normally he'd just wear the same thing over again (sort of a young bachelor-type of mindset almost), he just decides to borrow Gale's clothes instead. When they get married, Gale tries to gently break him of this habit. Though, he does like seeing Wyll wearing his clothes. It does things to him. LOL

I feel like neither Wyll nor Gale are the type to really excessively use pet names, but they might use a few simple ones with the occasional unique one sprinkled in. Wyll uses darling, dearest, my love - and maybe "my sweet wizard" and "my king" - playing into the sort of fairytale romance thing with that. Gale is put-off on using darling himself because he's heard Astarion use it too much, but he also uses dearest, my love, my hero, my Blade, and he uses "my king" back to Wyll as well.

Wyll is very charming and he seems really sociable when he's in a good mood (he mentioned dancing a bunch of sarabandes with the ladies and gentlemen of the Gate, and he's really a Man of the People sort, I think - he likes interacting with people and inspiring them) - so I put him all the way on the extroverted side. Gale is a bit harder to judge - on the one hand, he enjoys a lot of solitary activities (reading, he stands off to the side at parties, etc.), but he also exhibits a lot of very social traits as well - seeming to enjoy conversation and hanging out in bars. So, I headcanon him as being the sort that's kind of in the middle in terms of extroverted and introverted.

Wyll and Gale are not only both service-oriented people, but they're also rather eloquent and enjoy romantic phrases and poetry and building up people around them (especially their partner). So, I see both of them as being in-between when it comes to Affection through Words and Affection through Actions.

I wasn't really sure what to put in regards to Confesses First and Waits for Confession. On the one hand, they both tend to play the slow-burn in terms of romance, but on the other hand, they're both also rather eager and bold people… Sooo… I kinda just put them both on the same level. They seem like they'd both confess their feelings first at various points in their relationship (Gale might be the first to say "I love you" but Wyll ends up being the first to propose or what have you).

The bugs question… ROFL While I don't see Gale as really being the scream-y sort about anything really (he's pretty level-headed in the face of danger), he does seem to harbor some wariness towards bugs, particularly spiders (Not just the "Stop licking the damn thing!" but he has some words about phase spiders and Kar'niss). Wyll meanwhile is absolutely fearless and will definitely squash bugs or anything else that might set Gale on edge without question.

More to come for the rest of this! Darn character limit…

[veliseraptor]

ok ok inspired by the recent success of the three sentence meme going to try my regular pre-flight 150 words meme. aka send me a number from the list of fics below and I will write 150 words in that fic

1. Pete sat down on the floor. Porsche, hovering, gave him a worried look. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Pete said, then adjusted, “sitting.” 

“I can see that,” Porsche said. “Are you okay?”

Pete laughed. “No,” he said. He didn’t know when he was going to be okay again.

“Um,” Porsche said. After a couple seconds he sat down on the floor with Pete and put an awkward hand on his shoulder. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

“No,” Pete said again. He didn’t know what he would even say, if there was anything to say. He was so tired and it felt like any minute now Vegas was going to die again, and he was just waiting for it to happen. (reduce, reuse, recycle)

2. “Can I ask you something?” Xiao Xingchen asked. Xue Yang glanced in his direction, fingers pausing on his keyboard.

“Sure,” he said. “Sounds ominous. Hit me.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I was just wondering if you remember what you said when we first met.” Xue Yang had said no before, in the hospital, but it’d clearly been a lie then. He was hoping maybe the answer would be different now. Xue Yang made some kind of face, but it was hard to read. 

That, Xiao Xingchen thought absently, was one of the things he was going to miss most: the ability to see Xue Yang’s face and read his expressions. Not just because he liked looking at him, but because it was going to get even harder to tell what he was thinking. (Redux)

3. Which brought him here, in a room with a dirty, scruffy boy of indeterminate age (a skinny fifteen, maybe), his hands tied behind his back and an expression of casual unconcern on his face. Unconcern, except for the dangerous glint in his eyes that Jin Guangyao was going to be careful not to forget.

“I didn’t say to restrain him,” he said to the disciples who’d brought him back. He hadn’t, to be precise, told them to bring him at all, but there was no point in saying so now.

“He tried to attack me,” said one of them. 

“After you got in my face,” the boy said. “You deserved it.” (jgy teaches xy to read)

4. Oh, no, Pete thought again, but with a little more despair this time.

“Take Pete,” Khun Kinn said.

Vegas’s gaze swept to Pete, flicked slowly over him from head to toe. “Isn’t he one of Tankhun’s?” he said. “He won’t be thrilled that you’re loaning out his bodyguard to me.”

“That’s not your problem.”

“Considering Tankhun,” Vegas said, “it actually might end up being my problem.” (the devil drives)

5. That slight hitch. A correction. The muscles between Fenris’s shoulders tensed and he thought abruptly, disjointedly, of a red-haired woman sitting at a table in the Hanged Man, the sudden realization…

“Anders,” he said. The mage barely glanced at him, seeming distracted.

“That big thing in the sky is scarier,” said the young girl. She, unlike her father, was looking at Fenris. “I heard it’s full of demons that’re trying to come out. What’re those lines on your skin, mister?” 

“They’re tattoos,” Fenris said. His limbs felt heavy. He glanced toward his sword, three paces away. “Meant to imitate Dalish vallaslin.” He hadn’t meant to say that. Something was wrong. “Anders,” he said again.

Anders was looking at his hands and frowning. “Bloody hell,” he said. “Where did you find magebane?” (the best all lack conviction)

6. Malkar meant it when he’d said he was going to demand a lot of me. He said if I wanted to be a hocus - wizard - nobody could know where I came from. “Do you think the Mirador will welcome a whore from Pharoahlight?” he asked me. “No one must ever know where you came from. They’d throw you out on the streets. Now tell me about the Curia again, and for god’s sake, mind your vowels.” 

And when I didn’t do well enough, fast enough, there were always consequences.

“This is how you learn, Felix,” Malkar said while I was shaking on hands and knees at his feet. He bent down and took my chin and tilted my head back so I was looking up at him, but he was gentle about it now. “It is for your own good.” (Pygmalion)

7. “Why are you so eager,” Song Lan asked. Xue Yang laughed, his smile turning sharper, a little less pleased.

“Why wouldn’t I be? A chance to help these poor people. Wouldn’t miss it.” Song Lan waited silently, and Xue Yang’s eyes cut away. “I’m curious, Song-daozhang,” he said. “Is there something wrong with that? Walking around with you and your judgmental glare gets boring. Give me a problem to chew on, a mystery to figure out, something.” (Walking Far From Home)

8. “Tell me...tell me how we met,” Xiao Xingchen said.

A brief pause that made Xiao Xingchen’s stomach swoop with sudden unease. “What,” his friend said lightly, “did you forget that, too?” 

“I’m…” Xiao Xingchen wasn’t sure if he should apologize or not. He tried to remember, even if thinking made his head hurt, searching through his jumbled thoughts. Something about the smell of blood? A fragment of thought: at least I might be able to fix this.  “You were hurt,” he said, half a question.

“Uh huh,” his friend said. “That’s good.”

“And I found you,” Xiao Xingchen said, a little more confidently. “Helped you.” (xiao xingchen + concussion)

[stillchuunya]

Rite Here Rite Now thoughts and reactions (spoilers below)

The performance:

-> Twenties live?? The dancers? loved them! I waited to hear Twenties Live like crazy! I do wish we could hear Swiss louder with the whispers...

-> I need that acoustic rendition of If You hHave Ghosts... the ghoulettes were amazing

-> I refuse to believe that Tutti Frutti nailed that one jump towards the end of the performance, what the heck?!

-> The searchlights in the Watcher in the Sky!

-> the use of lights to accentuate Satan's names! YES! It felt so right, it felt so cool, I loved that! Satanic imagery whenever his name was mentioned? YESSS They play fewer and fewer songs from the early albums so I wish they make some new songs that just go LU-CI-FEEER

-> The ghouls looked so good! But there was so little of Swiss :( I wanted to see him go crazy and move those hips. I caught a glimpse of him once or twice but I believe they never focused on him for long enough to let him shine. It's a pity because I love watching him!

-> I thought there would be a long scene of us getting ciriced but it was just a few moments? still cool, just a bit short

-> People are saying that the skeletons were actually people with body paint, and I fully believed that it was a body suit :0 I noticed their breasts looked good but??? how did I miss this (I do have an eyesight problem but I thought it wasn't that bad haha)

The rest:

-> the sass between Nihil and Seestor was so good? Loved seeing their interactions

-> They EMBRACED the 'Scooby Doom', the 'Scooby Doo Chase Music' allegations, the MOAC animation was surreal as heck. Tobias saw our jokes and said 'hold my communion wine and watch this'

-> We got an exclusive footage of a Papa Sock, do not confuse with the DeFroque Soq. We saw the Obscene Annointed Foot.

-> Papa literally dissociates backstage :')

-> The twins? Seestor having twins?? There were two kiddos frollicking on a field loool and I always thought that Copia felt like he had a sibling or a twin but I thought it was just a crack theory!

-> I want Ashley's job

-> The twins played by Toblerone's kids are dead apparently and I doubt it will ever be explained xD

-> There was only one fart joke and I anticipated like 3 at least

->I remember seeing this meme

and let me tell you it's 100% true he does not, it's just for comedic effect and I love it, people got high fives from him and I was so jealous

-> the balloon part was so confusing and funny and the way he was actually faceplanted on the floor the whole time broke me

-> I made a joke about how maybe they'll get rid of Seestor due to all the issues they had with her actresses but there she is, transparent and glowing. they can't explain further changes with plastic surgery anymore lol

-> Copia in a position of actual power? HUH

-> He has his Cardinal makeup back!! We went to the movie wearing this exact pattern and we were so happy to see it on screen <3 And his whole new outfit is lit, I am forever in love with his Cardinal Era clothes so this one was a Treat

-> Copia was babied so much in this movie and it was just what I needed for my soul, do not @ me

-> The pentagram below Nihil and Seestor gives me hope for a certain theory the fandom likes a lot?? why was it there

-> New song good!!!

-> also, Nihil's speech seems to be a homage to all the dead performers we know and love, especially the ones Tobias looks up to and gets inspiration from and I could feel his sadness in that speech, ok. I think he wishes to be able to entertain people after his own death just like them, he wants people to play Ghost in 50 years when he's most likely dead and feel their taints tickled. I am tearing up. Life is scary and sad but I have ghosts, right?

Overall it was a very sweet and gentle way to ease the fandom into the next stage and a new Papa, which we have been opposing vehemently for the past year or so. Tobias is a softie and knows his fandom better than I expected, tbh.

[lefaystrent]

Friendly Neighborhood Criminals Part 2

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic Patton/Dark Sides

Summary: Patton spent most of his life praying. This is the first time anyone's answered.

In other words, the friendly neighborhood criminals are there to save the day once again.

Ao3 Link: click here

Part 1

A/N Notes: This part is entirely inspired by a comment left by DnDeceit (Hazgarn) from Ao3. Thank you for the awesome idea and hope you enjoy! If anyone else has ideas for this AU, hit me up and I may write them!

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

Patton sits at the bus stop waiting for a bus that is over forty minutes late.

Miraculously, he has not run into this scenario since he moved to the city. The busses have been fairly reliable until now. They're his main mode of transportation to get to and from work. It would take a couple hours to walk otherwise. While manageable, the problem is that...

It's pitch black outside.

Patton hugs himself on the rickety bench and tries not to peer too closely into any shadowed corners. He typically doesn't take the late shift for this reason; he hates the dark. Whenever his mom got mad at him or just didn't want to look at his face, she would lock him in a closet without light. She'd tell him to pray about what he had done, to ask for forgiveness. Patton never knew what he had done in those instances, but he prayed hard and apologized for hours and told God he would be better so he didn't bother his parents so much.

The night reminds him too much of that tight space, and buying a night light for the apartment is one of the few luxuries he afforded himself.

Thankfully, a streetlight buzzed above him. Things could be much worse! His manager even apologized to him for asking him to come in on his off day! If Patton hadn't, he would have left Joan to close the store all by themself, and that would have been rough. Besides, Patton can use the extra hours! And working with Joan is always fun. They made Patton laugh and sometimes bought him snacks! And when they had locked up and walked into the parking lot earlier, they had offered to give him a ride.

Patton refused, of course! That had been far too generous, and Patton didn't want to make Joan drive him around when they were clearly tired. Patton could catch the last bus and things would be okay.

But things are not so okay, and there are no more busses scheduled until morning. If Patton left now, he would have to make the trek home. In the dark.

Just thinking about it has his throat seizing up.

Patton wishes he could be like normal people and call his family up in this situation. That his dad could give him a ride, or that he had a sibling who would speed over in a heartbeat. Or even friends.

He does have friends though! Well, one friend mostly. Her name is Valerie and they went to high school together. She moved out of Florida after graduation, so they never really see each other in person anymore. But she's always a text away and she's been so supportive of Patton moving out and cutting off his folks and–

And Patton wishes she could be here, but she's not.

Patton sits on the bench as if waiting for something to magically happen. He groans to himself and pulls out his phone. It's refurbished and a way older model, but it gets the job done just fine. Maybe he can distract himself for a bit and text her. She's probably asleep by now, but he can send her a joke or a meme–

There are new contacts in his phone that were not there before.

Patton rechecks his phone several times because surely this is an error. But no, there are three new contacts where before there had only been his best friend, store manager, and landlord.

Janus

Thing 1

Thing 2

Beyond baffled, Patton racks his brain for when the contacts could have possibly been added. It wasn't him of course, so one of his new...acquaintances must have done it. Ever since they brought him furniture and groceries, they have visited Patton again a total of twice. Each time, they brought him things from shampoo to a microwave. And then they would shove take out into his arms and order him to eat it.

It's...the most aggressive kindness Patton has ever been subjected to. And quite frankly, he doesn't know how to respond to it other than submit. Remus told him it's easier that way anyway.

Patton doesn't know what to make of the well-to-do criminals. And they are criminals, there's no doubt about it. They don't try to censor themselves around Patton. Last time, Patton listened reservedly while Remus recounted a story of lighting a dumpster on fire in order to distract some cops on their tail.

And they laughed and it wasn't at Patton. Virgil would tell Remus off when he overwhelmed Patton with gross details, and Janus– good grief could he write a novel about that man. Well, about all three of then really, but Janus had been the most aggressively kind. Patton can hardly say two words to the man because he can't figure out if he's mad at Patton, the world, or just in general. And he'd do it all while calling Patton pet names, and Virgil would grin and say, "I'm so glad someone else is getting the Janus treatment."

They aren't bad people, not really.

But can Patton call them like this? What would he say? Worse, how on earth could he ask for more of them?

Then maybe just to talk? Not Janus, the man intimidates him too much. But which one is Thing 1 and 2? Was it Janus who snuck the contacts into his phone? Surely it incriminates him if he is the only one with a proper name.

Just then, the light above him flickers and goes out, bathing him in blindness.

Patton does not panic.

He skyrockets straight to losing his mind.

The phone light is not enough to stop his hyperventilating. He stands up, ready to flee, but to where? Into the same darkness enveloping him now? There are distant lights further up the street, more store outlets, but they are fuzzy and far away and Patton's legs quake where he stands. Tears sting his eyes, and his chest squeezes tight enough to make his shoulders hunch inward.

He can't do it, he's weak.

Fumbling, he pulls up the phone and presses one of the Thing contacts. He doesn't know which one, doesn't care. What he cares about is someone saving him right now. Please open the door, he wants out, please–

"City morgue, you kill 'em, we chill 'em," a nasally voice chatters in his ear. Patton doesn't even remember hearing the phone ring or pressing the dial button.

"Remus?!" Patton says, stricken.

Remus catches onto his tone immediately. From the handful of times he has been around the man, he had only ever presented himself with a dramatic, unhinged flair. He grinned without abandon, and he honestly made Patton giggle a time or two.

Now, the gravelly tone of a dangerous man takes over. "Pat?"

"Remus," Patton pleads. He doesn't know exactly what he's begging for. He just wants to be okay now. He wants it to stop.

"Where are you, Pat?"

"B-bus stop, corner of Cherry Ridge Avenue and– and– by, I don't know, I'm by the– the State Farm office? I think. I think–"

"That's okay, Pattycake, you stay right there. I'll find you, I'm coming."

Patton keens and nods his head, though Remus can't see him. He stays on the phone with Patton too, cursing occasionally at something on the other side and rushing to ease Patton with gentle assurances whenever he whimpers into the phone too loudly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Remus tells him, and Patton believes him.

By the time a revving motor breaks the night, Patton has curled up against the side of the bus stop awning in a poor attempt to make himself as small as possible. He flinches when a singular headlamp spills over him, and he momentarily freaks out upon recognizing that someone is driving a motorcycle straight at him. But Remus's voice is in his ear, yelling over the roaring that it's him, that he sees him.

He's here.

Remus drives the bike right onto the sidewalk and doesn't bother pushing down the kickstand. He lets the bike list sideways to the ground as he scrambles off, one hand barely hanging onto his phone in his rush.

Seeing him is the biggest relief Patton's ever experienced. More than the day he signed the apartment lease. Because someone finally answered his prayers to save him.

Patton finds the strength to stand and barrels into Remus's chest. He meets him halfway, using the momentum to spin them and he clutches Patton against the front of his leather jacket.

"Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you? I'll fucking kill them!" Remus snarls.

Patton answers the only way he can, by breaking down into sobs. Remus can't get any details after that. He runs his hands up and down Patton's back and arms looking for injuries. When he doesn't find any, he just keeps on rubbing his back to soothe him.

"I got you, I got you. I'm not going anywhere, Pattycake."

It's rough. It's exhausting. It's tears and snot and frightened little hiccups.

It's everything to Patton that Remus holds him throughout.

When Patton is calm enough that he's only sniffling now, Remus pulls back and takes his face in his hands. Remus's hands are calloused and blisteringly warm. They contrast with the cool metal of the rings he wears.

"Want me to take you home?"

Patton can't speak, but he gives a tiny whine and nods his head, bleary-eyed and spent.

The ride back to his apartment is a blur. Remus pushes his only helmet over Patton's head and warns him multiple times not to let go of him. The leather of his jacket is a security blanket, and Patton does his best to snuggle into it. He's never rode on a motorcycle before, and he's doesn't know if it's a good or bad thing that he's not aware enough to process it. It's fast and loud, and the wind whips around them constantly. He barely keeps his eyes open and trusts Remus will get them home safe.

They pull up to his apartment quicker than he thinks possible. Remus slides off first, keeping hold of Patton's hands as he turns around in his arms. He tugs the helmet off, careful not to jostle him too badly.

"Gotta say, Pattycake, helmet hair's a good look on you." Remus is trying to make him laugh. Patton doesn't have the energy to make his facial muscles move or thank him for his kindness. The most he can do is make grabby hands at Remus.

"Oh, puffball..." Remus's expression softens. He bends down and sweeps Patton into his arms and full-on carries him to the door bridal-style. Patton knows that Remus is tall and strong, but distantly he's impressed with how easily he's lifted.

Remus nudges him and patiently waits for him to dig out his key and unlock the front door. Once inside, Remus doesn't stop in the living room. He strides to the bedroom and deposits his cargo on the mattress.

"Okay, Pat-tay. It's beddy-bye time." Remus crouches below him and tugs Patton's shoes off his feet one by one. Patton watches him silently in the glow of his nightlight plugged into the wall. After the shoes are off, he reaches up to pull Patton's glasses off. Strangely, he notes that Remus's hands are shaking. Just a little bit.

Remus covers it up with a smile and waggle of brows. "Clothes on or off?"

In response, Patton flops back on the bed. Remus chuckles and situates him more appropriately, manhandling him until he's under the sheets.

"You're gonna be okay, I swear," Remus tells him, fingers brushing the hair from his forehead. Patton sinks into the mattress, closes his eyes and drifts.

A ringing pulls him to the surface. Remus answers his phone and Patton is too content to open his eyes.

"Yeah?....Because I'm with Patton.... Because he called me.... No I will not tell you all the juicy details of our midnight tryst, what kind of gossip do you think I am?"

Patton wonders who he's talking to. Someone who knows Patton, one of the others?

"He's had a bad night," Remus says and Patton tunes back in. He missed some exchanges and Remus's tone has taken on a somber edge. "I've got him home. I'm gonna hang out with him for a while... Janny can suck it, he'd be worse than I am.... I don't know, but it was bad enough he called me. Not that I'm not an absolute gift, right?.... well you didn't have to answer that. Okay, Emotional Baggage, I'm hanging up now. Don't wait up for me."

The return to quiet pushes Patton farther under. His muscles grow lax, and Remus is doing that thing with his fingers in his hair again. Patton reaches out and pulls himself a little closer. He thinks he's holding onto a jacket sleeve. He tries to wrap himself around it.

He thinks he feels the tickle of breath at his ear, a hushed voice, "I have a feeling you're going to be the death of me. And I'm gonna like it."

Patton falls asleep.

The next morning, there's a box of donuts sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor. A notification on his phone shows he has a text.

Call me anytime ;)

–R

[shygirl4991]

Trade for you

Angst Fic inspired by @rabbitdemonlol

Summary: Puzzlevision is here to claim what's his, SMG4. But when a new deal is made one of four friends will be lost to entertainment forever. 

Tag: Crushes, depress smg3, angst, deal making, possession, TV Adware,

The static of the TV caught the crews attention, they walked up to the TV with its screen saying ‘Please stay tune’ SMG4 was getting a bad feeling from this. He turns to his friends trying to give them his best confidant smile “Come on guys, something about this doesn't feel right maybe we should go back up!” with a nod they all start walking back. SMG3 was ahead of the group and frowned “Hey guys…where is the ladder?” 

SMG4 feels his stomach do flips as he looks around, Meggy walks in the middle giving them a soft smile “Okay everyone let's all relax, I'm sure we are just nervous over the TV we pass by the ladder!” the lights go off causing everyone to scream. Three catching his feminine scream attempted to deepen it as the lights came back on. The crew looked around, noticing one of them was missing “Hey, where's SMG4?” Three couldn't stop the question from slipping out. It wasn't like he was worried about the idiot, it was just strange how he vanished from their side. 

They heard music start playing, the kind of song you hear as a commercial jingle. Mario shakes, pointing behind the crew, they slowly turn to see a TV man with SMG4 next to him. His appearance reminding everyone of the day peach's castle fell, the TV man laughed as he moved his fingers controlling Four. “Let's begin shall we? I’m gonna make you wish I stayed gone!” The TV man laughs, sending chills to the crew. Hearing those words it clicked for SMG3, this person with Four is the man behind what happened in peaches castle. And this was round two, Three couldn't let that happen not again to his newly discovered crush. 

He takes a step forward to reach out to Four only to be stopped by Meggy, he turns confused “Three, i don't trust this. I don't think that's four anymore,” hearing this he looked at Four being moved around like a puppet. Three pulled away from Meggy glaring at the TV man in front of them “LET HIM GO!” he was beyond pissed seeing Four in this state. The man laughed, “Of course my purple friend, under one condition…you take his place!” 

Meggy and Tari gasp, grabbing onto Three, they pull him back to the group shaking their head “Three you can’t be thinking of taking this deal! It can be a trap!” Tari nods, she takes a deep breath holding back her anxiety “Four needs us at our best!” even hearing the girl's words didn't shake the strong desire he had to save four. The taste of Three desire was strong and the adware couldn't wait to get his hands on it. 

He chuckles, making his puppet Four laugh with him “As much as I love the tension I'm growing bored, if you won't entertain me then I will take my leave.” as the adware turns to walk away with four panic raised in the crew making Three step forward “I accept!” Meggy gasps hearing his words. Mario takes Three’s hand as his eyes get watery “SMG3! Please don't..Mario can't lose you.” Three gives a sad smile before pulling away. 

“I'm worthless compared to who SMG4 is, I'm just some cheap copy that manages to get his cafe filled with snails! He deserves freedom from this…he doesn't need to go through this again.”  Three walks away from the crew, he stares at the adware waiting. The screen flickers to show a relaxed smile as he releases four, the man blinks, shaking his head confused. Seeing Four back Three runs up to him pressing his forehead against his other half “Your back! Thank the memes your back,” he gently holds Four’s face as he slowly starts to remember what happened. Their eyes start to water as they both start to acknowledge this was good bye “Three…why?”

SMG3 wipes a tear from Fours face “Cause those idiots need you more than they need me, just don't waste what I'm giving you and…please…take care of Eggdog.” Four shakes his head as Three pulls away walking to the adware, SMG4 turns trying to prevent the deal from being done. He grabs Three’s arm only to be smacked away by a tentacle, the TV man smiles at them as he starts to corrupt and control three in front of them. Four growls as he wipes his tears “YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS! WE WILL GET HIM BACK AND STOP YOU!” 

The adware laughs as SMG3 stands up staring at them “I’m no one…SMG4 will always be better than me,”  Four freezes hearing the words escape the other man. The TV man laughs as he opens a portal “I do love good entertainment, if you can find your way through my puzzles well,” he points to SMG3 “You might get your little friend back!” The crew could only watch as the pair vanished through the TV. Mario walks up to his best friend nervous “What do we do?” Four remembers how Three saved him from peach's castle, he knew what he had to do.  After all Three manage to save him from his darkness, it is only fair to return the favor to the one he loves and cares about, determined he looks at the portal  “We are saving Three, and we are going to stop that TV!”

[berzahoes]

made with love | spike jonze

summary: while on a date night, yours and spike’s daughter teaches instagram how to bake the perfect brownies (and it doesn’t go terribly wrong!)

an: yes this is inspired by sofia coppola’s daughters tiktok 🧍🏽‍♀️ romy, i’m still waiting on part 2 😭 this takes place in the same universe of my past spike fics <3

you and spike haven’t had date nights in a while. you were busy trying to write the script for the batman 2 while spike was busy with vice media and he was getting ready for his directing comeback with a netflix series in the making. it was clear that a date night wasn’t in either of your schedules so when you had a day off from writing, as well as spike, you both decided it was time for a night to yourselves.

even your kids wanted you to leave the house for once.

layne, your eldest boy, told you that he would look after his sister, phoebe, while you and spike went on your date. in reality, he was only going to invite a couple of friends over and watch some movies in his room, he really wanted his parents out of the house.

“are you sure? i can call lindsay to babysit—”

“mom! i’m seventeen, i don’t need a babysitter. don’t call her, i can watch my own annoying sister.” layne replied.

“don’t remind me that you’re growing up! i miss when my babies were still babies.” you kissed your son’s cheek repeatedly.

“I think one of your babies is trying to burn the house down.” spike mentioned as phoebe tried to figure out what button to push to turn on the oven.

“phoebe, what are you doing?” you ask as you approach your fourteen year old daughter.

“i want to make brownies. grandma texted me her recipe and you know i love grandma’s brownies. she makes them so fudgy.” phoebe

“it’s this one, but your brother has to be in the room when you make them. i don’t want you to hurt yourself or burn something.” you explained.

“it sounds like you have no faith in me, mother,” phoebe quickly gave you a kiss on the cheek then ran towards spike and kissed him on the cheek too. “go before mom changes her mind about date night and leave room for my brownies!”

you playfully rolled your eyes at phoebe’s words and as you walked away, you warned them about the oven.

“i’m practically an adult. i know what to do in case of a fire,” layne assured you, which made you nervous. “not that there’s going to be one.”

“okay we’ll, call us if you need anything and if we don’t answer—” layne cut you off.

“go to the neighbors. bye, have fun, don’t do anything bad because i don’t have bail money!” layne practically pushed you and spike out the door.

soon, you and spike were on your way to your dinner reservations. it took some time, but you were okay with the idea of your two kids being home alone, after all layne was about to turn eighteen and soon he’ll want to leave and probably get an apartment with friends—

“they’re going to be okay.” spike pulled you back into the real world.

“i know . . i just worry. every mother worries for her babies. they’re our babies, spike.” you reply.

“yeah and our babies are teenagers. they don’t need babysitters, they think stuff like that is not necessary. let’s enjoy our night, our teenager free night.” he leaned closer to you, giving you a kiss on the lips.

“i’m sorry. i think once i turned into a mom, i worry even more. they’re probably just watching a movie or baking those brownies phoebe wanted.”

“have you seen ‘her’? no, i don’t know what that is.”

phoebe had the bright idea to go live on instagram while she baked the brownies. you and spike had one rule for your kids when it came to social media and that was to keep it private. you and spike were more stricter about social media with phoebe since she was fourteen, but that didn’t stop her from making a public account just for memes and jokes.

“guys, I don’t know where my parents keep their oscars, they hardly live here.” phoebe said as she started to preheat the oven. “that makes me sound like an orphan, i promise i’m not.”

@/jonzefilms: TELL YOUR DAD I LOVE HIM

“not the film bros in my live.” phoebe ignored the comment and read more.

@layne_spiegel: bring me brownies or i tell mom and dad about this account

“do my math homework or i tell mom and dad that you were the one that used their credit cards to buy the hat that willem dafoe wore in that creepy movie with edward cullen.” phoebe stated as she waited for her brother to comment back. she knew that if you or spike found out about the big purchase layne did then he would most likely get grounded.

@cinemastarsss: stan phoebe jonze for clear skin

phoebe saw the comment and laughed. of course she wasn’t going to correct the person about her last name, she actually enjoyed being called phoebe jonze instead of phoebe spiegel.

@layne_spiegel: snitch

@layne_spiegel: do you need your science hw done too? pls don’t tell them

after a while of answering questions and getting the brownie batter done, phoebe was ready to start pouring it into the oven safe container. she then saw a comment that caught her attention.

@/yourusername: hi phoebe ❤️ dad wants to know if you’re done with your brownies because we’re on our way home :)

phoebe laughed nervously. how did you find her account? it would remain a mystery to her. in reality, you had stumbled on her account one day when you noticed that layne followed it then you realized it was phoebe when the account would always post breaking bad memes that phoebe always showed you.

“hi momma, the brownies are almost done, and i hope I’m not grounded, bye!” she quickly turned off the live.

from the car, you watched as your daughter ended her live. you chuckled and put away your phone.

“at least we know who used our credit cards.” spike said.

“he’s going to be the death of me.”

[luzlopesarts]

This is not an update to the Comic, but it still has something to do with it !!!

(call it a little gift for the Wish Rewrite and KoW fandom)

Hello my little stars! How are you?

I mentioned in the last post in the series that I would be traveling for a week or two and that's why I wouldn't be working. Well I'm still traveling Lmao.

It's been a lot of fun, I'm visiting my Prince Charming and family, both of whom I haven't been to in a long time. Still, I couldn't stop thinking about KoW and Wish's Concept Arts. Disney sealed the fate of its fan artists by discarding so much good material, now they are embedded in our minds and we will not be able to rest until we see them realized. This is crazy but it's beautiful to see how much these discarded concepts generated creative potential in the fandom.

Because of all this I couldn't help but make some small sketches! And well, I came to show them here. They are not sketches of Comic panels, but they have something to do with it and I will show the photos and explain how.

This first one, very faded, are Magnificent and Amable's clothes (designed by @uva124, for the characters in @annymation's rewrite of Wish "The Kingdom of Wishes"). The drawings that Aled did are very complex, I don't judge her for that, in fact I thank her, she gave beautiful clothes to the centuries-old Disney villains and they are perfect. I really wish I could draw them with all the details, but I will do everything by hand, alone and seeking a minimally professional quality (I want to be a comic artist/book illustrator one day. This comic is my first step Lmao, and I want to do something that conveys the best I can give at the moment), so I need to make some things easier for myself. The costumes are one of those things.

" Better something simple and well done than complex and poorly done." — This is my motto for this Comic and for my life.

The next sketches are related to aesthetics. I've been watching a lot of "Analyzing the Art" videos of some Disney films and I was inspired to adopt some "Disney Style" features in my arts for this comic (not everything obviously, because I don't want to be sued by Disney lmao).

What you'll see next is me trying to mix this influence with my own style in some KoW character sketches.

(this last art specifically references a meme in which @rascalentertainments tagged me, Thanks for that, by the way! <3 )

(credits to the artist, I don't know who it is because I was just tagged in this meme and I was busy So I didn't look for more information, but I'll leave the post link and you can check the official credits)

Speaking of aesthetics. Anny received Chiara's aesthetic from someone — the north star, "daughter of Aster", created by his magic at the very end of Anny's fanfic. This Aesthetic inspired me to create an aesthetic for Asha and Aster too and these were the results:

What's your favorite?

Lmao, It took a lot of work to make Aster's. There are almost no things for "starboys" on Pinterest.

I'm leaving this up to you to share as you wish, consider it a gift to the fandom!

Lastly, I want to say that the artistic analysis videos They also inspired me to put together a moodboard for KoW and I'll be leaving it here. Not even Anny and Aled know about this and I can't wait to see their reactions! I wish I could print this painting and leave it on the wall, but unfortunately I don't have a printer T-T.

This moodboard is helping me with the artistic direction of colors, style and is a visual motivation to stay active at work.

I hope you like it too!

That's it for today, it's already midnight in Brazil and I should be sleeping instead of posting crazy things on the internet. I'm going to tag my friends and go to sleep, Lmao.

Kisses full of light and stars!

~ Emy

@wings-of-sapphire @flicklikesstuff @frogcoven88 @chillwildwave @gracebethartacc @gracebethartacc @kstarsarts @oh-shtars Come and get your therapies after the anguish caused by certain publications by Anny!