#but the punchline is he was right. like usual. with them anyways

[chocolatmieux]

theyre being mean to gale here

[lovebugism]

Hi there 👋🏻 I've been binge reading your stories lately and I love them all! I have a request if you're up for it. Could you write one where shy!reader doesn't like her laugh because some people think it's annoying but Eddie loves it? Totally not self-projecting by the way! 🙃 Thank you!

thank you angel! please enjoy :D — eddie comforts you when he finds out an old boyfriend made you hate your laugh (shy!fem!r, established relationship, hurt/comfort, 1k)

You and Eddie sit on opposite sides of the worn, sunken-in couch — long legs bent at the knees, socked feet wedged neatly beneath your thighs. Your bare calves rest on either side of his lap while his calloused palms rub up and down the length of them. His touch is largely absentminded as he tries hopelessly not to laugh through the punchline of his own joke.

“—And I was like, ‘Boom. You lookin’ for this?’”

You think the brown-eyed look of expectancy he gives you is funnier than anything. You smile wide, hiding the sparkling expression behind your palm.

Eddie meets your beam with a boyish pout. He repeats the punchline, more serious this time. “And I was like, ‘Boom’—”

“I heard you, Eds,” you assure with a small chuckle. A mere breath of a laugh.

His frown deepens. “Oh, c’mon!” he exclaims, lifting his hands in protest. They drop back to your ankles a second later. “That was funny! That always kills with Hellfire!”

You nod rapidly, brows raised and eyes wide, like a parent comforting a child. “It was good,” you assure quickly.

“Then why aren’t you laughing?”

“So, what— I have to laugh if I think something’s funny?”

“Well, that’s usually how it works, yeah,” Eddie monotones with a flat face, nodding until his wild curls sway around his jaw. He shrugs lazily a second later and jokes, “If you’re not a psychopath, at least… You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

You meet his narrowed eyes with a more pensive gaze. Your lips purse to the side of your mouth as you jokingly ponder the silly question. “No,” you answer after a few long moments. “Not yet, anyway.”

Eddie nods like he’s relieved. “Nice.”

“There’s still time, though,” you add with a scrunched nose.

He scrunches the bridge of his back. “I’ll take that risk,” he says with a small huff before lifting his weight on his knuckles. The old couch creaks in protest as he leans over to kiss you. 

With a poorly bitten-back grin, you meet him halfway. Your mouths smack together in a fleeting kiss that tastes faintly of frozen pizza.

You settle back on the arm of the couch with Eddie’s socked toes wriggling under your thighs. His thumbs continue tracing shapes on the insides of your calves. He watches you watch the staticky television screen, too wound up about the whole thing to join in on the stupid sitcom.

The subtly overwhelming feeling bubbles in his throat until it spills like vomit from his mouth. “Do you think I’m not funny or something?” he blurts, then goes all shy right after. “Is that why… Is that why you don’t really laugh at my jokes?”

Your breathy scoff only further proves his point. “I laugh at your jokes all the time, Eds.”

He shrugs, unconvinced. “I mean… I guess. You, like, breathe really hard through your nose or whatever, but you don’t… You don’t laugh.”

“I think if you heard me laugh, you’d break up with me,” you joke and don’t think twice about how self-deprecating it is.

Eddie’s face twists at the thought — that he’d ever want to break up with you, or that there’d be a part of you he wouldn’t automatically adore on instinct. “Why would you say that?” 

You shrug with a vague I don’t know type of sound and turn back to the television. “My laugh is just weird, I guess....”

“No one’s laugh is weird!” Eddie insists. “It’s, like, the one sound people make when they’re happiest— It can’t be weird.”

You flash him a deadpan look of silent disagreement.

He caves.

“Okay. Fine. Dustin Henderson’s laugh is weird,” he concludes. “But… that’s just because he’s Dustin, you know?”

You breathe a faint chuckle at that. Almost like you’ve trained yourself to be as quiet in your laughter as you can. 

“My last boyfriend thought my laugh was annoying,” you confess like it’s no big deal. “So eventually I just kinda… stopped.”

Eddie’s soft features harden into a solemn frown. “What a fucking prick…” he grumbles like a storm cloud.

“It’s okay. I got over it. Mostly.”

He squeezes the backs of your calves with a pair of ringed hands, a warm and reassuring touch. “Well, I don’t think anything you do could annoy me,” Eddie tells you, tilting his head to the side until his wild curls bunch at his shoulders. “Just so we’re clear.”

Something in your chest flutters — like there’s a thousand moths trapped behind your ribcage. “Good to know,” you tease in the same sardonic tone.

Eddie rises suddenly, tugging at your ankles until you’re lying flatter on the couch. A squeal sound in your throat as you watch him rise to his knees and lean over you. He digs his fingers gently into the plush of your sides before you can blink. 

“Get off!” you swat at him, laughing loudly at the tickling sensation before you can help it. The golden sound spills from your lips and fills the dim trailer with so many little sunbeams. 

Your face heats at the proud, lopsided smile Eddie gives you.

“Get off,” you repeat, sterner now but still mostly playful. You’re only slightly surprised when Eddie obeys without pouting. You sit up a bit more and tug your shirt down from where it had ridden up. “And stop looking at me like that.”

Eddie fights to purse his beam to the side of his mouth. Your sparkling, unsmiling disposition is impossible not to smile at. “Can’t help it,” the boy shrugs with a stupid grin. “You’re too cute.”

Your face scrunches in disdain of his compliment. You prop your back against the couch and cross your arms over your chest, averting your gaze to the TV once more. “Just drive me home,” you grumble in protest, hardly meaning it.

“No can do, sweet thing,” Eddie says with a sympathetic sigh, dropping a heavy arm around your shoulder to pull you into his chest. You melt begrudgingly into his sloppy embrace. He presses a kiss to your hair and mumbles into your temple. “‘M never letting you go, actually.”

And, despite your very obvious pouting, you pray he never breaks his promise.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddie-week.

Not Enough to Not Know Better

Day #6 - Prompt: Dizzy/Drunken Confessions | Word Count: 1189 | Rating: E | CW: Sex, Language, Alcohol | POV: Eddie | Tags: Friends to Lovers, Drunken Confessions, Steve's Gonna Make This Happen For Them, Clothed Sex

"Is the room spinning, or just my brain?"

Eddie lulls his head to the side, trying to keep his eyes open as he looks at Steve, who is all but passed out on the couch. Sprawled out, comfortable, and for some reason, now missing his shirt. 

Eddie allows his gaze to linger, taking in Steve's stomach, and especially the thick thatch of chest hair creeping all the way up towards his neck. It's gorgeous, and lush, just like the hair on Steve's head. Eddie wants to run his fingers through both. Wants to pull, stroke, lick.  

When it peeks out of his collar, sometimes Eddie fears that he'll do something stupid without thinking it through. 

"I think we're stationary," Eddie says, and Steve giggles like he's said the funniest bit of a stand-up routine. The best punchline, saved for last. But, it wasn't that funny, Steve's just drunk. Eddie knows that. Is absolutely sure of it.

"Stationary. Station. Airy," Steve mumbles, still laughing to himself. 

"You're drunk, Harrington," Eddie says, not totally sure that he isn't right behind Steve on that. 

"A little bit," Steve answers, moving to roll over onto his stomach, and it's the most awkward maneuver Eddie's ever seen anyone, or anything, ever make. 

Steve finally gets settled in, wallering a spot into the couch, and Eddie hopes he doesn't suffocate with his face pressed into the cushion like it is. Finally Steve turns his head, laying his cheek on the upholstery.

His flushed cheek. Probably from the alcohol, or maybe he just got a little sun outside today. Usually Steve's tans right up, though. It's Eddie that has to worry about becoming a lobster.

Eddie looks at him. At Steve's chest, arms, back. It's all golden, and covered in freckles and moles that Eddie would love to count, to map.

Bite.

Eddie just takes in his body, looking down, down, down. Trying not to linger on the place where his jeans have ridden down, just a little. As tight as Steve wears them, that seems impossible, but he's seeing the waistband of Steve's underwear. Briefs, he thinks, not boxers.

His eyes are roaming too hard, and he needs to get himself under control. He starts to move them away, when Steve rolls his hips, keeping his attention. Grinding right against the fabric of the couch, and now Eddie can't look away. No way in hell, not as Steve rolls his hips in a slow, deliberate grind. 

Eddie reaches down to adjust himself in his own jeans, and Steve meets his eyes. Eddie knows he's been caught, but Steve started this first. Eddie's just fighting horny with horny. He can't be blamed. Not for this.

"Sometimes," Steve says, just above a whisper, eyes still locked on Eddie's, "sometimes I do this and think about you."

"Jesus H. Christ, Harrington. How drunk are you?"

"Enough to not care what I'm saying. Not enough to not know better," Steve says, smiling. It's lazy, and beautiful. 

"You've lost your mind," Eddie whispers, maybe just as much to himself as to Steve, but he shifts his hand, covers his own now-hard dick, and grinds against the heel of his hand.

"Maybe," Steve says, hips still moving, still chasing that little bit of death, "but it's still true."

"Goddamn," Eddie whines under his breath, and Steve keeps moving, keeps grinding, keeps looking right into his eyes, except for when he's flicking glances down towards Eddie's hand. Towards his dick.

Eddie wishes Steve was grinding on him that way. Maybe he would. If Eddie could only bring himself to ask.

Steve beats him to the punch.

"Show me. Let me see," Steve says, "I want to. It's all I think about. You. Me. Us."

That's almost enough for it to all be over before it even gets started. There's not an us, not that Eddie is aware of anyway, and only in his wildest fucking dreams, could that ever be true.

And right now. Apparently.

Eddie leans back, sprawling out on the floor, and keeps working his cock through his jeans. Now he can't see Steve, but he can feel his eyes. The heat from them.

"Well, c'mere if you're coming," Eddie says, and he hears the couch move, shift.

Eddie kicks his legs out wider, and Steve crawls on top of him, laying down, slotting himself between Eddie's thighs. Pressing flush against him. Grinding against Eddie, now. Not the couch.

It's better. It's so much better.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve's bare back, finally getting to touch all that warm skin he's fantasized about.

"Goddamn, Harrington," Eddie breathes out, pressing upwards against Steve, hard cock against hard cock, and even through his jeans it's the best thing he's ever felt. Steve Harrington can dry hump him any fucking day of the week and twice on Sunday. Eddie doesn't even need to see anything.

He wants to see, obviously, but this would be a god's plenty. He grabs at Steve's jean-clad ass, and pulls their bodies closer and closer together. 

He's gonna come. 

And he hopes Steve will, too.

Steve shifts, and Eddie hopes this isn't over, and it's not. Steve just shoves upwards, hard, catching Eddie's lips with his own. Sliding his tongue right into Eddie's mouth, and he tastes like beer, and pizza, and fucking heaven. Eddie doesn't care. Beer, onion, garlic, whatever. Bring it on.

Steve keeps rolling, and shifting, and grinding and Eddie wishes they were full-on fucking, because he feels like he's getting a pretty fucking awesome preview to what that might look like. He's memorizing Steve's movements, how fluid they are, how fucking hot. 

Top, bottom, Eddie doesn't care. He's versatile, open to anything, so long as they get to do this together, do everything. He wants Steve, and now he thinks he might get to have him.

Steve hitches, his breath, his body, and then lets out a groan that will live in Eddie's bones for the rest of his days, as he comes in his jeans, on top of Eddie.

Eddie follows, clutching at Steve's ass, holding them together, coming. Steve's breathing into Eddie's open mouth in short, desperate bursts as he tries to come back to himself from this.

Eddie gets that. He definitely gets that. 

He feels wrung out.

Then Steve laughs.

Giggles, really, flopping down on Eddie, making the mess worse for the both of them, surely, but Eddie doesn't let go. He wraps his arms around Steve's back, squeezing him, holding him close, for as long as Steve will allow it. 

Eventually, Steve pushes himself upwards, and off Eddie. Standing, and offering Eddie both of his hands, pulling him to his feet.

"I need a shower. You wanna take a shower with me?" Steve asks, yanking Eddie right into his chest, catching him. He no longer looks as drunken and unsteady as he did.

Maybe Steve was drunk on horniness as much, if not more so, than on the actual alcohol. Either way, Eddie just nods. 

Because, yes. Yes, he'd like to do that very much. 

Steve winks, and grabs Eddie's hand, tugging him towards the staircase.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

[engiebabey]

Sending in another ask bc I love ur writing style!!

I yearn for a babysitter scout

Anything you wanna do for him is fine!

:3

doing some hcs! i divided it into three parts bc i think he acts differently with different age groups of littles

warnings: talks of crying/tantrums, one mention of death, one mention of fighting, use of "big brother"

(0-2) babyspace

literally the definition of "fake it till you make it", since scout's usually the youngest of whatever group he's in (whether that be the mercs or his family), he's never had to take care of a baby before

holds you pretty awkwardly but surprisingly safe because he's scared of dropping you

will try to talk to you and expect answers until he remembers you're a baby

"so, uh, what kinda games you wanna play?" "ah?" "oh, yeah, nevermind."

gives you random objects to teeth/drool on like clean socks and spoons from the kitchen

usually doesn't like to ask for help, but if you wear diaps, he will 100% go to spy or engie and hold you up like a wet little cat and ask "help how do i change this thing"

weirdly likes making bottles. thinks it's relaxing to fill it up and feed you

favorite thing is to make you laugh. he'll do the thingy wear he tears paper to make you squeal and giggle. hearing you laugh makes him laugh

literally the only time scout has any patience is when he's taking care of you

tries putting you down for a nap and ends up sleeping with you because he doesn't want to leave you

good at calming you down when you cry

"shh, kid, it's okay, big brother's right here"

(3-4) toddlers

he enjoys that you're able to talk with him because all he does is talk

will tell you jokes and you usually don't get the punchline because it's something tom jones or death related

eats your snacks with you. like straight up steals handfuls of cheerios and yogurt bites off your table, he thinks they're delicious

tries to sneak bonk! into your sippy cup and gets yelled at by the other mercs later when you won't take a nap

tries to pay attention to you but always gets distracted, loses you very easily. by the time scout turns around, you're halfway down the other side of the hallway

makes a very poor attempt to teach you baseball, but it usually just devolves into a clumsy game of catch instead

if you won't eat, he either does "here comes the airplane!" or pretends to eat your food to make you jealous

calls his mom when you won't behave, "hey ma, how did ya deal with me when i was a kid?"

thinks it's hilarious to tickle you, will bring out the tickle monster

has a hard time trying to deal with tantrums, usually tries the distraction method of presenting toys to you. if you're really sobbing, he'll wait it out because he doesn't want to upset you further

(5+) kiddos

he's weirdly a lot more chill the older you are in regression, he feels he needs to have rules and guidelines for the littles, but if you're more of a kid, then he is laidback

huge arts and crafts kinda guy, since he likes doodling himself, it's very easy for the two of you to spend an afternoon just scribbling and coloring

you will probably spend more time outside than inside, tbh. he'll bring out balls and chalk and bubbles, anything you want to keep you entertained

will come up with a secret handshake with you (that both of you will forget within the hour and make up a new one)

so many cartoons. he likes watching them anyways so it's a no-brainer for babysitting

if you play with dolls, scout will make them fight each other

loves loves loves games, from hide and seek to the floor is lava to even just counting, he will make everything into a competition

he'll let you win on purpose though because it makes him happy to see you happy

"i can't believe you beat me again, toots! you gotta give your big brother a chance next time, yeah?"

will let you give him a makeover! if you have makeup, he'll use it, but usually it's just acrylic paint or washable markers because no one else at the base owns makeup

lets you stay up way past your bedtime, especially when it's movie night

holds dance parties in the common area oh yeah !!! they typically end up in scout trying to dance battle

banner by me :)

[aureliqs]

Huh… it’s raining

Pairing : Remus Lupin x f!reader

Warnings: well it’s just fluff so yeah, beware of wholesome cuteness

Content: Since you can’t sleep you decide to go to the common room, where you meet Remus. Something is off, and well the conversation develops into an interesting direction. See for yourself <3

“Huh it’s raining” you thought to yourself as you woke up in your bed. For some reason you couldn’t sleep anymore. That didn’t stop the feeling of grogginess to come for you. You’ve rubbed your eyes before you took a look at your clock.

Three twenty five.

You’ve rolled around in your bed, desperately trying to fall asleep again. The rain didn’t stop, even if it was calming. You felt wide awake.

Another lock at the clock.

Four thirty six.

At least you don’t have to attend any classes today, as it is a Saturday. Being tired won’t cause that many issues then. Still, the rain is only growing heavier and heavier. No one else seems to notice though. Lilly, Marlene and Dorcas are all deeply asleep.

Another look at the clock.

Four thirty eight

Oh by Godric, you won’t fall asleep again anyways. You decide to get some peace and quiet down in the common room, as there is no one you can wake up.

You’re still in your flannel pyjamas, since you don’t bother right now and they’re comfy. Your hair is still a bit disheveled as well. The wooden steps creek and crack a bit when you tip toe your way down the stair case.

Nearing the end of the stair case you make out a person on the common room couch. Another tip toe downstairs and the creek is so loud his head turns. Even if it is pretty dark, you would recognise that face everywhere. It’s Remus.

Through Sirius failed attempts at flirting with you, you got to know his friend group. Out of all the marauders, he’s by far the one you get along with the best. He’s sweet, considering and keeps to himself mostly. If he speaks up he’s full of thought and wits, and always hands out great punchlines to Sirius and James. He prefers to live in his little shell you suppose. You hang out with all of them from time to time. Remus and you help each other with assignments from time to time. Especially as he grew more comfortable with you, you noticed how outgoing and funny he is.

Huh… he couldn’t sleep either you supposed.

You’ve made your way down to the couch, to which he smiled at you. It was apparent Remus was very sleepy, but something else was off. He seemed different than usual. His tiredness overshadowed something, you just can’t pinpoint what exactly.

The rain wasn’t getting any less, and you wouldn’t be surprised if thunder would follow soon.

“Can’t sleep either…right y/n ?” he asked with a faint grin.

“Yeah, this storm is getting louder and louder. Figured I could use my time better” you gave back with a slight yawn.

“You can join me on the couch if you want, I just did some light reading.” Remus made some space on the couch for you, which you happily took.

You still couldn’t shake off this underlying tension. Something was wrong. The wind was blowing against the old windows, creating a whistling noise, as the rain continued to pour down on the roof. Despite all of this noise, the silence was deafening.

“Remus…? Are you alright ?” you ask, not shying away to look into his deep brown eyes. Remus gave a flustered: “yeah o-of course. What should be wrong?”. The tension in his voice was visible, despite the chuckle he forced after what he just said. You just made him feel like you could see right through him, and no matter what was about to be said could ever hide that.

You didn’t shy away from looking at him. “You just seemed different… I was just worried about you.”

This conversation was getting to him. “I didn’t think anyone notices me” he said looking down in embarrassment. You were puzzled. You knew Remus was less outgoing as James and Sirius, but it always seemed rather natural to him. Isn’t this just who he is?

“Why shouldn’t anyone notice you?” you replied dumbstruck. It didn’t click with you why he would think like that. You reached out your hand and put it on his arm. “Remus…”. You look up at him, while Remus is still avoiding your gaze.

“It is nothing… can you please just quit it.” He mumbles while avoiding your gaze as much as possible. Remus began fumbling on his t-shirt, which further gave away his nervousness.

“I’m sorry… I care about you…” you say as you caress over his arm with your thumb. “I didn’t want to intrude”. You decide to give him more space, therefore you pull your hand away from his arm.

“Don’t waste your time on someone like me” he blurted out, which takes you a bit aback.

“Like you?” you reply baffled.

“I am not like Sirius, or James. I’m not what they are…”

This was getting infuriating for you. Is he so blind. “Well and I don’t want you to be” you spat out in bewilderment. “They’re fun to be around… but so are you! You’re sweet, you’re thoughtful and you’re even wittier than they are. What James, Sirius or anyone else are doesn’t make you any less.”

Remus finally looked at you again, which you took as a sign to keep going. “You’ve never been anything less to me…” If you are so far in you could might as well tell him. It’s a good chance to be open about your feelings.

“I…-“ now you look down in a slight embarrassment, accompanied by the growing feelings of redness on your face

“I… I always liked you the way you are…like a lot …”. Your hand clutched onto your pyjama pants, still avoiding Remus’ gaze.

Deafening silence filled the room again. The wind and rain was as apparent as ever, but the silence between you and Remus was louder than anything.

“You..you do?”

Still avoiding his gaze it took all of your bravery to reply again. “Yeah… I do Remus”. The redness in your face was still increasing.

“I thought you liked Sirius…” Remus replied very dumbstruck. Oh he certainly was blinded by his self worth issues.

“I’ve never liked Sirius. He flirts with everyone. All. The. Time. Gladly he decreased that a lot. We were always just friends…As a matter of fact, he’s really not my type.” You dared to look up at him again.

“I’ve always liked you the way you are!” As you speak you see a small smile forming on his face, which sends you spiralling into embarrassment once again. This certainly wasn’t getting any easier. You turned your head to make this easier for yourself.

A hand cupped your cheek and turned you around, so that you were facing his gaze directly.

“I like you a lot too” he grins back, and before you get a second to fabricate another thought his lips crash onto yours, vanishing any attempt of constructing a clear thought for now anyways.

That’s all unimportant right now. The only important thing is that Remus is kissing you. His thumb caresses over your cheek, while his other hand makes his way around to your neck to pull you in any closer.

As your lips parted you’re still a bit dumbstruck. You can’t think of anything to say now, and judging the look on Remus face he can’t either. After a little silence, that felt less tense this time, Remus just chuckles a “huh it’s still raining”

The seriousness of this conversation seems so blown away in an instant. You can’t stop yourself from laughing now. All you can do is laugh at this attempt of small talk after your first kiss and reply “yeah it is.

[jane-morgendorffer]

He’s sixteen years old when his cousin introduces him to the thing that will eventually kill him. His mum, usually overly protective (and in his somewhat expert opinion, absolutely too paranoid for her own good), doesn’t even try to stop him. It’s a good thing she doesn’t, because he’s already caused her a lifetime of stress in that decade-and-a-half he’s been alive so far and it’ll only get worse when she finds out he’s fallen so deeply in love with his own killer that he’ll lie to everyone -her included- for the chance of getting there quicker.

He’s eighteen when he finally gets there. He’s spent the past two years working hard, but it’s not enough to just work hard. He’s also got to be better. Better than the guy behind him. Better than the guy in front of him. Better than himself. It’s brutal. A slow death that kills him with every day he grinds himself into the ground. But he carries on anyway. Because it’s something you either have or you don’t and he’s had it since the moment he was born. He was made for this. Has been since long before he even knew what this was. When his mum calls (which she does every week), he makes sure to tell her about the progress he’s making. How quick he is. How strong he’s getting. She doesn’t understand, always eager to change the subject to something pointless like what he’s going to do on his days off or if he’s eating well, but he thinks she’s proud. Secretly, he doesn’t mind if she isn’t. He loves her anyway and, in return, she doesn’t bring up the worry that has replaced the space he’s left behind.

He’s twenty-one when people finally start to realise what he’s known for years. He’s the youngest candidate to pass selection. An asset to not only his team but his country as well. A man destined for bigger and brighter things. He calls his mum. She says the right things, but the pride doesn’t flow as easily as it used to. Instead, she rattled on about Christmas plans and pointedly avoids the fact that he has achieved something most people could only dream of. He tells her that. Loudly. She says the only dreams she’s having these days are having him come home in a casket. (She apologises straight afterwards. She always does. And it’s easy to accept the apology when she’s there on the other end of the line, but they both know the damage is already done.)

He’s twenty-five when he starts to enjoy it. If he was good at what he did before, he’s godly at it now. Which should be the hubris talking, but he knows it isn’t. It’s not just him. He’d say the same about anyone in the 141. Not just because he loves them, which he does, but because they truly are the best people he’s ever known. It’s twisted, in a way, how easily he finds talking to them while the calls from his mum go unanswered. How easily he’d replaced one family with another. But they understand him in a way no one else ever could. And, yeah, he loves some of them differently (in a thick, cloying way that he’ll need another decade to fully understand) but it’s not more. But he still loves his mum. The same way he loves old films and the memory of his childhood bedroom. He just doesn’t go home for Christmas as much anymore. Though, the more he thinks, the less he’s sure about whose benefit that was really for.

He’s twenty-eight when he’s shot in the head while doing exactly what he was made for. It’s funny, really, in the same way that the lieutenant’s jokes are funny. Which, is to say, not really funny at all. But that’s what he thinks of in that flash of a second between being alive and being dead. The jokes. ‘Hey! What do they call a brilliant sergeant who died in the afterthought of someone else’s fight?’ He doesn’t hear the punchline, but he thinks he might hear his name being called in the distance.

He’s still twenty-eight when three men spread his ashes from his favourite spot. It’s a private affair. Words lost under the weight of what had been and what never would. They don’t invite his mum. She wouldn’t understand their grief anymore than she had all those years ago when his cousin had brought him home with a fire in his eyes.

He’s still twenty-eight when his mum buries the idea of him in their local graveyard. His teammates don’t attend this funeral. Call it same. Call it respect. It doesn’t matter either way. She’s happier without them there. If she knows the casket is empty, she doesn’t show it. It’s better that she doesn’t. It’s a nice ceremony. His favourite flowers at the graveside. His favourite food at the wake. Guests are gentle with her in a way he never was. It’s an honour they say. But she doesn’t understand that any more than she understands why this had to be what he was made for. And maybe that’s better. It’s too late for her to convince him of anything else now anyway.

[vanyzvat]

A NICE SURPRISE

Summary: Anti feels a little down on his birthday, but as it seems, (some of) the Ipliers already had something in mind to fix that!

Notes: There are some heavily implied self-destructive behaviors from Anti (You know how he is with knives), so be warned. Also there's like, a scarily realistic cake of a head, if that bothers anyone lmao??

Lastly, I'd like to express that I don't usually write for the Ipliers, like at all. I think this is actually my first time writing anything a bit more "advanced" with characters like Wilford and Google. I apologize in advance for any mischaracterization!

If there are any errors, please let me know!

It's dark. Empty.

Anti's sitting on the floor by himself, and in front of him, two skulls, one smaller than the other, with candles on top of them.

The fire is causing the wax to melt and slowly drip down the bone. Anti's humming happy birthday to himself.

He's smiling, but part of him is bitter. The others always gather together to celebrate each other's beginning of existence, and yet here he stands, alone.

He has a purpose to fulfill, he knows, and he definitely won't be regretting his decisions any time soon. Not like he can even feel regret anyway.

He's powerful, he's all-knowing, he's admired, he's feared, he's... Alone. But it's fine. He's fine.

...When did the candles snuff out? He must've gotten lost in thought.

...

He buries his face in his hands and lets out a heavy sigh.

His existence matters, he repeats to himself, he's what people stick around for. There are people celebrating, it's not like nobody cares or something- So why does he not feel it?

His knife glitches into existence in his hand. Ah, the lovely memories of Jack- Jack, who no longer exists. Is this what Chase felt like when he lost his family? Boo. This sucks.

He's staring at the blade.

He has no cake to cut, but he can still cut something. Cut something so he's no longer bored, so he can remind himself just how above everyone else he is, how much this doesn't impact him.

He raises the knife, blade facing his neck. He remembers the people loved this one. They talked about him for a very, very long time.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and it's... Wilford? What door?

...Wilford just opened a door into the void. It's okay, he does that sometimes.

Anti immediately lowers the blade, acting like he was just playing around with it.

Behind Wilford, are... Two others. Anti could tell one of them was here prior to even seeing him, just because of the all too familiar ringing that engulfed the room.

...They're all wearing stupid party hats.

“Suuuurpriiiiiiiiiise!”

Wilford brings his gun out from behind him, and fires in the theoretical air in celebration. Instead of a bullet, confetti shoots out, falling in the air.

“Oh̡? ́Ẃhaţ's t́he s͟p͝ec͝ial occ̨a̛sion?”

He smiles, pretending not to know.

...Wilford freezes up as he looks at Anti, his mouth agape and his gun still aimed at the air.

“Your birthday!”

He sounds so sure, but after Anti's reaction, he's starting to honestly doubt?

“It... It is your birthday, right? I- I even wrote it down so I could look at it whenever I forgot! Look, I've got it right here!”

Wilford pulls out something from behind him again, this time a calendar, which he opens and flips through until he gets to October.

“See? Right here, in the big red circle.”

He aggressively pokes his finger on the date of Anti's birthday, which has been circled with a red marker.

“N-N-No, it is today. He's just being a bra-a-at as per usual.”

Google walks up to them, interrupting. Dark trails up as well after realizing he stayed behind.

Google's not entirely sure why he's even here, considering that just being near Anti completely messes with his system.

“Ẃa̛y to r̨uin t͡h͟ę ̀fùn̷.”

Anti smirks as he rolls his eyes.

“No, it's not "fu-u-un", Wilford actually has a hard time re-e-emembering things. Last time I checked, it is considered impolite to use so-so-someone's condition to make them the punchline of a joke.”

Wilford places his hands on his hips as he stares at Google, clearly offended.

...

“What I mean to say is, you're being a bi-i-itch.”

“You don't speak on my behalf, metal man! I can remember things just fine, thank you very much.”

...Darkiplier coughs, bringing attention to himself. When Anti looks at him, he raises his hand to wave.

“H̴e͞llo̢, "Dam̶ien".”

Dark smiles, and lowers his head slightly as he places his hand on his chest, bowing.

“It's good to see you alive and well,”

He heavily emphasized, still smiling through his words despite his sarcastic tone. Anti's own smile faltered.

“Not͞ muc̕h else I can do, r̕eally. I ca̢n't j͢us͏t go di͡e in a di̶tc̨h, ev͏en if I wa̸n͢tèd to. Not ́humàn.”

“Well, then it's a good thing you don't want to.”

Suddenly the air is... Tense?

...

“...Anyway, we have another surprise for you.”

“Oh̵?”

Wilford suddenly covers Anti's eyes, and he hears someone, probably Dark, snap their fingers.

And when Wilford pulls his hands away, Anti is greeted with the sight of a circular table with four available seats, all with their own plates and cutlery, alongside some mystery drinks...

One of the chairs is fancier, positioned in the middle, and in front of it, a silver platter with a tray covering its contents.

Anti's mouth drops slightly as he looks at everything, over and over, blinking in surprise.

“Sit,”

Dark speaks up and, when Anti looks back at him with a dumbfounded look, pinches the bridge of his nose.

“You know where.”

“R̛i̶g͟h͡t̀- Right.”

Anti snaps out of it and walks over to the chair reserved for him, followed by Wilford, Google and Dark picking their own seats.

For some reason, he's reluctant to sit down.

Dark raises a brow at him.

“Why are you hesitant?”

“I͟'ve juśt, err- Nev̨e͢r had s͟omet̷h͞in͏g l̛i̕ke thi͞s happen t͞o m̛e.”

“I thought people lo-o-oved you?”

Dark almost smiles, considering he, too, would probably say something like that- But any sign of a grin is immediately wiped off his face when he notices Anti's unchanging expression.

He's not reacting. He's just standing there, taking it. Why is he just taking it?

...Anti finally sits down, and sighs as he reaches out for the handle of the tray.

“Oh, and before you say anything, it's cake.”

Anti shoots Dark a confused look, before finally lifting the tray off the platter.

...Oh.

It's Chase's head. Or, at least, a hyperrealistic cake version of it. He understands what Dark means now.

“Sooooo? What do you thiiiiink?”

Wilford rests his head on his palms as they balance on the table, blinking repeatedly at Anti with weirdly defined eyelashes.

“Having the head of your enemies served on a silver platter sounded like something you'd enjoy, so we went with that!”

“It was the d-d-dark one's idea.”

Thankfully Dark was only just beginning to pour this mystery drink in his glass, because he would've spat it out.

He glares at Google, who doesn't react. Dark can't tell if he genuinely can't understand he's playing with fire here, or if he just doesn't care. Probably the latter.

“I̧ n͟ev͘e͞r͏ kne͠w I wąs̛ in̡ y̵o͞u͡r h͢ead̀ that mu̕ch.”

Part of Anti is genuinely surprised that Dark was thinking about him, like at all.

...Dark's eye twitches.

“Yes, well- I had to think of something that at least somewhat resembled your... Likeness. I can't interfere with your story, so this is as close as I'll ever be to giving you the real thing.”

Wilford chuckles before he speaks.

“You know what they say! You can defy death, but you can't defy good taste!”

No one says that.

...

“Th̴a̴nḱ yo̡u.”

Dark smiles.

“What was that?”

“I͜ said̨ t̷hank yòu.”

“Ah. Like music to my ears.”

“There is n-n-nothing to your ears besides ringing.”

Dark lets out a sigh of annoyance at Google's comment, but reminds himself that there are other things to prioritize right now.

“Now- Let me do the honors.”

“Sit down. I will cut the cake.”

Google interrupts just before Dark can get up.

“I've already cal-cal-calculated how many pieces I can cut this into.”

Dark is honestly a little hesitant, knowing Google's past... Attempts at AI generated stats.

But maybe that will get a smile out of Anti, so he decides to let him do it.

“...Okay, suit yourself then.”

When Google grabs a knife, Anti can't help but stare. Stare and think.

Dark must've been looking at him, because he began repeatedly tapping his index finger on the table until he got his attention.

Eventually, everyone is served a piece of... Chase. Chase cake? Cheesecake?

...Google can't eat, but he served himself a piece anyway, just to feel included.

Before anyone can dig in, Dark places his hands on the table, pushing his chair back and standing up before taking his glass in his hand.

“I'd like to make a little speech, for the man of the hour.”

Dark gestures to Anti, who cringes and hides the side of his face behind his hand.

But he's chuckling.

“Òh, si̸t ba̕c̵k dów͏n. You look͞ stupid.”

“Ah ah ah. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity,”

“So, I'd like to say that I am glad to be present in this very moment. Present in front of my equals, my friends.”

“We've got all day and night, an endless supply of food and drinks. Let's enjoy a feast made for a king!”

Dark raises his glass.

“A feast for a king!”

Wilford, too, gets up, holding his own glass that he clings with Dark's. Google doesn't move from his seat, like an actual jerk.

For a moment, Anti wonders if he deserves such a grandiose celebration.

But then he quickly remembers he's Anti, the Fandom favorite, and he loves the attention! So he gets up, and clings his own glass.

When everyone sits back down, Anti is looking at Dark, Wilford, and Google. Dark and Wilford are smiling, chatting away as they eat their cake. Google isn't saying anything, but he's listening.

“You know,”

Wilford turns to Anti in the middle of his conversation with Dark.

“I was gonna get you a present, but this one didn't think my pocket knives were good enough!”

He points at Dark, and Anti fakes a gasp.

“Ho̧ẃ dare you do̷ t̡hat, Da̸mi̷en! Sham̷e on you͏!”

“I- You- I never said your pocket knives weren't good enough! You know why knives don't make a good gift! Especially to Anti!”

“I can h̢e͠ar you̕, you ̀kn͏ow.”

“Oh yeah? Well, even if you didn't say that, that's what it felt like!”

Wilford crosses his hands. Dark facepalms, defeated, and Anti's quietly giggling.

It was an honor to get to be casual with them, really. Even if Google didn't take much of a liking to him, he's happy he's here too.

...Hm.

Maybe he wasn't completely above wanting some company, sometimes. And maybe he did want someone to tell him nice things every now and then. There's no problem with that.

...

What a nice surprise.

[friendlyengie]

I would love to hear ur hcs about the mercs sleeping habits (including ur OCs ofc)

ive always wanted To draw something for this but ive never had the like. Idea to do it in a way that would land the punchline. But basically on their days off I think Engineer is up until sunrise and Demo sleeps until sunrise and they sometimes catch each other in the middle but otherwise they wont see each other until theyre forced to start waking up at the same time again for work.

Anyways . Specifics. Hm.

Medic- trying to write this out for him I’m torn between “despite the way he is, Medic’s sleep schedule is shockingly consistent” and “he surgically removed the need for sleep out of his brain when joining Mann Co. and now sleep is like a recreational activity for him.” I genuinely think it could go either way.

Sniper- sleeps a solid 8 hours and still manages to pass out standing up during mission briefings. I don’t think his sleep is particularly pleasant, easily startled due to spy anxiety. But during his inappropriately timed naps? He could sleep through the base exploding probably.

Scout- Shockingly well put together morning person if he gets to sleep on time. Usually the second person up after Soldier to go on a morning run and shit. But if his sleep schedule is thrown an hour off track it all goes out the window. Drag his out of bed and he goes right to the couch and back to bed.

Heavy- With the way he lived growing up I could see him really having trouble with sleeping. Not easily startled, but very restless. Type of guy to occasionally have a “Something is Very Wrong” instinct kick in at 3 am and is perfectly aware that trying to get back to bed afterwards is a lost cause, so he’s learned to commit and has a handful of things that he does to pass the time instead.

Engineer- great at giving well thought out advice on why sleep is important, follows it unless he doesn’t. Celebrates his ability to keep himself on a good sleep schedule for a few weeks by letting himself go multiple days with no sleep if he feels like it’ll be “useful” for whatever he’s working on. Started to cap himself off at a 72 hour maximum after a 5-day streak resulted in the genius decision making that went into getting drunk and lobbing off his hand (And then remembering he probably should’ve had Medic around, or a proper gunslinger prototype built before doing so.)

Pyro- probably sleeps but always seems strangely and immediately attentive if you go to wake them up.

Demoman- respects his sleep schedule and expects you to as well. Fuck your all nighters, he knows how comfortable his bed is and he’s taking it. Hours vary depending on how much he’s been drinking, which will also determine how well he participates in the “guy who can just kind of fall asleep anywhere” club.

Spy- I feel like the only thing worse than sleep paranoia about spies is being a Spy trying to have a proper sleep schedule. Less as a result of his current job and more as a result of the many jobs hes taken in the past, I’d think Spy’s developed serious paranoia to letting his guard down in most regards, sleep included. Smoking supposedly “helped” the issue way in the beginning, most definitely just exasperates the issue now. Usually walks around the base with clear intent as to not be heard by anyone, so he’s probably got most of them convinced he sleeps pretty routinely.

Soldier- Consistently, on the dot, like clockwork. Not always the first to bed, but always the first to wake up. Wouldn’t wake up if you launched a bomb through his window but if you tried to gently nudge him to wake him up he would attack you like an enemy combatant and now you have to fight him and win.

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

RINGPOPS!?!

ring pops aren't just a sweet treat; they have enchanting effects on pop trolls. Consuming one of these luminous candies could send them into a euphoric high, their colors glowing intensely as they bask in unparalleled joy and vivacity. However, this delight comes with a catch - their perception becomes skewed, their laughter a little too loud, and their dance moves a bit too erratic, leaving them in a blissfully dazed state.

As Floyd descended the stairs, he was met with the surreal sight of Carol indulging in a ring pop, her expression bordering on euphoria. Yet, what struck him even more was the nonchalant attitude of his companions; Barb and Riff were engrossed in their own discussion, seemingly unfazed by Carol's sugary treat.

"So, like, Dad's being totally unfair," Barb complained, her voice laced with frustration as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

Riff, ever the laid-back presence, shrugged in response. "What's the deal with the bat thing anyway?"

Barb sighed dramatically, her annoyance palpable. "I've been dropping hints left and right about wanting a pet bat, you know? But every time I bring it up, Dad shuts it down. It's like he's allergic to fun or something."

Riff chuckled, his eyes hidden beneath the brim of his beanie. "Maybe he's just not a fan of nocturnal roommates."

Barb rolled her eyes, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, because a king of the rock trolls can't handle a little winged friend. Please."

Rebel, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chimed in with her signature deadpan delivery. "Maybe he's worried you'll name it something ridiculous."

Barb shot her a mock-offended look. "Hey, I have excellent pet-naming skills, thank you very much."

Floyd watched the banter unfold with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment, wondering how he had stumbled into such an eccentric household.

Carol zoomed over to Floyd's side with the agility of a caffeine-fueled squirrel, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of mischief and concern. "Hey there, Pinkie! You're looking all sorts of twisted up. Did you tangle with nightmares, accidentally nudge the doomsday button, or come to the stark realization that our existence is a cosmic joke with the punchline missing?" Her words tumbled out in a rapid-fire stream, leaving Floyd blinking in bewildered silence.

In response, Floyd, still trying to acclimate to Carol's whirlwind presence, simply gestured towards the ring pop she was fervently enjoying. This prompted a pause from Carol, her head tilting in confusion. "The... candy?" she echoed, clearly missing the point of his concern.

Gathering his thoughts, Floyd ventured a question, tinged with apprehension. "Carol... just how old are you?"

Carol struck a dramatic pose, as if she were about to announce the secret to the universe. "Ah, the mystery of my age! Let's just say, I've been around the block fifteen times, but in rock troll years, I'm practically a legendary artifact. Behold, the eternal teenager!"

"YOU'RE FIFTEEN!? AND ON RING POPS!?" Floyd couldn't mask his horror, his voice echoing his shock.

The rest of the group turned to look at him, their expressions a mix of amusement and confusion, as if Floyd had just revealed he believed in mythical creatures.

Rebel, who had been observing the exchange with her usual reserved and unflappable demeanor, finally spoke up. Her voice was calm, almost a whisper, but it cut through the confusion with ease. "What's wrong, Floyd?"

Floyd turned to her, the shock still evident in his voice. "It's... the ring pops. In the Pop Village, they're not just candy. They... they're like, really intense. They make you brighter, happier, but also kind of out of it. It's like being on a constant sugar high but magnified. We're told to stay away from them unless it's a special occasion."

Rebel nodded, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts on the matter. The room fell into a curious silence as everyone processed Floyd's explanation, the seriousness of his tone contrasting sharply with the laid-back vibe of the moment.

Carol chimed in, her laughter echoing through the room like a mischievous melody. "Ring pops are like cocaine for you guys!"

Floyd's eyebrows shot up in confusion. "What's cocaine?"

Carol's eyes widened in mock surprise. "You don't know what cocaine is?" She turned to the others, her expression incredulous. "Guys, we've got some educating to do!"

Riff leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Cocaine is a drug, Floyd. It's like... super intense. It makes you feel really energetic and happy, but it's super dangerous. It can mess you up bad if you're not careful."

Barb nodded solemnly, her eyes wide with seriousness. "Yeah, it's not something you want to mess with. Like, at all."

Rebel, as usual, remained quiet but observant, her gaze shifting between the others as they explained. Finally, she spoke up in her calm, measured tone. "So, just stay away from cocaine and ring pops. Got it, Floyd?"

Riff, popping his back with a series of satisfying cracks, casually dropped a bombshell into the conversation. "The only people I know who mess with that stuff are total party animals. You know, like Sid... and Carol here."

Rebel's face instantly shifted, her usually stoic expression melting into one of disbelief, almost as if she'd just witnessed a confession to a high crime. She turned slowly, her gaze fixing on Carol with an intensity that could cut glass. "Explain yourself," she demanded, her voice calm but carrying an edge sharper than any blade.

Without missing a beat, Carol burst into a fit of laughter, her voice filling the room with its wild, untamed timbre. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a bag of ring pops towards Rebel, the colorful candies flying through the air like a rainbow scattering in the wind. "Catch me if you can!" she taunted, bolting out of the house with the speed of a cheetah.

Rebel, momentarily stunned by the sudden shower of ring pops, quickly recovered her senses. Her eyes narrowed, a determined glint sparking within them as she dashed off in hot pursuit of Carol, leaving the others alone.

Barb, circling back to the conversation that had been so abruptly cut off the night before, turned to Floyd with a mix of curiosity and determination in her eyes. "So, about my question from last night... are you gay?"

Floyd, maintaining his composed demeanor, offered a thoughtful reply. "I really don't care what anyone is. I only care who they are," he said, emphasizing the importance of character over labels.

Barb, undeterred and possibly missing the point, leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So like... ultra gay?"

At this, Riff couldn't help but interject, an eyebrow arching in amusement and confusion. "Why are you so interested in this stuff, Barb? I mean, last week you asked me a similar question because of my bandana."

Caught off guard and visibly flustered by Riff's question, Barb's cool façade crumbled. She started to sweat, her eyes darting around as if looking for an escape route. Without another word, she bolted upstairs, the sound of her footsteps thundering across the floorboards. The slam of her bedroom door echoed through the house as she yelled back down, her voice muffled by the distance, "I'LL NEVER TELL!"

Floyd and Riff exchanged bewildered looks, a moment of silence hanging between them as they processed the sudden outburst. "Well... that was weird," they both agreed, the understatement hanging in the air, filled with unspoken questions and a shared sense of bemusement at Barb's mysterious behavior.

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

This has been my shortest chapter, but i promise its important to the lore of the story for later on!

[frankenjoly]

17 + koulaine

27 + lemon futon

57 + mushiranpoe

koulaine + 17 | poison (annapantsu's cover)

So far beyond difficult 

To resist another gulp

Come to think about it, something she had done so quite a few times, putting an end to whatever that was would be the best for both parties involved; of that Kôyô had no doubt.

And yet, both kept seeking each other’s company.

Well, ‘company’ might not be a full-fledged euphemism, but also didn’t properly explain their relationship at all. Long story short, Verlaine and her interacting in pretty much any context which didn’t involve official mafia work always ended up in sparring, a makeout session that most times than not went way further than that… or both, usually but not exclusively in that order.

So there they were once again, with him being the one straddling her over the bed for a slight change, in the process of untying her obi before she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled Verlaine closer for a kiss.

“Do your best,” Kôyô said right after, as the obi’s knot got fully undone and she got rid of his jacket. “Or I might stop visiting.”

“I could say the same, you know?” As it usually happened, since taunting each other like that was how their previous quarrels tended to die down. Or escalate as they got intimate, that was a possibility too. “Since you wouldn’t enter here anyway if I don’t want to.”

Anyway, both talked just to talk, to get a reaction out of the other, and she knew that; if there was a constant between them, it was how getting entangled was going to be the end result no matter what.

lemon futon + 27 | my demons (caleb hyles' cover)

I need your help, I can’t fight this forever

I know you’re watching, I can feel you out there

Katai was trembling, both due to cold and fear; struggling to breath and with his teeth clattering, moving seemed like a titanic task right then and there, so it stood to reason he was going to remain there till he could either put himself together or someone came to his aid.

And the possibility of any of them happening in a short term timeframe were…

… Apparently higher than he had expected, given how barely a moment after thinking exactly that, Katai felt the familiar warmth of his futon being wrapped over his shoulders. Then, when he had the cloth secured by clutching onto it for dear life with one hand, the other got swiftly grabbed by the person who had helped him, guiding him away in a quick but easy to follow pace. Also, surprisingly enough, the relief striking his whole body didn’t wash away when he finally noticed who said person was:

No other than the Port Mafia’s volatile bomber-- well. As if he didn’t know him by name at that point.

“You looked like you needed an exit.” Kajii said, technically unprompted. But Katai was sure the question was written all over his face. “So I’m providing! Besides, no offense, but you’re not made for being at the front like, at all.”

Despite everything, Katai laughed a little.

“None taken, it’s true.”

mushiranpoe + 57 | helpless (hamilton)

One week later, I’m writin’ a letter nightly

“Dear Yokomizo,

Things became pretty hectic since last time I wrote to you, but calm has delightfully returned. A lot has changed, though, but I cannot really say I don’t like it.

I have recently gotten into writing myself, thanks to the encouragement of two… new friends, I’d say. Maybe more, to be honest, since I basically got asked out the other day. Heh, bet you’re jealous as hell-- alright, that might be an exaggeration. But, do you want to know something funny? They’re a detective and a mystery writer! And here I thought the universe didn’t have a sense of humor.

(It does, and the punchline’s me.)

Anyway, don’t laugh at me from wherever you are, because I might as well surpass you as a writer. And who will laugh then? Point is, I’m currently living my best life, I kid you not. In fact, I could even say I’m getting so popular I won’t even remember or miss--

Whatever. I also should tell you I have a new job too. Yes, different from what I was doing when we met before… before you were gone. A bit chaotic, but the pay sure makes it up for it.

And I’ve discovered a cafe you might have liked. Yes, also because of one of those two sweet souls my presence is blessing and…”

(Also on ao3.)

[jaywaslost]

"What do you want?"

Sypnosis:

"You went through all that to save me y'know, help me out, stabilize my soul and everything?"

Killer was undoubtedly grateful for the events that occurred leading up to his freedom, thanks to Colour he had a life he could try living on his own. The other put his everything on the line for his sake when he didn’t really have to.

"So there must be a reason right?"

Oh.

---

"....Sooo what is it that you want from me?"

Up until a few seconds ago, Colour his attention focused on the television in front of him. A show was playing, of course, recommended to him by Delta for so called “exciting plot twists” or whatever he said (not like Colour was all that focused at the time, busy trying not to trip on his shoelaces that he was too stubborn to stop and tie.). Unsurprisingly he wasn’t alone, Killer was huddled up to him in a blanket, previously drinking a cup of what seemed to be hot chocolate that was now abandoned when he asked that question.

It hung in the air, an unexpected disturbance to their comfortable peace. Colour’s expression morphed to one of confusion as his flame turned a light blue shade, flickering calmly in the air.

"I'm sorry??"

Colour raised an eyebrow, turning himself to face the other. He wondered if this was another one of Killer’s jokes. He had a strange sense of humor at times which often left others questioning things, often including but not limited to their sanity.

"Nah don't be, what do you want me to do?? For you I mean" the man glanced up at him, eyes empty as that void, with an expression almost blank as ever meeting his own. The way he spoke made it sound like this was something to be expected, completely normal. The colourful man was wondering if he had missed a punchline of sorts, or if this was just another thing he forgot people did while in the void.

"I..don't get it" Colour admitted, shifting almost uncomfortably as he waited for any sort of explanation. His confusion was only deepened as Killer went silent.

Killer frowned at the response, shifting in his blanket to sit up and grab the remote, pausing the show. The characters were in the middle of some sort of banquet, it seemed? Nothing that mattered at the moment, so whatever.

“Well..” He dragged, trying to piece together some words that would explain what he was on about. Killer was never the best at explaining, never usually needing to do so as he just took commands rather than gave them. He never bothered explaining much about himself either, seeing it pointless if people were not planning on taking anything he said seriously anyway.

With a sigh, he tried to force out a coherent sentence to explain his train of thought.

"You went through all that to save me y'know, help me out, stabilize my soul and everything?"

He was undoubtedly grateful for the events that occurred leading up to his freedom, thanks to Colour he had a life he could try living on his own. The other put his everything on the line for his sake when he didn’t really have to.

To Killer, he was his saving grace. He freed him from Nightmare, the shackles keeping him bound to the man and his old life previously feeling unbreakable suddenly felt like they never existed. It took a long time, a lot of risk and effort but in the end their planning worked and Killer never felt more seen.

To him, Colour was the reason he is still living.

That was an opinion they often disagreed on quite often, the man made it clear he saw himself as nothing of the sort. To himself, Colour was nothing more than an ordinary person who actually did something anyone else could have done or at least should have attempted. It was no act of heroism, simply what he called minimum decency.

"I'm following" he nodded in hopes to encourage Killer to continue.

"So there must be a reason right?"

Ah.

Colour paused once more, slowly nodding his head before looking back at the one engulfed in the blanket (speaking of which they needed to get a new one, a bright yellow did not fit the theme). He didn’t miss the way Killer sounded a little more hollow, like he was waiting to be let down.

"...There is one yes" He confirmed.

-neither did he miss the way Killer’s gaze strayed from him, a new cold feeling taking over.

The taller one continued,

"And so I'm asking what you want me to do for you, kill somebody? Myself? Serve you? Do your dirty work? Get somebo-"

Eyes widening in shock, Colour cut him off almost immediately.

"No! What are you on about?"

Slightly startled, Killer stopped talking for a few minutes to regain his composure. It seemed like he was too straight forward, or perhaps Colour didn’t get it just yet? Maybe he needed more of an explanation as to what he meant?

"Why else would you do that for me?" Killer joked, suddenly finding this entire situation funny. If he had a knife on him at the moment, he’d have started playing around with it (a habit he developed once under some sort of stress even if he was unaware, Colour noticed) but fortunately none were around.

Having completely forgotten what they were up to earlier, Colour only cupped his face and turned it back towards himself while looking slightly….agitated? Huh, his flame was slightly less calm too. A wrong word could very possibly turn that into a burning inferno, definitely not something Killer saw outside of battle but it was mesmerizing in his memory.

Colour shook his head as it diminished once more. He didn’t let Killer’s face go, instead running his finger against the other’s jawline.

"Because I want to see you happy?" He answered.

Killer blinked awkwardly, the response taking him off guard. It would be a lie to say someone ever told him anything like that before, let alone so openly. Colour didn’t let him go as he processed those words, phrasing what he would say next to convince the other.

"..huh?"

Killer smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. It looked slightly forced, a way of showing he was unsure what to say next. Seeing his inability to respond, Colour continued his sentence.

“Your happiness matters more than you realize. You’ve gone through more than anyone should have to bear, and it’s taken its toll on you.” He expressed, keeping the other’s gaze locked onto his own. Although his voice held sympathy, it had no pity. That was something Killer would be sure to remember, he was grateful for that.

“I don’t expect you to do anything for me, I don’t WANT you to do anything for me Killer. Do you understand that?” Though meant to be reassuring him, a timely reminder of how differently Colour’s priorities were placed, the man sounded more empathetic than angry or upset at him.

The words held a gentle insistence, a request for Killer to let his walls down just this once.

Killer felt..strange.

He didn’t understand. What was he missing? What did Colour see that he didn’t? Usually he’d laugh in the face of whoever tried speaking to him like that. Hell, he temporarily blinded Swap when he tried to reach out to him. M̶a̶y̶b̶e̶ h̶e̶ s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ g̶o̶ c̶h̶e̶c̶k̶ o̶n̶ h̶i̶m̶..

He felt strange, part of him wanted to just leave and never come back, run to the corners of the multiverse where no one would find him. A place Colour couldn’t see through him and point out his problems. Likely stage 3 and 4 mixing, neither of them were with the idea of letting him interfere at all..

Another part of him wanted nothing more than to cry in the other’s embrace, to finally let himself let out what has been choking him for years. His chest felt tight, the room suffocating. Stage 1’s emotions getting out of control t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶'s̶ n̶o̶ r̶e̶a̶s̶o̶n̶ h̶e̶ s̶h̶o̶u̶l̶d̶ b̶e̶ f̶e̶e̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ t̶h̶i̶s̶ i̶t̶ h̶a̶d̶ t̶o̶ b̶e̶ s̶t̶a̶g̶e̶ 1̶.

This was nothing like he had expected, maybe he thought Colour would ask him to at the very least……….anything! He could’ve asked him to do anything and yet instead he’s rejecting the idea of even having that choice at all.

He felt sick.

Killer didn’t deserve this.

He knew he didn’t deserve this.

Why should he get to cry openly? Why should he be the one to get comfort for it after all he's done?

Everything he got into was due to his own decisions. A conundrum of his own making, these are merely consequences to stupidity and self pity.

His expression shifted back to the smile from before, only less…

It was eerie, carrying a certain hollowness that almost made Colour’s spine shiver.

The expression felt like a mere imitation of what a person may do, far too empty to be an actual living being. His eyes were untouched by it, carrying a completely different feel to them. Cold and distant.

“Why?”

The only word that left his mouth after 10 minutes of pure silence. It was unsettling, carrying a weight heavier than one should be capable of. It was like he was fighting an inner battle with himself, the absence of words feeling alien all-together instead of something intentional from him.

Colour’s hands changed their position, pushing Killer to lay down against him instead. It was painful seeing him this way, but he had no right to be the one to grieve at that time, Killer was their focus and he will stay that focus.

“How about I ask you a few more questions instead hm?”

Not saying another word, Killer nodded.

“Do you think I deserve happiness?”

How straight forward.

Killer shot up again before being pushed back down by the other’s hand, almost offended he asked that question at all.

“Why wouldn’t yo-”

“I think that reaction is enough of an answer, leading to my next question. Why?”

Successfully flipping Killer’s question around, he waited for an answer.

One that didn’t take long to come.

“Well there's a ton but you saved me, helped out plenty of others too ‘n stuff or whatever..” His face was now buried in the blanket, whether that was embarrassment or something else Colour would think about at a later time.

“I didn’t save you, I just helped you get away like anyone should have done. But back to the point here, some people might disagree. That’s normal, but everyone is deserving of happiness, no? Some may think you did something big to deserve it, some may not but at the end of the day it’s the same thing.”

Once again, that warranted no response.

“You are just like everyone else. Did you do things wrong? Yes, I can’t deny that and won’t. Does that make you any less deserving of it? I don’t see a reason for that.”

Killer shifted around under the blanket, still giving no sign he was planning to say anything to that.

Colour continued, in hopes of seeing a reaction.

“Everyone has regrets, you are no different. Your hands are stained with blood, but take this. What you have gone through, your life up until now, very little of it was truly in your control. Very little was really up to you, you are putting in the effort to be someone. Someone better”

Still, not a word.

“You’ve had to be strong the entire time, but now you can relax. A reward for your years of struggling with all of this, allowing yourself some happiness will not erase what you’ve been through nor will it make you weak.”

Killer moved the blanket off of his face, but he didn’t look up at the other’s face just yet.

That’s alright, progress was happening.

“You will not be weak. You don’t owe me a thing. You’re a person like everybody else, and you deserve the same chances.”

A subtle tremor passed through Killer, the last words in that sentence shook him awakening feelings he didn’t know he still had.

It was not weakness he feared. He didn’t want to be vulnerable, to be taken advantage of once again.

To have less debts was to avoid being a tool for yet another person, Killer wasn’t sure he could take being one again.

He did not feel like a person anymore.

Years of being a way of carrying things out, an errand boy with more regrets than worth.

Colour’s words.

The way he spoke.

What he said.

Killer wasn’t one to fall for lies, everything the other said he believed in entirely.

He finally had it in himself to look back up at him, by now the colour of the flame on his head having become green.

Colour wasn’t looking back at him, rather at the mug he long since abandoned.

Things were finally peaceful, he was…loved.

Deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve anything Colour gave him.

He didn’t deserve this peace.

He didn’t deserve the happiness the other was bringing into his life.

..Maybe, this once, he could allow himself some of the pleasure.

He could indulge a little bit. Just this once.

The least he could do to repay the other was getting better, afterall.

Maybe this was a start.

Colour’s hand made its way to his head, stroking it once again in hopes of making him focus more on the physical feeling and what was going on around him than the turmoil in his head.

…Just this time, he let himself be.

He was okay, he will be okay.

Colour was there.

[jinnaizaemon]

Done with second movie, and just about done with the first one now! ...My main motivation for this was that I really, really wanted to translate that one exchange between a Dokutake guard and Doi:

- Huh? Aren’t you one of the part-timer aunties? - I’m not an auntie!

of course she's too young to be called an auntie, how rude.

It's usually tricky to translate made-up names, like the medicine featured in this story, especially when the name itself is part of the punchline... But here the original is 軽身剤, keishinzai, whose characters spell literally "light", "body", and "agent/substance/drug". So... Light body agent. It works just as well in English. Now puns are even trickier, and Nintama is full of them. I try to adapt them as much as I can so it doesn't disrupt the watching experience (most of the time I tell my very kind proofreader/editing friend good luck with that!, actually...), but sometimes there's just no way to convey a pun without a long translation notes, as much as I try avoiding them. Which is why I end up making posts like these on tumblr lol. I'm just ranting atm, but later I plan to make a post for each movie, going through them chronologically with translation notes and my own commentary. One such pun that made me ?! was this one, when Kirimaru warns Rantarou that Happousai is after them :

Happy-Holiday is also climbing!

(...the line in the subtitles we'll end up publishing might be different if we find something better LOL)

In the original, Kirimaru calls Happousai 冠婚葬祭 kankonsousai, a four kanji characters compound meaning "an important ceremonial occasions in family relationships". Kirimaru, you're ten, where did you even learn that word. Anyways, he only kept the -ousai part, so I kept the Happ- part myself. ....A holiday is an occasion to meet family right...? So it works..right?!! Hah....... Nintama.......

Anyways, it's a fun movie with great bits of animation, and it's from a time where the cast was much smaller so the featured characters each get a lot of time to shine. it has a lot of Hanko!! Hankoooo!! I'm excited to share it later!

"konjou, konjou, ashita no joe!" has been looping in my brain since. i keep wanting to say it. that random line was just too fun

[manda-kat]

i have a creative question for you actually, idk if this is something you can help me with but how do you become obsessed with your characters? i think part of my slow writing progress is just that i'm not so excited about the project that i go out of my way to make time for it

Honestly that's one of my big problems too. Usually the reason I switch between projects so much is because I get bored of the current one. But I can tell you the things I do right before I get excited again and maybe they'll be a good place to start at least.

So I usually will be listening to music and imagining my character's singing or being animated to the song. That's a pretty common one I think.

I also do that thing where I imagine scenarios with my characters as I'm in bed trying to fall asleep. Usually I either imagine whatever happens next in the story (getting some work done in advance!) But other times I'll imagine things I know would never happen and only suit the mood I'm in. Because sometimes my mood isn't suited to the characters I want to think about. So if I want a story about a zombie apocalypse my characters can do that for a bit. Or if I want to have that story where they're trapped in the snow and have to cuddle for warmth. Or maybe two characters have a contrived reason why they absolutely have to kiss each other and- Uh. Yeah normal things. Not bad fanfic about my own characters.

I'm also down to change them at a moments notice if I think it'll make them more enjoyable to me. My tastes have changed and I don't find the same joy in ideas I used to love. Happy, for example, has gone through a ton of iterations and because of it I still want to stare at him doing stupid little things because he makes me happy. I've changed his backstory so many times. He started as a punchline in a comic strip. A bad comic strip. Then he became a vaguely fruity stalker, a cute sidekick, a traumatized punching bag, the comic relief, a blatantly fruity stalker and now he's whatever he is now. I may change him again tomorrow if I feel like it. Obviously with something I intend to publish I have to get some sense of canon, but I try not to become attatched to details that may be holding me back from being obsessed.

Also I base a lot of my OCs off of dreams I have. I think that also means they have connections to my subconscious fears and concerns.

I also try to watch or read things that are similar in genre or style so I get more inspired.

I don't know if any of this helps. I'm not sure I'm great when it comes to motivation considering starting and stopping projects again is my brand at this point. Honestly- you made your characters for a reason so there's something in them that tickles your brain just right. So if you're not feeling it, maybe chop them open and find those things and then make those parts bigger and more catered to your personal brand of obsession. That'll probably also help you build charaterization when writing too. Idk.

Anyway- goodest of luck on the writing! Thank you so much for saying such amazingly nice things to me! I treasure you!

[donnerpartyofone]

So what happened yesterday was, I had stupidly run out of the methylphenidate ER dose that I'm currently on, and decided to take two of the lower dose that I had left over from before. (Ironically I completely flaked on a doctor's appointment for the first time in my life when I was supposed to get the current script refilled, I just got so sick I forgot what was happening, but if you're going to flake on a doctor's appointment I guess it might as well be an ADHD appointment) I thought that the "slightly higher" dose from the two pills wouldn't bother me, I mean I've taken drugs before, but about half way through the day I was suddenly struck with a jarring, physical panic. Fortunately my blood pressure cuff thing didn't say I had to rush to the hospital, but I remained on high alert for the rest of the day and night, which may have colored my perception of what happened.

(don't get too excited, it's just weird)

I took the ferry to see my friend's demonic horror movie (the ferry is a highly underrated form of local transit, it is awesome especially on a rainy night), which was cute, and I love being at the movies even though you always run the risk that other people will taint your experience. Even the religious dogma of the Alamo Drafthouse doesn't stop people from being assholes, and sure enough as soon as a couple of young women (early 20s? idk) sat next down next to me, I started to smell this hot, spitty, artificial sweetener smell, and I realized oh no this bitch is chewing gum. I have a good amount of misophonia and gum is my enemy in any circumstance, but the girl was fully snapping the gum and blowing bubbles for the first 15-20 minutes of the movie. (She had to get rid of it when their cookies arrived) That was a tough one because even if I were the kind of broad who picks fights with strangers, it would be hard to win a fight about chewing in a business that is serving food...but anyway when the server came through to get them situated, they had some sort of altercation that left them both in hysterics. The second the lights came back on they both started ranting about how the server was sooo mean to them because apparently when they sat down one of them took her shoes off, and she was told to put them back on. This girl is going "I'M GONNA LOOK THAT UP AND SEE IF IT'S A REAL RULE! I BET IT'S NOT EVEN A RULE!" as if "no shirt no shoes no service" hasn't been a national punchline for decades and it's just a random and petty punishment that certain eateries uphold to be perverse. I guess also when the guy asked to pre-swipe a card for them so they wouldn't have to pay in the middle of the movie they didn't understand him and that made them mad, and then they were mad that he put the cookies on "the wrong table" (the one between them) as if they weren't both eating them. Like ok guys, I was young once, I too have been rude and been mildly corrected by an adult and been so humiliated that I had to make up a big story about how the adult is an insane person who hates me personally. I was 12 once, too. But holy shit you are old enough to get into this late R-rated movie, do your parents usually take you or what the fuck is your problem?

So as I was leaving I looked up the best way to get home (too late for ferry) and the apps were all giving me a big red Storm Warning warning that I had never seen before and suggesting that trains were running very irregularly or not at all until tomorrow. Outside it was warm and misty, not remotely as stormy as it had been when I arrived. What was going on? I got lost going to what was supposed to be the station with the earliest train, went into the station with the MOST trains, and just decided to just take whatever train came first going in the vaguely-right direction. The world outside the theater seemed to have become very apocalyptic while I was in there, and I was intensely watching my back. When I saw a tall thin woman all in black shuffling down the platform, I did a double take; my first impression was that her face was covered in blood. When I looked again I saw that she had bright red, very wet makeup of some kind smeared from her nose to her chin. The rest of her face was covered in a similar substance that was pitch black. She was not white, is the only other detail I was sure of. I couldn't evaluate the situation. Is this a performance? Is she dangerous? Is she in danger? What should I do? My train came before I could figure it out.

gif by @brody75 stupid tumblr wouldn't give it to me normally

A few stops later, the apps said that I should go outside and get a bus that would come in 25 minutes. Ugh, but at least it's coming. As soon as I got outside the apps said that I should have stayed underground and taken another train that was coming in 1 minute. I couldn't even run back in for that because the machine had done something fucked up to my card when I tried to refill it and I was forced to use the transfer for the bus, oh fucking well. So I'm waiting for the bus and I see this other bus coming from the opposite direction with its display flashing "EMERGENCY - CALL 911". I've been living here for a long time and I had never seen anything like that. Was it a real instruction for me? Or was it one of our cop-obsessed mayor's many advertisements for the cops that seem to be everywhere, constantly telling you where are the nearest cops to every location and how you should go find them and give them something to do? The bus pulled up to its stop across the street and I could see that there was just one passenger on it. It seemed scary. A load of people got on at that stop, I wanted to think at least one of them had a uniform on but I wasn't sure. At that moment my bus pulled up. I let everybody else on first and then I told the driver, "That bus across the street is flashing a CALL 911 sign." I thought he would know what to do. Drivers seem to look out for each other. He just stared at me. It was the blankest stare I'd ever seen. He didn't move and he didn't make a sound. I repeated myself and I pointed "That one, over there, is he ok?" ...or whatever I said, I was kind of freaking out. He just nodded, once, and kept staring at me. Then he put it in drive and I sat down.

also @brody75

I had wanted to spend all night working on this project I'm under deadline for--I might as well with all the extra amphetamines in my system--but I could no longer concentrate. I felt like I was in Jacob's fucking Ladder. I also felt like a complete asshole for not helping anyone. I don't know. I never know what to do. I'm constantly getting lost and I have no money and I'm small and clumsy and I don't feel safe with strangers and I don't automatically trust cops and I'm also fairly stupid and cowardly and I don't know how anything works. It's hard for me to imagine taking charge of any situation even when it seems like the choice should be obvious because of instructions or just decency. Also when you start helping people when do you stop? I often think of this standup bit by [cancelled comedian I don't want to argue about] where he describes a younger relative visiting him in the city for the first time, and she's shocked by the first really dire homeless person she sees in Port Authority. She goes rushing over to him and when the comedian stops her she says, "You mean he doesn't need our help?" and he says "Oh no, he needs you desperately! We just don't do that here." And I mean yes, ha ha cynicism, but it's more like how do you even begin to deal with individual instances of a problem that is so huge and ubiquitous that even the large support systems in place can barely handle it. One time in the dead of winter I posted a picture of a pigeon that was so puffed up it was hilariously huge and spherical, and someone scolded me about how "that's a baby" and if I see it again I should transport it to a rehab center. They obviously didn't understand the scale of the photo and must have mistaken the puffery for juvenile down, but it's also like, if I start helping pigeons when will it stop? I've helped a number of animals either get out of a snag or get to rehab when they were obviously incapacitated or sick, but if I lowered my threshold of intervention to "a pigeon that looks cold or uncomfortable", it would never end. Technically probably every rat and pigeon in the city needs some kind of medical attention, they say rats here have diseases that haven't even been identified by science, but what's the actual, rational response for individual citizens?

Anyway I have totally ruined my own weird freaky spooky one-crazy-night anecdote with this awkward musing about what people are supposed to do for each other, and I have made it very clear that I am terrible in an emergency and do not help people. And I'm already imagining arguments with tumblr randos who are always handing out authoritative ethical advice about what to do in every situation, in a way that reveals that they have no real life experience of their own. And now I need to like get to my stupid telehealth visit with the doctor I flaked on last week, and stop being insane, and go back to work. I don't really know why I write these things down. I guess I must have to.

[i17iskillingmylife]

Stupid question, What did you imagine regarding a sequel of psychonauts? Like, before it came out.

will be real i am not the largest sequel individual. that is to say, i did not desire one when one did not exist. and i also wasn't thinking about it on account of there wasn't one. there's all kinds of things to be saying and extrapolating about raz and his world and his life after the events of the first game but that's more like naturally intuiting simple facts than it is thinking about a "sequel". which is something i didn't think about.

would be kind of cute though if it had been set, at least partially, in a less-immediate but not too distant future. (it's fun if some time passes but i don't want them to redesign him i've only seen ONE older raz design that's really….him……you know…..) pn 05 is so seasonal, it really feels like muggy hazy summer in that game, so it would have been fun to have another game where the camp is similarly kind of a "hub" world but is recontextualized in winter. surely there's some fun to be had redesigning the landscape not only visually but in terms of layout….snowdrifts and ice could block / grant access to new or preexisting areas. they could make raz wear a warmer outfit that's different from his usual one and i could look at him in it.

was also a little scandalized at how they treated the water curse. it's at it's best when it's real and not real - first game kind of implying that it's all in his head is charming, second game bluntly confirming that it's basically nothing and means nothing is boring. kind of makes his whole background crumble…sorry DUDE your parents raised you to believe CRAZY thing NOT REAL…..it doesn't have to be real either it's just more fun to think he grew up being very scared of this curse that may or may not actually mean something. and it's cute, too, to think of him growing up and not really ever getting confirmation on how real it is or not….he's eventually going to leave his family to go be a psychonaut, right? it's funnier to keep that curse-fear around. and it makes his upbringing less of a lame punchline.

also just so you know. in my beautiful new land that i am creating now for you there will be no gay and weird retcons of raz's backstory.he really really really does not need to be a special boy with special connections to whatever his whole deal as a guy is infinitely better and funnier if he's just some completely random kid. i don't want him to be special!

with these rules in mind i thin k i can generate an idea of the sequel i would have visualized if i had visualized one before the existence of one had been foisted upon me.

raz could go back to camp a little later, like a year or two or something, and it's winter or fall or something now so he's maybe wearing like a different weather-appropriate outfit. it's novel and cute but true to his nature and probably doesn't fit great. maybe he's got a little scarf on and you can get different ones. anyway he goes back to camp and starts a relationship with a forest animal or something. has to only be one, raz could never and would never practice polyamory of any kind. i'm taking it at face value that lili is a trust fund kid and it won't work between them long term they are destined for turbulent years of on again off again coworker romance that keeps sparking and fizzling out under various circumstances. so he can date some squirrels or foxes or does or whatever on the side. could at least be a solid b-plot or something. non-optional sidequest? whatever. when you first arrive you can wander around or whatever. sashas lab should be immediately accessible and you can go bother him and sheegor (who is voiced by jenny nicholson or someone like that now since tara strong had that really bad car accident). one of these guys can be the first level i guess. sasha should still whinge at you about obtaining consent before thrashing minds but raz should be more openly flippant about this after the cutscene like there's just no way he actually gives a shit about any of that he is far too confident in his own ability to intuit the correct course of action in any situation to care about the consent or comfort of others.

the asylum etc you can get to pretty soon but first you have to get like a saw or something to cut through the ice to free linda. actually maybe linda has passed away and instead of her you get carried over the ice (unneccessary; --> ((joke)))by a bunch of her little babies who she told about you and they love you and have funny little voices. my boss' boss' ex wifes name is linda lol. the asylum is kind of no big deal here on account of it being the last level in the first game. you should be able to ice skate around it and do little tricks that benefit you in no way and do not add to the story at all. probably loboto should be here just like chilling out or something he can be a level you can do. probably this should just be the same as the level he got in rhombus of ruin but like an actual real game that you can play and have fun in and stuff. that was a good backstory for him it's funny if he's sadstuck.

the story should involve brain theft for power generation again because it's a charming and distinct motif and i like when raz steals them back and gives them strange wet kisses. but this time maybe the evil individual in question is enforcing a beam upon the victims that causes their brains to leak out of the ears? the villain should be an electrical engineer or something like that this should be an individual who takes things. designing this thing visually is difficult for me but what i'm thinking is kind of an incarnate of jenkins, the thing what takes, like the real life jenkins but we can just put him in the game and have him wearing an electrician's outfit and he's there and he's the bad guy. just like in real life, jenkins doesn't work superfast or have a really explicit goal, but he does kind of slowly take over everything you know and leaves darkness and lightlessness in his wake. so to add some urgency i think victims of jenkins should become infected with somethingin the cavity where their brains used to be. some kind of fungus or something. there isn't an actual timer on this it's just kind of a concept in the story that makes things feel like they matter more later on. you explore and encounter RANDOM INDIVIDUALS and help them in their various plights and in return acquire items that allow you to progress. you have and maintain the point and click moe it doesnt go away it's there, right there, with you in the room the whole time. i don't have specific level ideas but i have worked out mindscape designs for several different characters from other franchises, most famously spades slick from homestuck so i think it's cool if he's here too maybe you find him in a bunker or something with his crew and connive / force your way into his mind with dubious if any consent and find yourself in hsi strange mind level with lots of slimy black goop all over a card-themed subway and city and mobster-themed brain enemies. that's just my idea i don't think it could be that hard to get hussie on board with this because he obviously doesnt really care that much about the midnight crew anyway.

anyways the plot should be really straightforward you fend jenkins off and save whoever and then the game ends. post credits cute images show razs new life with his forest animal life partner. here's some images i created of the romance sequences one of them is in first person

[internet-girl-friend]

Am I too old for The Dare?

Allison (bookmark this name, you'll be seeing a lot of it) and I had been looking forward to this show for literal months. We have standing plans every single Friday that we call Leopard Print Night. It was borne of a night spent in jazz clubs, rolling around on the ground, and on the brink of a blackout. Allison woke up with a repeating event in her calendar that neither of us could remember making for the life of us. This is probably another blogpost in and of itself.

So anyway, The Dare show landed on Leopard Print Night and we had grand groupie plans. We met up at her place, pre-drank a bit, and filled a mini bottle with Patron. We intended on going to a restaurant that we knew artists who play Fortune Sound Club usually go to before their shows (I won't tell you other groupie bitches which). "DD he's literally right there." I turned and there sat The Dare at the table directly behind where Allison and I were sitting at the bar.

Here I am thinking fuck yeah this is going to be way easier than I expected. WRONG!

I buy a shot and send it over to him so as not to entirely interrupt his dinner... Now, what I am about to tell you is horrifying. But apparently, I am more dedicated to journalistic integrity and a funny story than I am to self-preservation and convincing all three of my readers that I am cool; otherwise I would take this shit to the grave.

The server delivers the shot, points to us, and The Dare turns around.

"Thank you!" he says.

"No problem!" I say. But I don't stop there. I start to say "Well, one of us is going to have to change," because I dressed up as him for his show, as did like basically everyone else, pur) but he's already turned back around, and so not only did I make a stupid joke but I also said the punchline to the back of his head and within earshot of a bunch of other people. NO. GAME. fml.

I cut my losses and Allison ends up making me laugh so hard throughout the entire meal that I fully cry off my already-messy Indie Sleaze Heroin Hot inspired makeup.

We join the queue to get into the show and it occurs to me that I might be an old hag. Everyone is seemingly 19-21 and stunning. But they're all smoking so HA! At least by the time they're my age they'll have caught up to me and my forehead wrinkles (I am literally only 25).

We are early -- halfway through the first opener... A little bit of a party girl faux pas but whatevs. The humidity slaps us in the face as we walk in and it smells of sweat, smoke, and vape juice. It is imperative that Allison and I dance immediately. The floor is already packed and everyone's already fucked. The lady behind us is apparently wasted off of two beers and two sips of an Ole, the rest of which she was spilling on our heads. A group of three or four girls next to us all smoked a communal cig inside and, in spite of all the times I peered over at them, didn't offer me even one puff! These bitches were messsyyyyyyy -- it was awesome.

The opener, Taylor Skye, was a damn freak. He was mixing old French showtunes with movie dialogue with dance tracks. I loved it.

People in the crowd, on top of being messy, were also like, pretty rude. They'd talk about you at full volume and use your head as a tripod for their phone. I wonder if the generally low age of the audience resulted in a lack of understanding of show/rave etiquette or if I really am just getting old. People seemed basically unaware of the space their bodies were taking up and didn't seem to care if you were standing where they wanted to be. People also seemed overly put-off by both of these facts. Yeah sure, it's a bit annoying but if you're in a crowd you're consenting to the annoyance. You're also witnessing, in my opinion, a tour that will one day be seen as a significant moment in time, so shut up and dance.

Seeing The Dare perform in such a small venue felt like seeing The Strokes at Mercury Lounge. It was one of those moments at a show where I think I will never be able to see him perform at such close range ever again. But it was the perfect size for the evening. His energy on stage was palpable and sent the room into a horny frenzy. Everyone knew every single word to every single song. People were going so hard I thought that the floor might collapse, dumping a million of the sweatiest, baddest bitches and their gay best friends into the gallery below.

He's soooooo hot shit and he knows it. I had the time of my life.

COST BREAKDOWN

I am going to provide a breakdown of how much I spend on my nights out. This one is going to be a bit higher than the others because I wanted to buy an outfit for the show, I almost always bus, and normally I eat at home but I couldn't this time on account of needing to humiliate myself in front of the night's headliner. Everything will always be in CAD.

Ticket: $33.00

Uber: $9.00

Food, 1 beer, and the shot: $29.00

Outfit: $38.00 The liquor Allison and I pre-drank with was free because we got it from leftover riders from shows I ran.

Total cost: $109.00