#btes asks

[besttropeveershowdown]

How many submissions are there currently/how many more are needed for the tournament?

Hi! So, I was supposed to close submissions on Sunday, but I have been unimaginably busy these last few days and have not had a free second, so I only got to have a look at the form now. I was going to make this a tournament of 32, but we have 45 submissions right now, so I'm going to keep them open until we hit 48 (3 sides of 16) so I don't have to needlessly reject trope submissions. So, to everyone seeing this, please keep submitting your favorite tropes!

[1996fanatic]

OMG I TOTALLY FORGOT OT POST THIS LOL!!!! but here u gooo ^_^ @dogsstew

[allelitewrestlings]

[blametheeditor]

Mike is the best giant to have guarding you, even if he would totally forget about you if he put you in a pant pocket! 10/10 would let hold me

mcfries123, I couldn't agree more.

There needs to be more Mike appreciation in this household! Because he is by far the best of giants. Especially when he forgets about you in a pocket.

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of accidental death and injury. Mentions of experimenting on others. Addressing someone 'it'. Mentions of food poisoning.

Exhibit A

___________________________

“Hypothetically...” 

Scott jolts at the sound of Vincent’s voice, turning to see the purple man materializing out of the shadows, looking uncharacteristically somber as their eyes meet. 

This can’t be good. “What the hell is he up to?”

Vincent’s eyebrows raise at the want to get straight to the point. And even though Scott wants to do nothing more than berate the purple man for continuously trying to give him a heart attack, hypotheticals are rarely used between them. Because there’s no such thing as a ‘hypothetical’ in their lives, simply warnings of what’s to come. 

“Hypothetically,” Vincent repeats as he slowly walks closer. Sends the hair on the back of Scott’s neck standing straight. Not because it feels like he’s being hunted down despite being completely alone in a dark hallway at Fazbear’s Pizzeria with an admittedly dangerous man. No, it’s the slumped posture with hands in pockets and amber eyes watching him like he might disappear at any second that terrifies him. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” 

There is no stopping Scott sending a scathing glare at the taller. It falters when there’s not even a hint of a smirk, but there better be a damn good reason for asking such a ridiculous question like their lives depend on it. “Seriously, Vince?” 

“Seriously,” the purple man murmurs gravely. Steps so close he’s almost staring directly down at Scott, making him feel much smaller than he really is despite only being two inches shorter. 

Why is he surprised? Being told about his horrific death to come in the most convoluted way possible is just a normal Tuesday to him. “I wouldn’t step on you, but I can’t promise I wouldn’t make sure no one else did.” 

Vincent hums. “I’m a little hurt, Scotty.” 

“Like you wouldn’t immediately turn me into fish bait,” Scott scowls. 

The smallest of smiles lifts the corner of Vincent’s mouth, disappearing so quickly it’s almost like it never happened. “Clearly our friendship means nothing to you. But, hypothetically, what if you turned into a worm.” 

...no, that’s impossible. He can't just turn people into a worm. “Is this purely hypothetical?” 

“The worm part, yes. The size part, though...” 

He’s given a significant look that sends a chill down his spine. “I'm sorry, he’s just going to shrink me?” 

“Randomly,” Vincent confirms without any trace of mirth in his voice. “And not just you. Wouldn’t want to perform his first field test on someone much more useful when they’re taller than five feet only to realize it can’t be reversed.” 

Scott searches Vincent’s face for any sign that this is just to scare him, a test to make him reveal just how attached he has become to certain night guards, to see if he’ll go against the company just to save himself. There’s nothing except for a single sliver of fear in Vincent’s normally vacant eyes. Meaning this is real. As if the countless other experiments and the laundry list of responsibilities weren’t enough. 

“Are you on the list?” 

“Not at the moment.” The purple man raises an eyebrow. “Would you be willing to at least put me on a table if I promise not to use you as bait.” 

And suddenly, Scott’s faced with the realization there is a very real threat of his best friend being able to accidentally crush him under his shoe without even realizing. For Scott to kill Vincent if he were to never notice his minuscule form on the floor, or mistaken him for an irate gnat. For someone to mistake him as an annoying insect because they wouldn’t know something like someone shrinking could be possible. 

“What do you mean by random?” Scott breathes. 

“As in,” Vincent begins solemnly. “Who would you trust even if they had absolutely no clue you were smaller than three inches tall.” 

Mike watches something peer out from underneath a game cabinet. 

He originally thought it was a bug when he first saw it. The skittish movements when it first thought about running away from the table didn’t help its case, especially as it kept ducking back under the tablecloth before he could get a good look at it. 

But once it finally darted out into the open, he could see it wasn’t a bug. He’s dealt with too many different types to assume he just hadn’t managed to run into something that walks on two legs until now. And right before it disappeared from sight again, it had gotten close enough for him to make out hair and two arms moving in time with the desperate sprint. 

Definitely not a bug. This was his first time encountering an action figure that can move on its own, though. 

He was a bit curious. Not enough to leave his post by the restaurant doors, because the moment he does is the moment David cuts his shift covering for yet another absent day guard short and send him home after banning him from Fazbear Entertainment Center for a week. So instead he watched the shadows under the game cabinet every so often after checking to make sure no one who shouldn’t be in the building slipped by him. 

Was rewarded with the tiny figure carefully leaning out of the shadows as it attempts to wave him down. 

Mike is more than happy to give it attention considering all the hard work it put in to grab it. Even more so when he recognizes the flame of red hair, smirking with pride at how well Fritz managed to avoid having a parent scream or accidentally entice a hell spawn to grab him off the ground. Who knew the kid had it in him. 

Oh shit, wait a minute. Irish Jigs aren’t supposed to be living action figures. 

At the realization one of the assholes he’s in charge of either fucked with shit they weren’t supposed to, or something was fucking shit up with them, the need to help overrides making David happy. Besides, the animatronics at this restaurant can actually grab anyone causing a fuss. They’ll survive if he takes a small break. 

With a glance around the room filled with screaming children, Mike makes his way over to the game cabinet being used for cover. Keeps a close eye on the miniscule form, a reassurance he sees the kid and is on the way to help. He also watches to see if the kid gets spooked and races off either further into the shadows or toward him. 

Fritz doesn’t move a muscle. And when the guard is so close he needs to look almost directly down, there’s the telltale sign of blinding terror. But that’s what Mike’s for, to get the frozen figure somewhere safe until he can kick whoever’s ass needs to be kicked. 

Any other circumstance, being so scared your limbs refuse to move would be a bad thing, because there’s nothing worse than being unable to anything, even if running away seems cowardly. Today, they luck out on this being the one time it won’t get them into more trouble than fleeing, because a frozen Fritz is easier to grab than any other one. Doesn’t move a single inch as he kneels down on the floor, not even as he reaches a hand up to get the kid off the ground. 

The moment his fingers curl around the kid to scoop him up is the one instincts finally kick in and tiny limbs attempt to punch and kick their way to freedom. It’s too late to do any good though. He doesn’t know how it feels being small enough to loose a fight to a single finger, but he does know what it’s like to be the person with a substantial upper hand. And that is that Fritz is fragile. 

Mike is careful, he went for a full grab instead of pinching the kid between his fingers for a reason, but there’s no missing the painful look no matter how small it is. 

His eyes narrow as he pins Fritz before lifting his hand up. Raises an eyebrow when the desperate fighting decreases at the same time the miniscule heartbeat increases. Stares for a moment before deciding now will be a bad time to check for injuries. Not when a random kid or asshole of an animatronic can interrupt him. 

Fuck, the animatronics. If they see him with a tiny Irish Jig, they’ll demand a turn claiming they’d be better at caring for one. 

Like hell they would. And Mike was the one asked for help, not them. But how to hide it to avoid an argument. 

He glances down at his uniform, smirking when he spots the chest pocket big enough to fit a card inside, meaning it’s perfect to hide a Fritz not even as tall as his finger. And to test it, he holds it open with his free hand as his occupied one gently rolls the kid until he’s lying in his curled fingers. From there it’s a careful drop into the pocket. 

He hears a soft shriek, but as he looks down to check on his cargo, there’s no sign of pain, only a bit of terror. That’s a win in his book. 

Offering a smirk, Mike gently pats his pocket to say the kid just needs to wait a little longer. To put words into action, he pushes himself off the floor before turning toward the hallway that leads to David’s office, keeping to the walls so a running hell spawn doesn’t barrel into him and give Fritz a jumpscare. 

He makes it to an all too familiar door without incident, giving a knock as he opens it to reveal a suited man hunched over his desk. 

“Hey, Douche Bag.” 

That earns him a glare over the shoulder. “This is why I regret taking your offer on covering shifts as a day guard. Why are you bothering me?” 

And that’s why Mike isn’t going to let David have his very own Pocket Fritz. It’s a privilege, not a right, and clearly their resident douche bag doesn’t deserve the honor. 

“Irish Jig feels like shit,” he begins. “I’m taking his ass home.” 

The business man hesitates before turning his chair to properly scold the dumbass trying to leave him two employees less than he was an hour ago. That’s Mike, he’s the dumbass. “What the hell did he do?” 

Mike shrugs. “Don’t know, some hell spawn might’ve had something. Or someone fucked up the pizza and poisoned his ass.” 

“Food poison. Say it properly so I don’t get another wonderful visit from a concerned parent’s lawyer,” David growls. “And I’m not dismissing either of you. As idiotic as it was for Scott to hire a doctor, he might as well be useful for once.” 

Mike hums in thought at letting James help care for the tiny Fritz. The guard agrees on the doctor not being a necessity, but his help is appreciated every time it’s offered. 

He glances down at his pocket for input. Meets wide green eyes before the miniscule head shakes vigorously. The kid has spoken, and that’s all he needs to shake his own head at David. “There’s no stitches for Snitches to sew. I’ll take him home so the poor bastard can die in goddamn peace.” 

The business man goes silent for a moment, most likely deciding whether or not the fight would be worth it. Finally sighs long and hard as he waves a hand. “Why Scott hasn’t fired you I will never know. But fine, go. You just earned yourself a ban from my restaurant until further notice, and Fritz coming into work two hours early tomorrow unpaid.” 

Mike gives a lazy sault to say he heard loud and clear. He then closes David’s door and makes his way to the front doors, glad to get off work a few hours earlier than expected. He doesn’t mind doing favors for the others, but damn do those day shifts love cutting into his sleeping hours, especially after particularly long nights. Thank fuck it’s Friday. After tonight’s shift he’ll have a full 24 hours to do shit all but sleep. 

As tired as he is, though, he won’t be crashing until he and Fritz come up with a plan to make sure David doesn’t call James on them if the kid doesn’t show up for his shift tomorrow. 

At the reminder of why he risked getting banned, he gently pokes the shivering ball huddled in his pocket. “You okay, asshole?” 

The kid looks so damn adorable as tiny limbs flail in the attempt to stand up. It only gets better when Fritz finally manages to, only to stand too short to see over the lip. “I’m-m okay. Thanks Mike.” 

“Anytime,” he smirks. “So did you fuck with shit, or did someone fuck with you?” 

“I think the second one?” Fritz murmurs, almost too soft for him to hear. “I don’t really no what happened. I-I was going to the kitchen to run an order out, and then the ground exploded and I fell under a table tiny.” 

Someone’s definitely fucking shit up with them. If he wanted to make a bet, he’d say it’s most likely William. Who else would shrink the poor kid without giving them a heads up. The son of a bitch is lucky Mike was able to find their Irish Jig before anyone else got their hands on him or else there would be hell to pay. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m tired as hell. We’ll head to my place, see if this shit has a timer, and if not I’ll teach you how to be a badass night guard. Sound good?” 

Fritz nods his head. “Sounds good.” 

Mike has a feeling the kid’s just glad to have someone around to protect him. That’s why the guard’s here, to keep him safe while he does whatever the hell he wants to. After getting checked over for injuries. 

The rest of the walk is quiet. He checks on Fritz from time to time as the tiny figure learns the way of the pocket. He didn’t except it to be too much of a hassle, but apparently it’s a bit of a bitch to conquer. The minuscule flame of hair does finally appear after struggling for a good while to climb up to see the rest of the world. Then Mike ruins all the hard work by giving a poke to send the kid falling back into the pocket with a shriek. 

By the time Fritz makes it to the top again, Mike’s unlocking the door to his apartment. Perfect timing to let him scoop the kid up to lift up to his face as he walks to the couch to sit down. Gives a smirk at the startled expression he can now properly see. 

Without anymore distractions and no possibility of some asshole snatching Fritz away, he can finally make sure no bruises or broken bones made special appearances on this adventure. As long as the person he’s trying to check over lets him do his job, and Fritz curling into a ball as he shies away is a perfect example of that very problem. 

“I-I’m okay, Mike!” 

He raises an eyebrow. “When did that shit ever work for Jerber.” 

Fritz winces. “Never...but I’m okay, really! Promise!” 

“Don’t throw around that shit unless you mean it,” Mike warns as he nudges the kid’s side. Sees the brief look of pain before hands are attempting to bat him away. Despite how adorable it is, it’s not enough to distract him. “I know I’m a pain in the ass, but you’re hurt, and I need to make sure you’re not fucked up.” 

Nervousness suddenly turns into fear as Fritz stares up at him. “But, but you’re...” 

The quiet voice disappears as shivers start up. It takes a moment but he manages to figure out the terror’s being directed toward him. Mike leans back a bit to give the kid some space, watching the miniscule chest take a stuttering breath as the tense shoulders slump. 

“Think I’ll fuck you up more?” he guesses. 

“You’re so big,” Fritz admits, and then he’s being hit with puppy eyes as tiny arms gesture. “Your fingers are bigger than me! An-n-nd taller!” 

Honestly, he didn’t think it’d be too much of an issue. Fritz is tiny enough to fit in his pocket, but that doesn’t change the fact Mike’s responsible for him. Will haul his ass out of the fire any day and then check to make sure he’s okay even if what his own fault for getting hurt. 

Mike hums. “So you think I’d fuck you up more?” 

Fritz hesitates. Thinks it over before slowly shaking his head. “N-No.” 

Nothing else is said. Then the kid holds out his arm before turning his head away. The guard happily takes the permission to check the limb and delicately pinches it between his thumb and first finger. Feels the miniscule muscles tense as he carefully checks for any injuries. 

With a hum declaring it’s clean as he frees it, the opposite arm is immediately given. Then the legs at which Fritz stopped shaking and watched Mike work with fascination. 

Until he gets to the chest, the kid growing nervous again when he asks for the shirt to be lifted up. “I, um-m...I think it’s bruised.” 

“Let me see.” 

The puppy eyes don’t get Fritz anywhere. Finally the shirt’s lifted to reveal a dark bruise covering the kid’s chest. Mike looks it over before slowly placing his thumb over the ribcage, careful not to put any pressure. 

“Hurt like hell?” he asks when there’s no flinch. 

“Not anymore.” 

“How about your back?” 

Fritz’s brow crinkles in thought. “I don’t think so, it’s just sore.” 

That’s enough for Mike to gingerly pinch Fritz’s entire torso between two fingers. Watch for any grimaces or winces as he checks for broken bones. He finds nothing. Thank fuck. 

“Alright asshole, you’re good,” the guard proclaims as he pulls his hand away. “Was I a shit or mediocre Stiches?” 

“A good one,” Fritz grins. A grin that Mike takes as confirmation he’s finally allowed to get some sleep. 

Yawning as his hand forms a fist around the kid, he ignores the yelps in order to turn and lie completely on the couch. Once he’s settled Fritz is then set down on his chest beside the pocket he hid in earlier, just in case it’s wanted again. 

“M-Mike?” 

The worried call earns a hair ruffle Mike had been wanting to give ever since finding the shrunken bastard. Smirks unashamedly down at the tiny pout. “I’m going to take a nap. Do whatever the hell you want. Just yell if you need me.” 

“Oh! Um, okay.” 

With one arm tucked behind his head to act as a pillow, the other puts his security ballcap over his eyes to block out the sunlight before settling on his stomach. Just like that, he’s out like a light. 

Fritz doesn’t wake him up once with a yell for help. A few times unintentionally at the feeling of tiny footsteps walking across him, the most prominent one when Fritz decides to join his napping by crawling under his hand to curl up underneath his fingers. The only time he woke up completely to check on the kid was when the barely noticeable figure suddenly became too big to use his hand as shelter to keep out the afternoon light. 

As Mike lifts his hat to check on the kid still sleeping the day away despite having grown a full five feet two inches within seconds, he admittedly fells a little disappointed a pocket Fritz wouldn’t be joining him for work. A normal sized one might enjoy night guard training a little more, though. Be able to actually switch the cameras and punch the door button instead of just have to watch. 

At least David will be happy Fritz won’t be late to work. But Scott won’t be when Mike tells him about their eventful morning. 

That’s for later, though. He’ll tell his mentor tomorrow. 

Except he forgets to. Forgets about Fritz shrinking in the middle of his shift completely. Only remembers when he spots something trying to escape from the quicksand that is pop-up poppers behind the glass of the prize counter. A certain mechanic who isn’t supposed to only be worth ten tickets. 

Well shit.

[rogdona]

chester lester festerton the jester (the third)

sorry for crappy can photo, my printer bronk 😭

AOEJRURJFJRKEKFJ LOVE ITTTTTTTTT ♥️♥️💕♥️💕💕♥️💕♥️♥️💕♥️💕💕♥️💕💕♥️♥️💕 U MADE MY BOY CHESTER LDSTER FESTERTON THE JESTER III LOOK SO GOOD💗💕💗💕💗💕💗💕💗💕💗💕💗💗💕 I LOVE THE POSE QHFYRIEKR🌺🌹🌺🌹🌺🌹🌺🌹🌺 ITS GREAT TYSMMMMMMMMMM

[spotforme]

let me just talk about Ace for a bit 'kay 'cos i'm not coping well yeah?

the thing about our univerese (the one we follow) being the first one where Ace travels, is that our Rimmer is the first other Rimmer he met, he even says it's gonna be hard to find anyone as weasly and incompotent and unlikable as that Rimmer (or something along those lines) Ace started his joyrney with the worst possible Rimmer.

then, after Ace is long dead and the circulating graveyard is full of all the good Rimmers who died saving far away galaxies, our Rimmer steps in to be the Next Ace. he leaves, goes on to do the same fighting as all the previous Aces.

but the thing is, he came back, he was the only one in the chain to quit. under the facade, he was still weasly, he was the only one to be enough of a coward, selfish enough, to get out before it was too late. before he, too, ran himself to his grave for others.

yeah, it's safe to say no-one ever found a Rimmer who's more of a smeghead in all the universes than the one Ace met on his first jump. but that git is the only one who didn't leave his Lister forever. that Smeghead is the only Ace who is still alive.

[ask-theredcrown]

My lord.

There have been rumors..about how some fear your devotion to them may strain you and your vessel's connection. Do you enjoy them both equally? Or do you waiver towards an unknown face due to their words and perception of the world, neglecting your vessel, the most devoted follower of you.

These are all rumors and whispers of course, their truth is questionable. Do what you will with this information, my lord.

(ooc:no hate to LP or anyone ofc! This storyline is very interesting and nice. I can't wait to see where it goes! Also, the color thingy stopped working midway through so sorry if any colored text is inconsistent.)

"Worry not, for the bound between me and my vessel is unbreakable, and much more stronger than you might imagine that it is. The bond between me and my vessel is more than devotion, or love, or passion or those simplistic mortal feelings."

[llumimoon]

Pssst Cal in a dndads Voltron AU which teen do you think would control each lion? ,':) (yeah Hermie is included here lol there's 5 lions after all!)

BABA YOU DONT EVEN KNOW ... I ALREADY ASSIGNED ALL THE TEENS LIONS BEFORE. I'VE THOUGHT ABT IT TWICE NOW WITH LIKE A MONTHS LONG GAP BETWEEN..... You came to the right place is all I'm saying JWBEVAJHAHAHA

Okay lets get the most obvious one to me out of the way, which is Link in the Yellow Lion. Like. First of all the fact that Yellow is A LEG and also Yellow representing kindness .... I think he really does support the team and grounds them in many aspects. Also Yellow is bulky like a dnd paladin LMAO it just makes the MOST sense to me? Yellow also being the color I associate with Link so maybe that gives me a slight bias lmaooo

The rest are. LESS clear to me. I HAVE already settled on an arrangement I'm more or less okay with but I could make a lot of arguments for alternative placements !! I will also admit maybe the places I settled on are a little color biased?

The Lions DO kind of have traits associated with each one except its. much less clear in some cases than others and I had to be a little flexible bc in my opinion NONE of the teens r like . smart enough for the Green Lion JWBECWUAGAHAA like they're all smart in their own ways and I do bend some rules a little to make their smarts work as an argument but I feel like Green is more book smart than anything which makes it difficult.

Uhmmm everyone else from here on out has at least two lions I could argue for and then I'll say which one I settled on? But like if you disagree thats totally fair LMAO like I said many assignments can be considered

Scary I mainly thought about the Black or Red Lion... There's the whole. Scary's the leader! Thing and also the idea of power corrupting... but also she can be pretty impulsive which is why I considered Red, also her tendency to have fire based magic mishaps LMAO I think Scary shows a lot of growth and inner reflection and also she has good insight on how the others seem to be feeling even if she doesn't always act on it or use it in the right way, so I could see that as the markings for the beginning of a Black Lion learning to be the leader type arc? Also to be honest shes the Main and practically Only contender for Black so she ends up getting it by default.

Hermie I think could be the Blue or Green Lion. I don't actually remember if they say IN THE SHOW what the Blue Lion stands for, but like. I've read so much Lance fanfic LMAO that to me it stands for Flexibility and what is Hermie if not flexible. Maybe too flexible? In the sense of. She will fill any role that is needed or given to her, like water will. I also thought Green bc to me Hermie is a character who is VERY in his head. Like they overthink to the point of looping back around to stupid again but also shes always playing mind games with other people. Hermie seems to always be one step ahead or at least is good at pretending they are. Also you can say the nature stuff is Hermie in his poison ivy era. Green is also pretty small and easy to damage which lines up with how fragile he is in a fight and maybe you could make an argument for the camouflage being like shapeshifting? idk. Anyways I decided on Green I think.

Normal I think I'm biased bc he's my fav and Lance was my old fav and I already made a post before about how I think they're similar and would get along and ANYWAYS LMAO I think its clear I gave him Blue. Something something, the legs being the support of the team something something water meaning flexibility but also ice can be stubbornness something something how I associate Normal (and lowkey the Doodler) with water (a whole nother thing to get into u can ask me to elaborate later) etc. I also played around with the idea of him in Red as Scary's right hand bc . shakes them . I think it could possibly fit but not as well? Fire isn't really Normals thing. I also briefly considered him for Black bc Normal is usually the one pushing the group towards a certain goal, but also his plans kind of never end up going through so I was like hmm not sure about that one. Blue I think is the best fit for him in the end which is why everyone else ended up where they did.

TAYLOR. Ok process of elimination you probably already figured out that I chose Red for him BUT I also considered Blue and Green. Green is fun bc you can play with his roughish abilities, like hiding and sneak attacks. His knowledge is more obscure facts and survival skills but I think it's enough to be a contender! I cannot explain the Blue stuff its all vibes in my head but trust me . I think also leaning into, Blue and Yellow are the legs that support and stabilize the team thing, Taylor is actually pretty good at keeping a cool head all things considered. Red, yes maybe slightly process of elimination but COME ON ITS BIG SWORD AND ALSO FIRE POWERS!!! Taylor would love that shit. Also going zoom zoom fast. Also the Red Lion is the second in command/right hand of the Black Lion and it just fits Taylor's protagonist vibes LMAO I think he usually is off doing is own thing which is also very Red Lion.

So to summarize: Scary Black, Taylor Red, Hermie Green, Link Yellow and Normal Blue.

Again I could totally see the justification for shuffling them around a bit but this is the assignments I settled on? The colors lining up is also nice I will not lie. I also could see an alternate universe where Normal is Red, Hermie Blue and Taylor Green, I think thats my second most favorable arrangement.

LMAO SORRY I DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE THIS SO LONG I'VE JUST THOUGHT A LOT ABOUT IT BEFORE. AS YOU CAN CLEARLY SEE. I take sorting my characters into categories VERY seriously 😤 enrichment for me.

[elitehoe]

E&C VS YOUNG BUCKS HAS THE POWER TO CHANGE MY WHOLE LIFE

[maxwelljacobfriedman]

[besttropeveershowdown]

Hey just fyi it looks like the androids are people vs unreliable narrator poll also asks which is worse instead of better

Yep, edited. I will probably stop doing that by round 2: I'm just still stuck in WTES mode, so thanks for your patience! Going forward, just assume that for this tournament, the question is always "which trope is better" regardless of what I type.

[ilovebeatingmywife]

Heii wifey ilysm and literally anyone telling you to kys should cosplay as one of the objects that they put under a hydraulic press those text-to-speech Reddit story YouTube shorts 💞💞💞

@theyknowthaticanrock

HAIII I LOVE YOU TOO AND I AGREE BUT ITS OKAY IM BETTER YHAN EVERYONE

[allelitewrestlings]

[blametheeditor]

I need more tiny James in my life. He’s very holdable.

Agreed, he is very holdable! I think we both need more tiny James, it's good for the soul!

Content Warnings: Cursing. Trapping someone against their will. Addressing someone as ‘it’. Mentions of infestations.

And bad for Scott’s health

________________________

Scott doesn’t so much as blink when he spots something dart across the desk out of the corner of his eye. 

If he was looking over reports at Fazbear Entertainment Center, he might’ve been a little more concerned. That location is newly built and hasn’t even existed for a full year. It shouldn’t be possible for any kind of infestation to run rampant in the walls. Not when wooden beams aren’t so rotten they’ll turn to dust the moment air hits them, and the walls are properly insulated to keep moisture from seeping in. 

As it turns out, he’s at Freddy Fazbear’s, a location that’s over 20 years old and has its fair share of issues, including being overrun by rodents and pests alike every other year. At least the rats and roaches made some kind of agreement they’ll switch off who gets the run of the place. 

Scott was hoping they’ll get a break this year considering he hasn’t caught a single glimpse of antennas peeking out from under cabinets or dark shapes scattering for cover when a light is flipped on. It turns out they’ve only gotten smarter, giving him a false sense of security so he wouldn’t have pest control on speed dial until they arrived. 

They may have won this round as a collective, but he isn’t anything but experienced with one on one encounters. And as luck would have it, he had yet to get a refill of coffee.

Scott’s concentration on the financials before him isn’t broken as he reaches for his empty mug. With practiced movements, he picks it up before turning it over in his hand as he circles a line to remind him to check in against what the manager reported. Only when his trap is ready does he finally glance in the direction he saw the fleeting form disappear. 

It seems to sense his intentions, because the moment he looks at the phone is the moment it runs to find better over. If it had been on the floor or even ran over his shoe, he wouldn’t have bothered giving it so much as a second thought. It decided to invade his desk, however, in the middle of him needing to have this done by noon for Afton to review. 

So Scott effortlessly thunks his mug over the roach. Turns back to the desk at hand, satisfied there won’t be anymore distractions. 

He was a bit too quick to celebrate. Because even though nothing will be catching his eye as it scuttles over the desk, something is trying its best to get him in trouble with Afton. This time in the form of a distinct though very soft clanging sound. It’s not loud enough for him to immediately discern what is it or where it’s coming from, but it sits right on the edge of his hearing where it will drive him mad if it doesn’t stop. 

Scott sighs in frustration. Tosses his pen away before leaning back in the chair as he stretches. Once his joints have popped back into place, he finds himself turning toward the East hallway. His gaze becomes longing, wanting to do nothing more than walk into the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. 

That’s when he realizes he can’t hear the noise anymore. 

Confused, the man leans toward the desk. Feels his brow furrow as the clanging is once again within earshot. 

What the hell?

Realizing it’s coming from the desk, Scott carefully gathers up his papers to set aside. Gives a cursory look over the surface to confirm there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He then begins to open up the drawers to see if something’s rattling around. Pauses when the noise stops after the headache inducing squeal of metal scrapping echoes through the office. 

Looking down in the drawer, he doesn’t see anything that could be the culprit, proceeding to close it again before waiting. 

It’s silent. And then the noise starts again, this time distinct erratic compared to the rhythmic tempo from before. 

A chill runs down Scott’s spine. Because it can’t just be a coincidence the sound stopped when he made one, not when his actions seemed to have directly effected whatever is causing the clanging. 

Ready to pack everything up and say to hell with Afton, his eyes land on the fan. And suddenly Scott feels like a complete idiot not having thought of checking that first. It’s about just as old as the building and honestly a miracle the thing hasn’t broken before this. 

Scott flips the switch with a long sigh. Rubs his face tiredly as he turns back to his papers, snagging his pen to continue the monotonous task of reading numbers. 

Except the clanging doesn’t stop once the blades are still. If anything, it’s gotten louder, and quicker as if rejuvenated. And now, the man can almost hear something muffled added to it. 

His eyes lock on his overturned mug. Freezes as it finally clicks there’s something hitting the ceramic. 

...roaches can’t do that. 

Scott will admit fear begins to take root, unsure what exactly he managed to catch. He hadn’t exactly check to make sure it was a roach, just jumped to the assumption it was one. What else could it be? 

He stares at the unassuming mug for a long moment. It’s enough time for whatever the hell it is to start faltering, the odd sound that might as well be his death toll slowing until it finally stops. The silence is loud in his ears. 

Curiosity wins over the fear of potentially getting bit by something poisonous or releasing one of Afton’s deadly creations into the world. Besides, he’s already caught it once. If it somehow manages to escape, it’s clearly no match for a ceramic mug. 

Scott reaches over the desk, carefully grabbing the bottom of the mug with his fingertips. Slowly, carefully, he then lifts it at an angle about half an inch. Not enough space for something to squirm its way out, but enough so he can finally hear the odd sound clearly. 

“Cawthon, it’s me, Stiller!” 

Scott’s mouth drops open at the same time the mug thumps back into place. His hand doesn’t move as he’s left to sit in complete shock. Because that wasn’t, it couldn’t have been, it’s not possible. 

He did not just hear James’ voice come from underneath the mug. 

James Stiller is a young man who Scott essentially forced Afton to hire as an on call doctor. James Stiller stands about the same height as him. James Stiller could never be mistaken for a roach. 

Scott takes a deep breath. Silently prays that after 20 years he isn’t finally loosing his sanity. Lifts the mug up completely to reveal James, the one man crouched with one hand clutching a fishing hook and the other raised defensively. 

“James?” the man demands, though it sounds more like a plea than anything. 

Miniscule brown eyes rapidly blink before squinting up at him. As if he was in complete darkness just before. Which means this his real, his mind isn’t playing tricks on him, he trapped the doctor under a mug. 

“Hey, boss,” James greets. Sends a wary look above him before offering a hesitant smile. “Almost had me worried that’s how you normally punish those who interrupt you.” 

“Oh God no,” Scott breathes, horrified at the thought of knowingly trapping James like that. Trapping anyone. “I am so sorry, I swear I had no idea you were...” 

He trails off as the last few minutes finally sink in. Not just the part where the assumed roach turned out not to be one, the part about the fact it turned out to be James. Even though that should be impossible. 

There’s no way to deny it, however. The person standing before him is James. And there the phone stands directly beside the man, the receiver three times his size. 

“You’re tiny.” 

“And you’re giant.” 

Scott sputters. “James this is serious. I trapped you with a mug for God’s sake!” 

The doctor hesitates, looking tense. After a moment, he gestures above him. “I can explain. Though, I would prefer if the mug isn’t involved.” 

He hadn’t noticed he never set the mug down after the big reveal, meaning it’s been hovering over James’ head, capable of sealing him away in darkness at any moment. Scott is more than happy to set it down. Right side up so it can’t simply be grabbed to trap James again. 

Turns to the doctor to look him up and down. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’m fine, didn’t even run into the side of it,” James reassures. He seems to think something over before lowering his arms, the fishing hook glinting in the dim lighting as it’s tapped against his leg. “You know, usually people try to catch me with a jar.” 

“They what?” Scott demands, appalled at the thought of someone knowingly trapping James. And while a mug is certainly despicable, a jar seems ten times more malicious, especially with the sole purpose of catching someone. 

“It’s human nature,” the doctor shrugs. “I go against every scientific law of energy and matter conservation, not to mention it’s a bit fascinating to find a living person that’s no taller than you’re finger.” 

Scott suddenly feels sick. “I swear I had no idea what you were. I just assumed you were a roach.” 

Despite how small the man’s face is, the expression of pure amusement is easily recognized.  “Left your reading glasses at home, Cawthon?” 

“It was a glance.” 

James only gives a wry smile before it morphs into something more thoughtful. “So, you had no plans for me specifically?” 

That’s when it finally clicks. As the shock from finding a handheld James slowly fades away, Scott begins to peace everything together. From the doctor commenting about being caught before, to the fishing hook having what looks to be a thread tied around it, to the expectation the mug was used to trap him for a reason. 

James wasn’t shrunk and somehow made his way onto the desk. Being only a few inches tall is normal to him. 

God, what did he stumble into? 

Scott pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a long, deep breath. Slowly exhales as he tries to think about how he should proceed. When he’s gathered his thoughts, he looks down to find James casually leaning against the phone with his arms crossed as if it’s the wide of a building rather than something people use to make calls. 

“No,” Scott begins softly in response to James’ original question. “I didn’t and don’t have plans for you except ask you’ll be at Fazbear’s Pizzeria from 2 until 7.” 

The doctor’s eyes go wide as he stares up. Only then does Scott realize how much he must tower. God he’s a monster. “Don’t want to ask me any questions?” 

“No,” Scott growls. “I can only imagine what you use that hook for, and I would rather not know how many times you nearly break your neck in a day.” 

It’s better he doesn’t know. Or else James would be at risk of being locked away for his own safety. Never to be studied as an interesting specimen, but certainly to keep him from dying by his own stupidity. 

If Eggs is ever suddenly handheld, Scott’s locking the mechanic in a cage and throwing away the key. 

“I’ll be at Fazbear’s Pizzeria by 2,” James agrees. “Mind if I stay here until then?” 

Scott glances over at the clock, glares as 10:20 blinks at him as if to say he’s running out of time to finish looking through the financials. “As long as you don’t distract me.” 

“You won’t even know I’m here.” 

Truthfully, he should’ve known James would be distracting even if he didn’t move from his spot by the phone. But Scott is an idiot, not to mention greatly ashamed of the fact he treated someone like a pest even though it was unknowingly. He didn’t have the heart to kick the doctor out of the room. 

Maybe it would’ve been better to banish James. It certainly would have saved his heart from yet another scare when the pen he was reaching for turned out to be a living person. 

At least he had the foresight to check before he blindly grabbed. If he hadn’t, James either would’ve been snatched up carelessly or flicked across the desk. Though, he wouldn’t have needed to check if a certain shrunken man hadn’t picked the pen up so they’re standing side by side. 

Scott can only sigh in exasperation, unable to even admire the fact the pen is about twice the man’s size. “Why?” 

James shrugs, a bit too casually for someone who was almost grabbed. “Wanted to see something.” 

That earns the doctor a glare. “I’m counting this as a distraction.” 

“Means I’m doing my job.” 

“Jameson Stiller I swear to God.” 

[spokelseskladden]

GOOD NEWS I FOUND YA BOI

BAD NEWS; THEY CHOPPED OFF HIS LEGS

Naruto nooooo your boyyyy (I'm more Gaara gal myself)

NOOOOO THEY TOOK HIS LEGS???? WILL HE BECOME THE FIRST NO LEGGED HOKAGE????????

[deuynndoodles]

what do those patches on quinn’s jacket mean? (also is that supposed to be the nirvana logo on her shirt?)

they don't really mean anything, no! they were added for a pop of color and they just stuck. my friend added them when they drew quinn and i liked em enough to add em to her design

the t-shirt was initially inspired off of twenty one pilots' logo, but then i dropped it and went for a more abstract shirt that doesn't reference any band in particular