#also maybe hourglass if u squint

[bazooka-overkill]

MR SANDMAN BRAINROT EUEUUUGGHHH

okay yay brainrot won the poll. also i might psot dragon chan headcanons requested by wallet becuz yaaaaaayyy

uhhh also i dont really gaf about timelines. so if something doesnt line up time wise. ignore it. shh

ermmm cw for child fighting!! mr sandman didnt have the best middle school experience

BAZOOKA'S THOUGHTS:

i need this man so badly PLS MR. SANDMAN ONE CHAAAAANCEEEE

who typed that omg…

GENERAL SANDMAN INFO (canon + headcanon)

full name: isaiah joseph banks

birthday: april 12th

age: 31

height: 6’5” (197 cm)

weight: 284 lbs (129 kg)

origin: philadelphia, PA, USA

gender: cis male

sexuality: bisexual (might be in denial lmao. men say theyre fighting demons and the demons r bisexuality LMFAO)

family:

victoria banks, mother, alive

george banks, father, alive

no siblings

HEAD CANON TIME:

- insomniac. goes between sleeping for 11 hrs during the day and not sleeping at ALL, also explains the eyebags in his TD

- incredibly horrible sleep schedule. stems from his childhood

- also stems from his childhood but not exactly the best at socializing w other people

- somehow is friends w glass joe. don't ask me how it works they just ARE (and they may be a little. fruity.)

- has one of those light up squishy things that u hit to change the color. yeah he either fucking SLAMS that thing or gently pats it when he wants to change it. it’s a bunny for anyone curious

- goes thru the 5 min nap to the 5 hour nap pipeline. “oh im just gonna take a small nap,” then wakes up w the blankets all over the fucking room, the god damn windows r open, he’s somehow upside down, etc etc

- him and the ref have beef after his TD victory animation

- was one of those kids that would be on his knees near some mulch playing w the roly polies on the playground. he'd have like 20 in his palms in 5 minutes

- if u catch him right when he wakes up (like. RIGHT right when he wakes up) he accidentally calls people “baby.” it’s a habit he picked up from his mom and he’s pushed it back into his mind, but it slips when he isn’t exactly thinking (totally not projecting my own habits onto him guys)

- adding to the above that the person who originally found this out was glass joe. take that as you will

- he sends some of his boxing money to his parents to support them (he’s a mamas boy LEAVE ME ALONEEEEE)

- doesn’t exactly search for a relationship, believes that when he decides he’s ready for one the right person will find him

- gets dragged into world circuit outings by either super macho man or aran ryan. on the rare occasion it’ll be soda. one time they all went bowling and sandman watched aran ryan throw a bowling ball like a fucking baseball and it broke the ceiling

- knows how to make a MEAN philly cheese steak. will be mentally freak out (positively) if someone mentions they’ve never had one before. if he wasn’t so stoic he would be jumping up and down and going “YAAAAAYYYYY🎉🎉🎉” becuz he finally gets an excuse to make one for someone

- has 100% almost broken the world circuit ring's ropes (see his intermission animation in contender)

- his locker in the locker rooms is either completely spotless or dented to hell and back. bonus points if theres like. a fake succulent in there or some shit

- luvs animals. takes pics of cool animals he sees anywhere

origin backstory thing under cur bc its long

origin:

isaiah joseph banks, known as his boxing alias mr. sandman, was born on april 12th to victoria banks and george banks in the Doylestown Hospital. born to loving parents, isaiah grew up as an only child.

isaiah learned to keep to himself and care for himself very early on, as both of his parents were usually at work. they worked hard to provide for isaiah and themselves, but always put their son first. they

the time they spent at work would be made up at home, albeit this time could never be fully made up for a young isaiah. he had spent more time with babysitters and nannies than his own parents. of course, isaiah knew his parents loved him, but all the bonds that were supposed to be formed hadn’t; the time frame had passed.

the time they did spend together was… memorable, really. not in a bad way, but every moment— every waking minute— made isaiah into the man he is today.

every night, when his mother was home early enough, she would sing him a soft lullaby. when she wasn’t, his mother had recorded this lullaby onto a tape for him to listen to. this lullaby was the song that made mr. sandman: Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes. it wasn’t a typical children’s lullaby by any means, but by god he loves that song— present tense intended.

then, a problem arose: school. starting middle school is one thing, but isaiah found out how cruel children could be.

isaiah was big, to put it lightly. five foot six at age 12 was enough ground for bullying, and being dropped off by a few different babysitters/nannies in the morning only added to the ammunition.

with how big he was, the bullying never went farther than verbal harassment. soft giggling every time he talked in class, glances from across the classroom, the bullying was subtle except for the occasional direct blow to isaiah.

his boxing interest began when he was thirteen, where his parents enrolled him in a self defense class that revolved around boxing and the sort. they had found out about the bullying from the babysitters, as isaiah had been reporting what they had been saying to him. there, young isaiah learned the basics of boxing: dodging, punching, and jabs had been added to his arsenal.

isaiah had always relished in the safety of knowing that he’d never get attacked at school, but unfortunately this was false.

it was brutal really; the poor boy had been caught in the bathroom and was attacked from behind, slammed his face into the sink, and assaulted from there. it took around two minutes for teachers to hear the commotion, but they were two minutes too late.

there, isaiah was brought to the hospital. no one truly knows the full extent of his injuries, minus his parents. if you look closely at mr. sandman, his top teeth are a little crooked.

nothing exactly eventful happened other than he moved schools, and everything was smooth from there.

his boxing career began to take off when he was 17, when he met an old babysitter of his— one who had taken care of him up until he was 13. he had become a boxing coach and offered to take isaiah up as a student.

if you ever ask mr. sandman in an interview about his boxing idol, he’d most likely say his coach. that man taught him nearly everything he knows, and even taught him the dreamland express move that mr. sandman is most known for, albeit modified.

mr. sandman picked up his alias when his coach told him about the WVBA and their boxers. it was almost inevitable he’d choose mr. sandman in honor of his mother.

he had his first fight at age 18, where it went swimmingly well. records of this fight have been lost to time, but, according to word of mouth, mr. sandman nearly killed the poor man.

i gotta be honest w u all idk how to continue this. umm mr sandman meets a wvba recruiter and then uh yah.😁😁😁

[multifandom-kpop-scenarios]

HI!!! I AM CRAVING SMTH SUPER SURREAL AND CREEPY EVEN THO ITS XMAS TIME!! would u be willing to write something that kind of plays on surrealism?? ur the first blog i could think of tht might be able to do this one. if u can could u do it for han from skz because i sometimes think about ur soulmate one

Hello! I am so happy to have been able to write this one for you! I loved this request, and I really loved writing it. So, I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you for this request! Please, feel free to request again or to let me know what you think about it.

Admin Rex

(Word Count: 2116)

Also, if anyone was curious and wanted a song to listen to while reading, I wrote this one while listening to Young and Menace by Fall Out Boy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Don’t leave me!”

The cool air is the first thing that registers, hoarfrost against your skin and in your veins. A leaf rustles as it skips across its fallen brethren, whispering to each one. You push yourself up, squinting against the harsh glare of the sky. Its purple light and the smell of rotting leaves clung to you like wet clothes. Your throat feels like you just got done screaming, but your head pounds like someone just yelled continuously into your ear. This keeps happening. Why? It echoes like your voice, but not your voice.

“Why do you want to leave?” The words keep crossing your mind. Why do you keep trying to leave? Because this isn’t home, is it? Or… rather, this has always been home, hasn’t it? No…

When you inhale again, it’s to breathe in warm, sugary air. Your eyelids feel too heavy, and you can’t force them open. Sounds buzz around you until it starts making sense, like a radio that isn’t tuning correctly. You pick up on words, just pieces, not nearly enough to solve the whole puzzle. Why can’t you wake up?

“...sleep...”

                                                                                                     “Just leave...”

“...worried about...”

                                                                                                       “...dreams...”

                                 “SW∀Ǝɹp ɹ∩O⅄ O┴ ƎWOƆ˥ƎM”

Your eyes snap open and you sit up. Your eyes first land on a pen pointed directly at you and raised brows. Felix had his arm outstretched, poised to poke you with his pen, and his expression looked both sheepish and shocked. Behind him, Seungmin has one brow raised and his mouth positioned like he’s wondering something. “Good?” Felix asks first, slowly sitting back in his seat. You nod, at him, throat still aching, and you know your voice would sound all scratchy if you were to try talking. Seungmin reaches out to roll a bottle of water across the table, like he could hear your thoughts. You uncap the bottle, raising it to your lips. It never touches your lips because suddenly the bottle is full of… glitter? The dust catches a purple tint and you realize the sky is purple again. You go to move forward. Your foot catches and you can’t move it. Looking down, you realize that you’re in sand now. The purple from the sky becomes less harsh, and is reflecting away from you. An hourglass. You’re running out of time, time is running out, your time is running out.

“Come on! Come on!” You jump, hearing another voice. They’re close, but you can’t see them. Suddenly, the sand starts running from the top, pouring down like a waterfall directly in front of you. The pile builds and builds until another body drops with an “oof” and they sit up to roll out of the way from being buried by the sand. When they turn around, you feel both unsettled and comforted by the mask they’re wearing. You’re struck with a tidal wave of emotion when your eyes settle on his. He looks surprised, like he is feeling the same thing. And, suddenly, the sand begins to rush out from underneath you, and you reach towards the boy, “Grab my hand!” He lurches forward and grips your wrist tightly, and you hope you’ll stay with him this time. Or that he’ll stay with you.

When you land, it’s onto leaves that crunch loudly. A groan slips from your lips before you can stop it, and you hear a groan from next to you, like it was in response. A shadow comes over you, and you’re frozen suddenly, but when you open your eyes, the boy is standing over you with his hand outstretched. You take it, and the world spins as he helps you right yourself. “Where are we now?” He asks, like one of you suddenly had a map, and wouldn’t that be convenient? He snorts, “I wish we had a map.” And, it was like he heard you, “Huh?” He blinks at you, then, “Wha?” A flash of lightning bisects your staring contest. And, the wind, it’s cold, hoarfrost cold. “This is… different.” The boy says. He turns to you, “What do you mean?” You grumble. He shrugs, “Well, you know. It’s usually so bright. It’s too dark here.” And you have no idea what he is talking about, but you nod anyway. It must show on your face because he squints at you, “You… don’t remember.” You think, flashes of dark, spreading shadow, terror, I’m scared, I’m scared, before a warm hand is on your shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay, you don’t need to remember. It’s not important anyway.” You keep your head down, eyeing the yellow stripes on his pants. He smiles at you, “My name is Jisung.” 

Jisung, okay, Jisung. And, this feels like a charm, an amulet, something that will keep you safe. When you open your mouth to respond, he shakes his head, “I know.” And he smiles small at you before looking over his shoulder. “Okay, close your eyes.” And, why would you refuse? You’re tired, but aren’t you already asleep? 

And, suddenly, the world is warm again. There is a TV playing in the background. The cushion next to you settles as someone shifts their weight. Seungmin is sitting there and Felix is sitting on the floor in front of you. A pair of legs enter your vision, and yellow stripes, “Jisung?” You ask, feeling confusion as the name bubbles up from your throat. “Who?” Changbin asks as he stoops over to look you in the face. You feel your face scrunch up in disappointment. “Wow, okay, (Y/N), don’t look so excited to see your favorite friend.” Seungmin speaks up to disagree, and now all three are arguing over who the favorite is. You roll over, facing the back of the couch, and you’re tired again. And you’re

Falling.

                          Falling.

                                                     Falling.

                                                                                Falling.

                                                                                                                  Flying.

                               “SƎɹ∀W┴HפIN ɹ∩O⅄ O┴ ƎWOƆ˥ƎM”

And when you open your eyes again, Jisung is there next to you. He has his eyes closed, brows furrowed, lips tight. “You’re really good at dragging me back here every time you sleep.” Jisung whispers, quietly, like he’s not sure you’re even awake. “Sorry.” You say when you sit up. “It’s fine, (Y/N). You know I don’t actually mind.” You nod at him, looking around. The leaves aren’t dead, in your immediate area, anyway. Outside of this small area, the trees are bare and the leaves scratch against one another. Jisung remains still and keeps his eyes closed. He still has his mask on, as well as his yellow striped pants. You notice that his gloves match his pants, which makes you smile a bit. Like he can sense your amusement, he blinks his eyes open and raises a single brow, “Yes?” You shrug, your smile growing into a grin. He almost looks annoyed, but the twitch of the corner of his lips betrays him. You look away, taking in the purple sky and the dead trees and the grey clouds. “Jisung, why do you wear that mask?”

Jisung opens a single eye to look at you. Then his shoulders droop, and he opens his other eye, “I have to. Well, that’s not true, really, but when I am here, I have to.” You nod. So, he needs his mask here. Where is here? You think a bit, “And, should I be wearing one?” Jisung shrugs, “You tell me; This is your dream.”

And, when you blink, the sun is blinding you. You sit up, distraught, and look around your room. The sun is warm, but the quiet stillness is odd. Unsettling, even. You expect to hear Seungmin arguing with Changbin, or Felix getting worked up with his game, but: Nothing. And, you hear slow footsteps coming closer to the door. They stop just on the other side of the door, cold dead dread fills you, from your toes to your ears. Four knocks sound out, slowly, intent on making the tension thicker. When the door finally swings open, all that is there is a thick, oily darkness. Nothing more. Except, that’s not true. You see two spots that are darker than the rest that also glint with the sunlight – is it sunlight? – from your room.

“Who are you?” You ask, trying to keep your voice stable and not let it give out like it felt like it would. And, now, you hear breathing, like whatever is in the darkness remembered to breathe. Or, maybe it didn’t need to breathe, but did so any way. The glinting eyes shift, and there is some cracking that makes you wince. And, the darkness from the doorway almost looks like it's oozing into the room, spreading along slowly. It shifts again, before exhaling loudly, and you realize it said something. “What?” You ask carefully, worried about angering it. It moves again, “Marōn.” The voice is gravelly, like it breathed dust, dirt, sand in.

Marōn. Marōn. Marōn. You think about its name. “Who am I?” You shift, coming closer to the edge of the bed. The eyes in the dark narrow, and the darkness comes rushing in. Without thinking, you call out, “Jisung!” And the darkness stops entirely, slowly slinking back towards the figure outside the door. You feel a hand on your shoulder again, “Are you okay?” Jisung’s asking while glaring at the figure that recedes further back into the oily pitch black at the sight of him. When the door closes once more, and the piercing gaze of the creature is hidden, you ask, “What is that? It said ‘Marōn’ when I asked who it was.” Jisung looks over to you, “You really don’t know?” When you shake your head, Jisung reaches toward your face.

“(Y/N), you’ve looked so tired recently.” Felix pokes your cheek again with his fingers. You swat at his hand, and he smiles at the reaction. Seungmin obnoxiously sips on his drink before leaning forward in his seat, “Bad dreams?” He asks. And you shake your head, because he’s neither right nor wrong. In the beginning, it was terrifying, but, now, you have Jisung and a huge mystery you can’t solve because there is no way that you’d have continuous dreams for months on end without it meaning something. Felix looks up from the book he’s reading, “Hey, have you heard this myth…” 

Jisung is pacing when you blink your eyes open. When you push yourself up onto your elbows, he stops and drops into a squat next to you. “You really don’t remember? This?” He motions around him, at the cold and dying world you keep coming back to. “You don’t remember who you are? Not even… me?” The more he asks, the more deflated and insecure he looks. You don’t know what to say, except, “You’re Jisung.” He snorts, and shakes his head, “Well, yeah, but.” He fiddles with the gloves he is wearing. You huff, “Then, tell me. Where are we? Who am I? And, you, if you’re Jisung but also Not-Jisung?” 

“Drømmeverden, that’s what you called this place, (Y/N).” Jisung smiles, and the darkness creeps further away when he does. He always looks so bright, compared to the rest of the landscape, even when darkness is all that can be seen sometimes. You tilt your head, “I called it that?” He nods at your answer. “That’s what you called it from the day we met; afterall, this is your home.” You blink at him, and he continues to speak, likely sensing that you don’t remember, “This is our home. There are others, too, but I don’t know where they are because I left to find you.” You nod at him, vaguely remembering all those times he appeared out of nowhere, like he was searching for you. He smiles, like he’s remembering something far in the past, before it fades away. “You’re the ruler of this place, actually.”

“Who am I?” You ask again. Jisung smiles again, “I think you know, now.” You nod, you’re beginning to remember, now. Just small glimpses, like seeing a slideshow pass by through your mind. “And, you?” He purses his lips, hiding a grin, “What do you remember?” You sigh and resist the urge to shove at him. “I remember that it is just like you to quiz me at a time like this.” He laughs and you join him. “I remember the others, all seven of them. They’re probably in Yellow Wood.” Jisung is smiling wistfully now. You and he both miss them. “I remember that I – no, that we couldn’t have any of this, if it weren’t for you being here with me.” Jisung smiles shy, now, tries to hide his burning cheeks. “I missed you, Baku.” He grinned at the nickname, “I missed you, too, Sandman.”