#X — DASH GAMES

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. You dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[markerm-00]

What if instead..

A food critic and a Fast food Owner meet eachother. . ?

[ Original AU called " Diner Dash " (Dead Plate fan AU By RM) ]

Did this while im trying to get through IRL Workloads 💀☝ this was a doodle that took a freakin Week to finish..

[msmk11]

Maybe

Coriolanus Snow x fem!reader

WC: 1.3k

CW: Pregnancy, giving birth, Coryo being absent, some fluff, ANGST

Summary: You love your husband, but his growing inattentiveness becomes harder and harder to handle, especially with the arrival of your baby.

A/n: I don’t think I’ll ever have it it in me to write Coryo as perfect and sweet cuz he SUCKS. So you get a little fluff here, but a lot of angst still.

Day 8 of mk’s mad dash

The last certainty your husband offered you was on your wedding day when he said “I do.”

That was a year ago.

You knew he was busy. Coriolanus was rising through the ranks so rapidly you wouldn’t be surprised if he assumed the presidency within the next five years. Of course, you were proud of him. Not only was it your duty as his wife to wholeheartedly support him, you also truly, genuinely cared about his happiness and success. But as with everything, there was a cost. In your courtship, Coryo was so very attentive, loving, and dedicated to you. He made you feel special, and you had no trouble falling in love with him. But once he slipped that ring on your finger, all of it came to a halt. It’s not that he entirely ignored you- no, sometimes you saw the glimpses of your old Coryo when he was on top of you at night, or when you went to socialite parties- but you had often been left to fend for yourself this past year.

You absolutely tried to be understanding when your husband would remind you how busy he was, and how he was doing all this hard work for your happiness, but frankly, you missed him. And was it really so wrong for a wife to miss her husband?

Your loneliness and desire for your husband only worsened tenfold when you learned that you were with child. Coryo, of course, was thrilled that you sired an heir. But with him gone all day, and often at outings at night, you saw less and less of him as your pregnancy moved along. You went through your morning sickness alone, felt the first kick alone, learned the baby’s sex alone, and picked out the baby’s room decorations alone. You were desperately hopeful that the birth of your child, your son, would bring Coriolanus back into your arms, a paternal instinct drawing him into the realm of the domestic.

So when the day came that your water broke and contractions started, though you were overcome with anxiety about giving birth, the hope that fluttered in your chest for the return of your husband far superseded it.

You were out tending to the rose garden when it happened, your long, white flowy dress suddenly soaked. You calmly rushed inside to the phone and dialed Coriolanus’ office.

“Office of Coriolanus Snow, this is Lilith. How can I help you today?” A perky, feminine voice asked.

“Hi Lilith, this is Coriolanus’ wife. Can I please speak to him?” You said kindly as you rubbed soothing circles over your swollen stomach.

“Mr. Snow is very busy right now,” Lilith told you calmly, “can I take a message?”

“Lilith, please,” you answered a little more desperately, “this is an urgent call.”

You heard the clacking of her nails against the computer, “one moment.”

The line goes silent, and you know she’s stepped away to speak to your husband. Every second you had to wait to hear Coryo’s deep voice on the other end, the more anxious you began to feel. It was really starting to kick in- you were about to have a baby.

The line crackled and then, “Darling?”

“Coriolanus” you sighed, relieved.

“What’s wrong? I’m very busy here,” he told you seriously.

“The baby. He’s coming. My water just broke.”

Your husband inhaled sharply on the other side of the phone, “Oh, okay. Okay. Well, are you alright? How’re you feeling?”

You cupped your bump gently, “I’m okay right now, sweetheart. But I imagine contractions will start to kick in soon. Can you come home?”

And then, your voice slightly broke, “Please. I need you Coryo.”

“Yes, of course, darling. I’ll be home as soon as I call the doctor.”

“Okay, thank you,” you said, voice shaky.

You hung up the phone and took a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

*****

Pain. White hot, blinding pain consumed your body and you couldn’t stop the screams that were leaving your body. The doctor was saying something to you but you didn’t care. You just wanted it all to stop.

Tears were streaming down your face and you kept shaking your head, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Suddenly, like an angel, Coriolanus was in your view, white light shining down on his blonde curls creating a halo. Your sobs quieted at his face.

“Coryo,” you hiccupped, “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

He placed his hand on your forehead, stroking your sweaty baby hairs away from your face, and your eyes fluttered shut at his touch.

“Darling, you can. I promise. You know why?”

You opened your eyes again and stared intently into his bright blue ones, “why?”

“Because you’re a Snow now. And Snows can do anything.”

“Snows can do anything,” you murmured.

Can. Coriolanus said can. The first firm answer from him in a year. If he could give you that, you could do this.

Your husband nodded at you, a soft smile on his face, “Good girl.”

He moved his hand from your forehead down to your hand and clasped it tightly. His encouragement is what allowed you to start pushing again.

As you pushed, your screams returned. But instead of hopeless, frail screams, they were determined and strong. Soon enough, smaller, whiny screams filled the air- your baby’s.

The doctor swooped the baby out from between your legs, “it’s a boy.”

Tears began to stream down your face again, but they were happy tears.

“Coryo, we have a baby,” you sobbed.

Your husband bent down and kissed your forehead tenderly, “well done, darling. Our very own baby boy.”

“Mr. Snow, the umbilical cord.”

Coriolanus stood and gave your hand one more squeeze before walking over to your baby. With slightly shaking hands he cut the cord, and then your baby boy was placed gently into his arms. He walked over to you, the softest look on his face.

“He’s here,” Coriolanus said, placing the baby into your arms.

Your son was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen, and your heart swelled as you quickly noticed some of Coryo’s features and your own on the face of your son.

“He’s perfect.”

*****

After everything had settled and the doctor left, it was just you and your perfect little family cradled together in the master bedroom of your home. Your baby boy sat cooing in your arms, swaddled in a soft blue blanket, while Coriolanus sat behind you, arm around your shoulders and head peering over you to stare at him.

“We make a pretty good baby, Coryo,” you told your husband softly.

“Mhmm, that we do.”

You leaned into his touch as your husband began to run soothing strokes up and down your side. If everything could stay just like this, you would be perfectly happy. You’d never ask for anything else in your life.

“Sweetheart,” you implore softly.

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to take some time off work, to be with me and the baby?”

His hand on your side stilled and he inhaled sharply, “darling.”

You turned to look at him, big eyes soft and pleading, “Coryo, please. The baby needs his father.”

You paused.

“And I need my husband.”

Coriolanus hesitated, and you wished you could tell what was going on in that always-running brain of his.

“Maybe, darling.”

Maybe.

The death and birth of hope.

It wasn’t a no- the word so ingrained in your brain that you saw it seared on the back of your eyelids. And in that, there was hope. Hope that you’d get your husband back. That you’d get to be a mother alongside him as a father. That everything could be the way it used to.

But maybe wasn’t a yes either. One too many times now you’d gotten your hopes up when Coryo responded to one of your requests with a maybe.

Well maybe you didn’t like his answer.

Maybe you didn’t like feeling abandoned or alone.

Maybe.

But instead, all you said was, “okay.”

[luimagines]

Can i request a thing where modern!reader teaches the chain about rhythm games?

-🍄

Yes.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"You have to hold it for longer." You explain gently.

"This too hard!"

"Because you keep doing it wrong." Legend snorts. "Let me try."

"Let him finish."

Another bad score. Another embarrassing defeat.

"This game sucks." Wild growls, tossing your device back to you.

"You have to listen to the music other wise you're going to struggle with it anyway." You roll your eyes and restart the game.

"Let me try!" Wind cries happily, wanting to snatch the device out of your hands before you can set up an easier level.

"No way! I said I was next!" Legend tries to block the young boy. You however, are doing your best to not get trampled.

Time passes without much comment, only sparing your small group with a disinterested glance before walking away.

You get an idea.

"Hey Old Man! Wanna give it a try?" You stand quickly, wanting to catch him before he decides to "run away" from the chaos you're not creating.

You see him sigh internally before turning to you, deciding to humor you. "What is it?"

"I have a rhythm game I've been trying to master." You grin with hidden delight. "Try it. It's easy."

"Lies!" Wild calls from the distance.

Time raises a cool eyebrow. For a moment you think that he's not going to do anything about it and leave you to your devices.... But he holds his hand out.

You grin and hand him the device. You teach him the way the game works ad soon everyone huddles around to watch him try and take out the level. He keeps getting higher and higher, beating boss after boss.

Everyone is enthralled with watching him.

It takes fifteen minute before he finally gets bested by one of the harder levels and hands it back to you with an unimpressed face. "It's alright."

"Alright?!" Legend all but screams. "That was incredible! How did you keep going?!"

Time shrugs and stands. "It wasn't difficult."

Four has to physically restrain Wild from throwing an apple at Time's head. Twilight and Warrior are trying to fight Legend for a turn on the game next while you're back to setting the little character back to the lower levels.

Sky continues to watch but doesn't seem to interested in giving it a try.

You grin towards Time and tilt your head. "He's not wrong. For someone who's never come close to this kind of game, you're really good at it. Got any story to explain why that is?"

"Maybe." Time shrugs.

You wait for him to elaborate.

Time smirks and walks away.

"WHAT?! Nothing!?? Not even a crumb!?"

[i-am-al-capone]

stupid x stupid

[asquareboywiththeknife]

I draw all music games I know :D (I'm too lazy to draw a background –_–)

and if possible. I will draw more music and rhythm games on this picture ;] ♡

[maripr]

Toxic yaoi the only thing keeping me sane rn

[truefandemonium]

“I’m fucked.” 🎀

[novirp13]

No, seriously. Mephiles boss fight was so dang fun for me??? Legit the first stage I want to S-rank asap.

I never liked the Doom Morph skill. While Dash and Flying are easy to do because you just have to hold the Y button for the both of them, you have to press the B button for Homing Attack BUT hold the B button for swinging around with the Doom Morph skill. My brain cannot compute with the different button input! I often lost a lot of times and rings because I forgot to hold the button to swing, causing me to fell to my death.

CASE IN POINT:

Yeaaa...platformer games are not my strong suit...

However, in Mephiles boss fight, you won't fall to your death because the area is wide and circular. The cumbersome Doom Morph gimmick was enjoyable to play there and I was grinning from ear to ear from start to finish.

Ugh, I love this boss fight so much. If Mephiles had to come back and ruin the world just so I could fight such a fun boss battle once again, I would welcome him lickety split XD

[dashflashy-arts]

1080's so good at cleaning up after people that other governments want him to do it for them 🤦‍♀️

Aftermath (if ever they'd meet):

Uncensored version of the crime scene under the cut

[buried-in-autumn-leaves]

Bitches say they love trans people but don't think I don't see how your F!MC x Qiu content is actually the most heteronormative shit on the planet.

[pink-anonymous-person]

huggies!

pose taken from this base! credit goes to the owner ⬇️

[markerm-00]

when college beats you up hard mentally 💀

Anyways Some Diner Dash AU doodles i did awhile back [ Their Q & A will open up soon hopefully ]

↑ For context i have other DeadPlate AU's i hsve yet to introduce to the world.. Cause literally out of the majority of them he's one of the sanest ones.. ( For now Coughs)

[msmk11]

Wish You Were Sober

Haymitch x gn!reader

WC: 1k

CW: booze, addiction, Haymitch is drunk (what else is new), a little fluff at the beginning, ANGSTY ENDING

Summary: We can't always get what we want

Day 15 of mk's mad dash

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Haymitch gives you a half smile, “You always know how to find me.”

“Or you’re just really predictable,” you tease, joining your blonde friend in the swaying long grass. It’s late and dark, but you’ve been here enough times that you could walk around blindly. 

“I think you’re just obsessed with me,” he says with a smirk. 

You shove Haymitch’s head gently, “You wish I was, you freak. God, so full of yourself.”

“But you love me.”

He tries to sound confident, but you can hear a hint of uncertainty in his tone nonetheless. It’s something you’ve always noticed about Haymitch- how even when he acts like he’s the most confident guy in the room, it’s only that- an act. It’s a mask that hides the insecurity buried underneath, brought about by an absent father and a tired mother pulled in one too many directions to be attentive. 

“You know I do…” you pause, “love you, I mean.”

There’s no cocky answer this time from the boy beside you. Suddenly, the air feels a lot heavier. The burden of what’s to come tomorrow- the reaping for the second Quarter Quell- weighs upon both of you like a boulder. This Quell’s twist? Double the number of tributes. The odds really weren’t in either of your favors. 

“I’m not making it out unscathed tomorrow,” Haymitch suddenly says quietly.

“Don’t say that,” you protest, tears already welling in your eyes, “You don’t know that. There’s tons of kids that could be reaped instead of you.”

The blonde looks at you so somberly, more serious than you’ve ever seen him before, “I just have this gut feeling, okay? I just know.”

Haymitch’s gut instincts are rarely wrong, so your tears begin to fall.

You rest your head on his shoulder, “Please be wrong. For once, please be wrong.”

As you cry into his shoulder, you feel your friend’s arm wrap around you and pull you into him closer. He rubs a comforting, circular pattern up and down your side and you take some deep breaths.

His hand stills, “Can you- can you do something for me?”

You look up at him softly.

“Will you kiss me?”

You’re a little dumbfounded, and the smirk that plays across his lips tells you he knows it too. 

“Can’t always get what we want,” you tease with a watery chuckle. 

But of course you can’t actually say no to Haymitch, so when he gently cups your jaw and pulls your lips to his, you don’t resist.

You open your eyes and stare out at the empty field stretching miles before you. You’re completely and utterly alone. Haymitch- your Haymitch- isn’t next to you or holding you or kissing you. That memory feels so faint and distant now, almost as if it never happened. But you know it did, and you hold it close to you dearly. It’s the only bit of hope you have left to cling onto. 

You’ve been gone long enough, and you know it’s time to return back to the village, as much as you don’t want to. So desperately you want to just go back home and crawl into your bed, returning to the peace of your beautiful dreams, but you know you can’t. You have things to do and a life to live- one that you can’t let pass by just because you favor your memories. 

The walk to the Victor’s Village is brisk and basically muscle memory at this point. You don’t bother knocking on Haymitch’s door because you know it’s already unlocked. He doesn’t bother with locks because, “who’d bother trying to attack a victor besides a peacekeeper?”

You slip your shoes off at the door out of habit, but it’s not like it really matters with how filthy the floors have become anyways. 

“Haymitch,” you yell out, shutting the door firmly, “where are you?”

You’re met with silence, as usual, so you make your way into the kitchen. He’s right where you’d left him yesterday, collapsed at the wooden table, asleep, open bottle of whiskey near his hand. You know better than to shake him awake because he will instinctually try and attack you, so you go over to the stove and bang together two pots. 

This does the trick and Haymitch jolts up, a stream of curses leaving his mouth. 

When he adjusts to consciousness, he looks over and glares at you, “what the hell was that for?”

You cross your arms and lean back against the stove, “You were out like a light Haymitch, and I’d rather keep my head, so banging around some pots was the best answer.”

“Could’ve just let me sleep, sweetheart,” he spits bitterly. 

You scoff, “Haymitch, it’s one in the afternoon, you need to get off your ass.”

“God you are such a nagger. You make up tenfold for all the years my parents neglected me.”

“Sorry I’m the only one who has stuck around to take care of you.”

Haymitch gets up and stalks towards you. He stands so close that you can smell the booze on his breath, “That’s cause fucking Snow killed everyone else, in case you forgot.”

“Not all your friends and neighbors, Haymitch. You pushed them away all by yourself.”

“You want a fucking trophy or something? Congratulations, you’ve wasted your life looking after a piece of shit, hopeless case who doesn’t give a fuck about you most of the time because he’s too drunk to care. Well done.”

Tears spring to your eyes at his confession. You already knew it, but to hear it out loud? It kills. 

Haymitch doesn’t love you anymore. 

What the fuck had you done with your life?

“You know what I want, Haymitch? I just want you to be happy. My biggest wish? I wish you were sober.”

Your lifelong best friend and the love of your life stands before you, suddenly looking more sober than you’ve seen him in a long time. 

“But I guess we can’t always get what we want.”

[amywritesthings]

WIP Wednesday

I just saw this today, @themadlu, so I will definitely use it to showcase some more of my upcoming silly/sexy fic, Press Four For More! (tropes: sex worker!levi ackerman, phone sex, slow burn, etc.)

“Do you have a glass or bottle of water near you?” The switch up lessens the tension in your shoulder blades in an instant. His voice is just as crooning, deep and inviting, but it’s nice to simply be asked. “Nope.” “Then go get one.” The demand does something to you. Without thinking twice you begin to rock up on your heels, standing at full height. “Okay, Mr. Bossy.” “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks with a sprinkle of sarcasm. “Someone who has their shit together, if I read right.”

npr: @eupheme , @inklore , @peachdues @littlerequiem !!

[anonymouscheeses]

Lowkey i dont know what else to post. So uh, have this that was supposed to just be a tiktok post. I saw some mlp x squidgame stuff and really really wanted to see rainbowfa- dash. As Thanos. And Soarin as Nam-gyu. Idk i liked the idea

Tell me if u wanna see more mlp x squidgame stuff, ive got a buncha ideas