#it's cool to look back on the things I've done

[creatingblackcharacters]

I suspect you may be kinda tired of the hair questions at this point, but I swear I can't word this question in a way that would make it google-able.

I've seen Black people making jokes and skits on how, when you had straightened your hair and then someone convinced you to, for example, take a dip in the pool, it all just curls right back up, dramatically fast, shocking everyone.

The thing is, I can't tell how much the speed of it all is dramatized for the humor.

As in: how fast does a straightened 4c hair ACTUALLY curl up when exposed to moisture, provided it's not been specifically protected against that? Because something tells me that it's not, in fact, a blink-and-suddenly-an-afro with an optional comedic 'boing' sound, but I may be wrong? And the googling gives me threads with tips on avoiding all that and products for keeping one's hair straight for longer, which is the opposite of what I'm trying to check.

Context, 'cause Ik it's a broad question: I am workshopping a scene where a character straightens their (short) hair, but it's entirely for "trying to be who you are not" plot reasons (Ik that straight hair is often a style choice, it's just symbolically non-typical for THIS particular character), but then a plot twist happens, they decide "fuck it" and go back to doing things their way, which includes a fight and a bit of running during which they get drenched in sweat. And I thought it'd be a cool visual symbolism to have their hair start to/or fully curl back up during the course of the fight (due to sweat), going back to their more typical natural style while they, in their journey, are going back to their truth. BUT.

But I can't damn figure out if a change like that would even be possible or if it would just look plain silly. And how far it'd be realistic (or at least believable) to take it.

(Also: thank you for this blog and your lessons, they've been a huge help, doubly so for someone who lives in a country with little to no Black people and can only learn through the Internet and resources like yours.)

While looking for an answer to your question, I found this cool link:

As for your question, I found this video:

She's doing something extra that I've never done to get her curls back. Tbh, I would just get in the shower or under the sink lmao. But you can literally watch her hair start to shrink as she "pre-poos" it. With a lot of full, continued contact with water, it doesn't take longer than a minute or two, at least in my experience. But don't quote me.

Idk how much she's sweating, but your character's roots will start to curl up as she sweats, as you said. No, she's not gonna go outside with straight hair and come back with a full afro after a hard workout though 😅. She's gonna look the way this lady did with her silk press, where it's puffed up. Now if she's got a very short afro, then the visual effect you're looking for will be close enough, but it's not gonna be like a super shiny defined fro.

Just based off your description, you ought to watch the movie Nappily Ever After. I think it'll help you 👍🏾

[coldbronzemoon]

To Extend Our Reach to the Stars Above

A one-shot based off of @nropay's superhero au concept :). Featuring Mabel and Dipper as a pair of magical girls (magical pre-teens, more like) and Stan and Ford as a retired villain and not-quite-retired hero who are horrified to realize what their niece and nephew are getting themselves into.

Yes, the title is taken from the Team Rocket motto.

The more Dipper read through the mysterious Journal 3 he’d found, the more he was convinced that he had discovered a gold mine. There were so many cool things in there—zombies, ghosts, magical springs that transformed you, living fire, a dozen other strange and magical mysteries!

Mabel was less interested in the whole thing, so Dipper was hunting through the book for cool things she’d get excited about as she flipped through tv channels in their Grunkle’s living room.

"Look at this," Dipper exclaimed, scooting closer to his sister on the recliner and angling the book so she could see it better. He began reading off the cursive. "I've recently uncovered a spell meant to magically infuse those who recite it with incredible power! By placing candles within a circle of the zodiac and reciting the following incantation, one should be gifted powers from a higher plane.”

“Hold on,” Mabel said, her eyes shining as she sat up and started skimming the page with him. She looked more enthused about the Journal than she had all day. “Can we get ourselves some real magic?”

Dipper continued on. “I attempted the spell, but it produced no observable effects..."

"Awww," Mabel groaned, deflating.

"No, no, hold on. But this may be due to my established connection to another source of magic. Perhaps I can experiment by having others perform the ritual..."

"Oooh," she said, immediately perking up again. "So it will turn us into witches or something?"

"Maybe," Dipper said. "Or whoever wrote this is just crazy. Or the spell is real, but it will just drive us mad or curse us forever or something."

There was a beat of silence. Mabel and Dipper looked at each other, their eyes both narrowed in contemplation.

Then: "So we're totally gonna try this, right?"

"Yup! What else are we gonna do? Ask Grunkle Stan for more chores?"

They burst into laughter at the very idea, jumping up at the same time so they could search for candles and Mabel's washable markers. There was no time like the present when it came to committing dubious magical rituals to gain power.

"No glitter!" Dipper shouted to Mabel as he went to the kitchen. He was pretty sure there had been a bunch of those plain, thin candles below the sink.

He had no idea why Grunkle Stan would have those candles—maybe some sort of apocalypse-prepper thing like the cans of brown meat?—but he was grateful for them. If he had time to go to the store to get some, he might have time to back out and Mabel would tease him for it endlessly.

They met back up in their bedroom, dumping their ritual supplies on the floor. Dipper had gotten the candles, some paper plates for the candles so they didn’t have to scrape wax off the floor, and a knife, because he assumed most arcane rituals would include a knife somehow. Mabel procured a rainbow’s worth of chalk instead of the washable markers. 

“Good thinking,” he told her. It’d be easier to wipe away the chalk, and he was pretty sure most ritual circles were done in chalk anyway.

Mabel flashed him a smug smile. They got to work recreating the one sketched out in the Journal onto the wooden floor of their bedroom. Mabel’s skill at creating perfect circles came in handy as Dipper focused on the smaller, strange symbols near the middle.

The ritual circle was comprised of three layers: the largest held the symbols of the Western Zodiac. Below that was a secondary ring of more puzzling symbols, like glasses and a fish and a bag of ice, and then in the very middle was a small circle with a set of six strange pronged lines springing out from equal sides of it.

Mabel insisted all the symbols be different colors, and Dipper obliged her. He didn’t see how that could mess the ritual up or anything.

Once they had the circle set up, they retreated out of it to consult the incantation in the Journal. Dipper was pleased to see that he was right and that they did need a knife for the ritual, as it required a bit of blood from them.

First, though, they read the incantation together a couple times to try and remember it, eventually agreeing to just put the book in the circle to read from once it became clear that Latin they didn’t actually understand was pretty hard to remember.

Mabel donated her pig plushie Waddles to the effort, setting him against the Journal so it stayed open on the ritual page even if their cool magic chanting ended up generating some wind or something. That left Dipper holding the paring knife he had taken from the kitchen.

“Should we, like, cut our palms or something?” Dipper said.

He kind of wanted to cut his palm. It was what everyone in every type of media always seemed to do while invoking an arcane ritual, and they always looked so cool doing it.

“How are we going to do anything with a cut palm?” Mabel said, adjusting Waddles. “I don’t wanna wait weeks for that to heal, Dip-dop. We only need a little blood.”

That was an unfortunately good point, Dipper had to admit. 

They settled for each pricking a spot on their arms and using their fingers to smear it on the wood floor, which was probably fine for the ritual. If whatever god they were going to call to didn’t like it, that god could get over itself.

With the blood added and the book in place, there was little else to do but actually do the spell.

They stepped into the symbol together, standing on either side of the smallest circle. Dipper’s palms were getting sweaty from a mix of nerves and pure excitement. They were about to do an actual magical ritual!

Mabel grabbed his hands.

“Uh,” said Dipper, a little baffled.

“It’s a ritual thingy, isn’t it?” she said. “Don’t they always have people holding hands in a circle and stuff?”

The entry in the Journal hadn’t said anything about having to hold hands while summoning whatever crazy magical deity was going to give them sick superpowers, but just as he opened his mouth to tell her that, he actually looked at her. Her eyes were a little tight even as she grinned, and the grip she had on his hands was equally as tight.

Oh, he thought with clarity. She’s a little scared too.

That wasn’t going to stop either of them from doing this, of course. But he lifted his arms up so that it was easier for Mabel to hold on.

“You’re right.”

Her grin widened, looking more genuine. “Doi! I’m always right.”

They snickered together. Then Dipper tipped his head down to the Journal where it laid between their feet so it was still visible to read. It was upside-down for him, but that was fine, he read upside-down really well. He could tell by the way her hair fell from the corner of his eye that Mabel was mimicking him.

“Ready?”

“Mhm,” she hummed.

“Okay. Go.”

They took matching deep breaths and began to recite.

“Volumus nitidis astra supernis;

Nos inter mare nigrum vocamus;

Deprecamur lacte lunae.”

Without meaning to or even noticing, Dipper’s eyes slipped closed. He could hear Mabel reciting clearly next to him, could feel her fingers squeezing his clammy palms, and that was all he needed. The Journal lay forgotten.

“O, superi numina! Imperator supra!

Est in hoc humili mundo malum,

Et pereamus ad mortem!”

Their voices both got louder, feeding into each other. Behind his eyelids, the warm light of their bedroom’s desk lantern receded away until he was seeing only darkness. He didn’t notice. His focus was on the feeling of the spell as he spoke it, the strange, faint press of cold.

He didn’t quite feel like he was standing on the floor anymore.

“Imperator, ad imaginem cosmi reficis!

Imperator omnium, cupimus te!”

Their voices both rose even further into a cry:

“AXOLOTL, AXOLOTL, AXOLOTL!

LTOLOXA, LTOLOXA, LTOLOXA!”

They opened their eyes in perfect sync as though they had been commanded to.

The first thing Dipper saw was Mabel’s face. Her hair floated around her head like they were underwater. Her eyes were wide and luminous and almost scared. She could feel it too, he knew—the perfect, vast emptiness around them. The lack of any sensation.

All he could feel was the way her fingers dug into his palms, the bump on her left ring finger from holding pencils and pens and markers, the nick on the side of her palm from a pair of dull scissors. 

He turned his head. She did too.

The second thing Dipper saw was THE AXOLOTL.

THE AXOLOTL was colossal, bigger than anything Dipper had ever seen. Bigger than the Earth, than the Sun, than the whole galaxy. THE AXOLOTL was beyond anything. They floated in front of one of THE AXOLOTL’S huge dark eyes, eyes held all the size and power of a black hole itself. A thousand nebulae gleamed in that eye.

Dipper could almost feel something in his brain crack trying to understand what he was looking at. He clutched at Mabel’s hands like she was the harbor he was desperately trying to find amid the endless sea, and she clung right back.

Then, as the two of them stared out at THE AXOLOTL in pure mute awe, THE AXOLOTL looked back.

THE AXOLOTL shrank. From one moment to the next THE AXOLOTL was filling up all of reality, and then the riotous color of the stars and the inky black of space between them took up the place THE AXOLOTL once filled. THE AXOLOTL became the size of an Earth axolotl, swimming up to them with a placid smile on a pink face. Frills swayed in a non-existent breeze.

HELLO, CHILDREN.

THE AXOLOTL’S voice was not really a voice. Dipper found that he didn’t hear THE AXOLOTL speak so much he remembered THE AXOLOTL saying something, an old memory so faded it was a reproduction of a reproduction, communicating nothing of the voice’s quality or sound.

Even at a new size, THE AXOLOTL’S mere presence was almost too much. Dipper found his mouth glued shut.

Mabel managed to speak first, her voice weak and hollow in the vacuum of space as she dazedly muttered, “You’re… you’re adorable.”

In any other circumstance, Dipper would’ve laughed out of pure shock. He stared at THE AXOLOTL.

SO I AM.

Dipper’s mouth finally un-stuck itself. The thought that had been ringing in his head since his first look at THE AXOLOTL broke through.

“I’ve… we’ve met you before.”

The memory wasn’t there, more a hole in his head where something should be, but he knew it. He knew that it was a memory of THE AXOLOTL.

THE AXOLOTL’S head tilted.

I HAVE MET EVERYONE, AND EVERYONE HAS MET ME, MASON.

I AM THERE FOR THEIR BEGINNING, THEIR ENDING, AND THEIR MOMENTS OF TRANSFORMATION.

I KNOW YOU. I KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE BECOME. 

WHAT YOU COULD HAVE BECOME. WHAT YOU MAY YET BECOME.

THE AXOLOTL swam closer to float in between their faces, in between their linked hands forming a circle. Infinitely deep black eyes peered down at their hands.

Dipper knew that it was those clasped hands—the circle, the endless loop, the cycle of return and movement—that had brought THE AXOLOTL to them more than anything else. He knew it like a baby knew what it meant to cry, like a seed knew what it meant to sprout.

I WILL GIVE YOU A GIFT: THE MAGIC OF THE GALAXIES.

YOU WILL HELP UNMAKE A BEING WHO DOES ONLY AS HE WOULD PLEASE.

Dipper could feel that this moment was ending. Just before, though, he remembered THE AXOLOTL saying one last thing. A parting remark, a careless promise.

I HAVE ALWAYS LIKED TWINS.

Dipper and Mabel fell. THE AXOLOTL passed from between their arms. They could only watch as THE AXOLOTL shrunk once more, this time due to the pink form receding away from them as their bodies rushed downwards. As much as downwards counted for anything in space.

The stars bloomed around them, light racing to be seen, to find and caress the edge of the universe. Thousands upon thousands, millions, billions, numbers beyond reach, all of them bright eternal eyes of THE AXOLOTL.

All of those stars watched them fall. Their light was racing towards them, arms reaching to catch. 

Like the endless arc of a comet, Dipper and Mabel fell to Earth.

They woke up collapsed on the floor of their bedroom, still holding hands as they both righted themselves into a sitting position. A glow bounced off of the walls, filling the whole space. He could tell from the vivid red of his closed eyelids.

Dipper opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was Mabel’s face. Her hair was floating around her head like they were underwater. Her eyes were wide and luminous and burning a bright white. So was her hair. 

Dipper opened his mouth and screamed in shock.

—

“This is your fault. This is your fucking fault, Sixer.”

Stan’s brother let out a groan in response, his face still pressed against the greasy tabletop of Greasy’s Diner. He was definitely getting syrup in his graying hair. The place lived up to its name. Stan would’ve laughed at him if he wasn’t too busy being pissed off.

“They were hidden,” Ford bemoaned. 

“Not well enough!”

Ford tilted his head to glare at Stan with one eye. “They stayed hidden for thirty years straight, Stanley. I would call that a good record.”

“And now one of them isn’t hidden,” Stan said, thoroughly unimpressed. He shoved his plate of eggs and bacon aside to lean over the table and prod Ford in the temple with his fork. “You are so, so fucking lucky they didn’t find the one with the ritual for Bill instead.”

Stan got to watch Ford pale as the reality of that risk occurred to him in real time. He prodded at him with the fork some more just to add to his twin’s misery. It was deserved misery.

Ford eventually straightened back up, smacking Stan’s hand away. He turned to look at the source of their hushed argument with a grimace.

A newspaper, the front page dedicated to the two newest heroes on the block: a pair of young twins with star power. There was a large, impressively clear picture of the pair before the article.

Stan and Ford had recognized them instantly. 

Sure, the glowing white hair and eyes made them look a little different, and the flashy outfits drew the eye away from the face, but those faces were completely uncovered. Of course they recognized their own niece and nephew.

There was only one way for the kids to get cosmic power from what Stan and Ford knew of. Ford’s own Journals, the third of which contained a ritual to call upon the stars for power.

Ford hadn’t made it work; he was already bound to an interdimensional being when he tried it. That was the theory he gave Stan when mentioning his attempt once, at least.

But Dipper and Mabel…

Stan told his brother, “Once we have a plan and we’re out of the public eye, I’m kicking your ass.”

Ford sighed. “I’ll deserve it. But I won’t go down without a fight.”

They finished their food. It was quicker than attempting to flag Susan down to get them a pair of to-go boxes, and Stan refused to let them pay for the food and then leave it behind. He might’ve been a supremely rich criminal now, but he wasn’t going to pay for shit he wasn’t going to eat.

Leaving a tip at Ford’s insistence—chronic goody-two-shoes—they made their way back to Stan’s El Diablo where they could actually talk openly. 

“We most likely can’t outright remove their magic,” Ford said, tipping his head back against the headrest. “If the magical being gave them their power, it wants them to have it. And trying to convince a god to take back their decision is…risky, at best.”

“And trying to ban them from going out and taking names won’t work either,” Stan grouched.

The kids were Pines—they already couldn’t be stopped from doing what they wanted in the first place. The second eyes weren’t on them, Dipper and Mabel could vanish from thin air and return in thirty minutes having gotten into a fist-fight with gnomes or video game characters come to life or other such fantastical issues that plagued the area.

And now those kids had magical powers. What little capacity Stan and Ford had to corral them had shrunk even further. The only ways Stan could imagine stopping the younger twins involved essentially imprisoning them and ruining their trust in him and Ford forever.

He rode the tail of the car in front of him just to make himself feel better. The driver rolled down her window and flipped him the bird, which did get a laugh out of him.

Ford was too busy massaging his temples to scold him. “No, it won’t. They’ll be worse than us at twelve.”

A terrifying notion. They had been absolute hellions at twelve, all without fancy new magical powers.

Stan drummed his fingers on the wheel, his mind turning over every possibility. He knew the scene and he knew those kids. Give them a week and they’d be going up against the biggest assholes on the block just because they couldn’t help but stick their noses into everything. 

If only they could learn on some easy targets, someone who wouldn’t really hurt them… but Stan couldn’t trust anyone to do that, now could he?

Anyone except—

“Hey, Ford,” he said slowly. “If we can’t stop them, we’ve gotta prepare them. How ‘bout we give them a practice round? Some two-bit villain to fight against and learn the ropes on?”

Ford picked up his head from his hands. “And who exactly do you suggest—”

He stopped and sighed, and Stan knew they were on the same page.

“I think it’s time for the Piranha to start swimming his old waters again,” Stan said, grinning. “And maybe Six-Shooter can show up out of the woodwork too, since one of his old heels is back in action. Maybe give some tips to the new heroes.”

He waited for Ford to shoot the idea down immediately.

Ford only looked out the windshield with a thoughtful frown tugging at his lips. “...I think that might be our best option at the moment. We could keep tabs on them like that—but we’re going to have to work double-time to keep all of this from them both in and out of the masks.”

Stan shrugged. “Eh, we’ve managed it so far. Can’t be too hard.”

He would come to regret those words. But for now, he believed them.

[yyaktayak]

Heart & Soul - 1🥢

tags : tags ! : 🏷️ @uceyliyahh @charmed-dreamssss @amandairene88 @duhitzkay380 @prettypink-princesss @bluestrawberrypatch @mjonthetrack @christinabae @transparentphantomface 🏷️lmk if you’d like to be tagged ! I’ll add u!!🏷️.

Giannis's POV

Giannis sat in her bedroom, the soft hum of her ring light casting a gentle glow across her face. She adjusted the camera lens one last time and clicked "Start Stream." The familiar rush of excitement washed over her as her loyal followers flooded the chat, their usernames dancing across the screen.

"hey my babies ! It's ya girl Giannis, and today we've got a special treat ," she said, giving her viewers a bright, flirtatious smile. "But first, you know the drill—now let's get into it."

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, opening a new window. The screen blinked and then displayed a live feed of the guest she had scheduled for today's stream: none other than Jimmy Uso, WWE superstar.

The chat went wild.

"*OH MY GOD, JIMMY USO?!*"

"*Giannis, you're killing it with these collabs!*"

Giannis gave a smirk as she clicked the audio button to connect them, her heart pounding slightly. She had always been a fan of WWE, but she didn't expect to have a personal conversation with one of its top stars.

The screen flickered, and then Jimmy's face appeared. He was sitting in a dimly lit room, wearing his signature Uso t-shirt, looking as effortlessly cool as he always did in the ring. His face lit up when he saw her, and he waved.

"Yo? What's up beautiful ?You ready to have some fun?" Jimmy's deep voice rumbled through the speakers.

Giannis couldn't help but blush. "Of course! You know I'm always down for some fun." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, her confidence evident. "So, how's life in the ring been treating you lately?"

"Same old grind," he said, leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed but still sharp. "I'm always working, you know how it is. But I'm good. Real good. Just happy to be here with you today."

Giannis chuckled, catching a hint of flirtation in his tone. She was used to the attention, but something about Jimmy's easygoing demeanor made her feel more... intrigued than usual.

"Well, we're about to make this the most entertaining stream ever, right?" she teased, tilting her head. "My fans and your fans are already going crazy, and we're  just getting started."

"Right, right," Jimmy said, flashing a playful smile. "I gotta keep up with the beauty of streams. You know I'm not trying to get embarrassed in front of all your people."

Giannis raised an eyebrow. "Embarrassed? Is that what you're worried about, boo?"

He laughed, and the sound was deep and rich, making her smile involuntarily. "Nah, nah, just making sure I don't get outshined by you. You're out here building an empire. Respectfully ."

"Well," she leaned forward, letting the camera catch the sparkle in her eyes, "I appreciate that. But don't worry, I've got plenty of room for you to shine too since you're such a star."

The chat exploded with comments, fans picking up on the playful banter.

"*Y'all are lowkey flirting right now.*"

"*I ship this so hard.*"

"*Jimmy, you better shoot your shot.*"

Giannis laughed, reading the comments out loud. "I see y'all in the chat, getting wild already. But, Jimmy, I gotta ask you—what's the craziest thing a fan has ever done to try to get your attention?"

Jimmy scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... I'd say the craziest? Probably the time someone sent me a full box of homemade cookies with a note that said, 'Eat me, Jimmy, and let me eat your heart out.'" He paused. "Weird, but also... kinda sweet?"

Giannis's lips curled into a mischievous smile. "Cookies, huh? You know, I could send you something even better than that..."

Jimmy's eyes glinted with interest. "Oh really? What are you thinking?"

"Well," she said, leaning closer to the camera, "maybe I could send you a personalized video. You know, something that only you would appreciate. But you gotta earn it."

Jimmy chuckled. "Oh, I'm down. You know I'm all about earning things, especially when it comes to you."

The chat went wild again.

"*HE SAID WHAT?!*

"*SEND IT, GIANNIS, WE WANNA SEE IT.*"

Giannis felt a little thrill run through her. Jimmy was definitely giving her more attention than she expected, and she wasn't about to back down now. "Well, let's see if you can keep up, honeybun. Maybe you'll get that video after all."

Jimmy leaned forward, giving her a mock-serious look. "Oh, Giannis's laugh was light but playful, the kind that made her followers feel like they were right there with her. She leaned back in her chair, letting the banter flow. "Oh, I'm sure you would, Jimmy. But I think you might be getting a little ahead of yourself."

The chat was blowing up again, with fans loving the flirtation. "Y'all hear that? Jimmy's already planning his outfit!" one comment read. Another followed, "*Giannis, girl, you better hold him to that!*"

Giannis glanced at the screen, reading the comments with a smirk. She was used to the attention, but there was something different about Jimmy's energy. It was fun, a little daring, and it made her want to tease him a little more.

"You think you can impress me with a special outfit?" she said, eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer to the camera, letting the tension build. "I've seen it all, honey. You'll have to do more than that."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but unfazed. "I'll make sure you're impressed, Giannis. Trust me, when I do something, I do it right. You're not gonna forget me after today."

There was a brief pause, just long enough for her to wonder if that was the line, if he was being too bold. But then he added with a grin, "Besides, I know you love a good challenge.

Her heart fluttered, and for a second, she was taken aback. Jimmy wasn't just flirting—he was engaging her, pushing her buttons in a way that felt new.

She tilted her head and smiled. "Challenge accepted," she said, making sure her voice was smooth and playful. "But, Jimmy... if you're gonna make me remember you, you're gonna have to do more than just impress me. You gotta stand out. Prove you're more than just the guy in the ring. Let's see if you can really keep up with me, Jonathan.

Her words hung in the air, teasing yet filled with an underlying sense of challenge. Her fans were on the edge of their seats, waiting for the next move. The comments flooded in again, and this time, it was a mix of excitement and encouragement.

"*Ooohhh, Giannis is bringing the heat! Keep going!*"

"*I need Jimmy to step it up! Show her who's boss!*"

Jimmy leaned in Jimmy leaned in closer to his camera, his expression a mix of amusement and determination. "Alright, alright, Giannis. I see what you're doing, and trust me, I'm all in. If you want me to prove myself, you've got it. Just remember, I'm a man of my word. Whatever I do, I do it big."

Giannis could hear the slight shift in his voice—he wasn't just playing anymore. There was a hint of sincerity behind his words that caught her attention, a level of confidence that felt different from the usual attention-seeking flirts she'd gotten before. It was clear he wasn't going to back down, and for some reason, that made the whole interaction more exciting.

"You better be," Giannis teased, her smile a little softer this time. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I'm not easy to impress, Jimmy. Just remember that when you start pulling out all your tricks."

Jimmy gave a short, confident laugh. "Oh, I remember," he said, then, with a smirk, added, "You might be a little harder to win over, but I'm not the kind of guy to back down from a challenge."

Giannis's eyes sparkled with amusement, though she kept her expression casual. "Good, because I'm not giving you any free passes. But I'll make it fun. You'll see," she said, shifting her posture as if making a decision. "Alright, let's see if you're really 'all in.' I have a little challenge for you."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A challenge? What kind of challenge we talkin' about here?"

With a wink, Giannis leaned forward again, positioning herself closer to the camera as if pulling him into the moment. "A little something to keep this interesting. Let's make a deal," she said, eyes gleaming. "For every fan that drops a superchat right now, you have to answer one personal question from me. No lies, no dodging. I'll start off easy. Deal?"

Jimmy grinned, clearly accepting the challenge. "Deal. But you better be ready for the answers I give you, Giannis. I don't hold back."

She could see the competitive spark in his eyes. This wasn't just fun and games for him anymore; he was genuinely intrigued by her.

"Alright," she said with a mischievous smile. "Let's start simple, then. First question—what's your biggest guilty pleasure? You know, something no one would guess about you."

Jimmy let out a chuckle, then leaned back, scratching his chin in mock thought. "Oh, you're going straight for the easy stuff, huh?" He paused for effect. "Alright, here's the truth: I'm lowkey obsessed with rom-coms. Don't tell nobody, though. I've seen "The Notebook’ like five times. That's right, I said it."

Giannis's eyes widened, and she couldn't help but laugh. "You're kidding! Jimmy Uso, the tough guy, watches *The Notebook*?" She shook her head. "I did *not* see that coming."

"I told you, I'm full of surprises," Jimmy said, clearly amused by her reaction. "Your turn. Hit me with another question."

Giannis leaned forward again, her fingers dancing over the keyboard to read more incoming superchats. "Alright, alright. I see the fans are getting into this. But let me step it up a notch. Next question: When was the last time you actually let yourself feel vulnerable? I mean really let your guard down, not just for the fans or the camera. Real talk."

There was a moment of silence before Jimmy spoke again, his usual cocky tone softened. "That's a deep one, Giannis," he said, his voice a little quieter. "I'll be real with you. Last time I felt vulnerable... probably after a match I had a while back. I took a real hard hit, and I was down for a minute. But I had to keep pushing. I couldn't show the fans that side of me, you know? I had to stay strong, keep that image of being unstoppable. But... yeah, that was the last time I let myself really feel it."

Giannis was quiet for a moment, taking in his answer. There was something raw in his words, and she appreciated the honesty. She didn't expect to get this kind of depth from a guy like Jimmy, especially not on a live stream with thousands of people watching. It made her look at him in a new light, beyond the flashy wrestling persona.

"Respect," she said softly, nodding. "That's real. Thanks for sharing that with me. I wasn't expecting that level of honesty."

Jimmy gave a small shrug, his expression earnest. "Hey, if I'm gonna do this—get on here, talk to you and your fans—then I might as well be real. No point in fronting, right?"

Giannis smiled, feeling a little more drawn to him than she expected. "Right. I respect that.

Before the silence could stretch on too long, she leaned forward again, her playful energy returning. "Alright, enough with the serious stuff for now. Let's see if you can keep up with this next one." She grinned, eyes twinkling. "If you could take me anywhere in the world for a date, no limits, no excuses—where would you take me?"

The question seemed to catch him off guard for a second, but then Jimmy's smirk returned, and he leaned in close to the camera, his voice lowered, almost teasing. "Oh, I like that one. Honestly, I'd take you somewhere chill—somewhere no cameras, no distractions. Just me and you, maybe a private island, clear water... a sunset. I think you'd appreciate the simplicity."

Giannis's heart skipped a beat. There was something about the way he said it, with such ease, that felt personal. "A private island, huh?" she mused, her voice a little softer now. "You're going big with this one, Jimmy. I like that."

Jimmy winked, clearly enjoying the back and forth. "I told you, Giannis. I'm here to win."

She chuckled, leaning back again. "We'll see about that. But, I gotta admit... you're doing better than I thought."

The chat was blowing up now, people asking for more questions, sending in superchats, and rooting for their favorite moments. The flirtation, the challenge, the connection—it was undeniable, and Giannis felt it buzzing in the air. There was something electric about Jimmy Uso, something she hadn't expected.

"I guess I'll have to step it up if I wanna win you over, huh?" Jimmy teased, leaning in again.

Giannis shot him a playful, yet knowing look. "Guess you'll have to prove it, Uso. The game's on."

And with that, the playful back-and-forth continued, each of them trying to outdo the other, the line between flirtation and something deeper blurring with every passing second.

Heart&Soul

A/N: I’m moving all my wattpad books to here now do y’all like this one ?

[dreaminofdixon]

Thirteen.

*Things are heating up, nothing too serious at the moment, but if you're underage, please...be responsible for your own media intake. :)* Okay, so adding all the Daryl insight/thoughts stuff might be a little....incorrectly done? I've never written first person with third person intermingled, so I'm sure it leaves some to be desired. BUT! I like it. And ohhhhh momma....I'm going back through and adding that all in - those that suggested I keep it up - you're the real heroes. 💖 Also - this is SO LONG.

The highway stretched out like a scar across the earth, its cracked asphalt glinting under the fading light as we took the exit Daryl had been scanning for. The motorcycle rumbled beneath us, a steady pulse that felt like the last heartbeat of a world long gone. We were heading toward whatever future waited—maybe salvation, maybe just another fight. The sun sank lower, bleeding pinks and oranges across the sky, chasing away the last traces of blue. It was beautiful in a way that hurt, like a memory you know you can’t keep. I tightened my knees around Daryl’s hips, the leather of his vest rough under my palms, and reached up to tug the hair tie from my ponytail. My hair whipped free, tangling in the wind, wild and reckless. I must’ve looked half-feral, but in that moment, I didn’t care. How often did we get to feel this alive anymore? To steal a second of freedom in a world that wanted to grind us to dust?

Daryl felt the shift in her as she moved behind him - her thighs gripping him tighter, the sudden looseness of her hair snapping in the breeze. He didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge it outright, but he noticed. Always did. Every detail: the way her fingers curled into his vest, the faint catch of her laugh barely audible over the engine’s growl. God, she’s alive, he thought, the realization hitting him like a punch. Not just surviving, not just scraping by—she was vibrant, a spark in a world gone dark. He hadn’t seen that in anyone for a long time, and it stirred something in him he wasn’t sure he wanted to name.

The bike slowed as Daryl eased it to a stop, the others pulling up behind us in a loose caravan—Rick’s SUV, the RV, a couple of battered sedans. I took the chance to rake my fingers through my hair, savoring the cool whip of the wind for one more moment before twisting it back into a messy bun. When Daryl swung the bike around, I gripped his vest tighter, steadying myself as we rolled toward Rick’s SUV.

“You thinkin’ we should call it a night,” Rick called out, leaning out the driver’s window, his voice cutting through the hum of idling engines.

“Yeah,” Daryl grunted, his voice low but sure. “Not sure anything’s ‘round here.”

“Alright, let’s do it.” Rick nodded, killing the engine with a decisive twist of the key.

Daryl guided the bike back toward the RV, the gravel crunching under the tires as he eased it to a stop and dropped the kickstand. The sudden silence felt heavy, broken only by the distant chirp of cicadas and the creak of the RV’s door.

“What’s goin’ on?” Dale’s voice carried from the RV’s window, his silhouette framed against the dim glow of a lantern inside.

“Gonna call it a night here,” I said, taking Daryl’s outstretched hand as I swung my leg over the bike. My boots hit the ground harder than I meant, and I wobbled, my legs stiff from hours of riding. 

His hand tightened briefly, steadying her just enough to keep her upright without making it a thing. He never made it a thing—never let her feel like he doubted she could handle herself. But part of him just needed that touch—to feel that she was okay, that she was here.

We moved as a group, muscle memory kicking in as we cleared the abandoned cars scattered along the roadside. Headlights cast long shadows, turning rusted fenders and shattered windshields into jagged silhouettes. Every creak of metal, every rustle in the underbrush, set my nerves on edge, but the routine was familiar: check for walkers, secure the perimeter, make a space to breathe for one more night. By the time we finished, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, stars prickling through the haze.

We gathered beside the RV, the air thick with the scent of dust and pine. Carol and Lori passed out the last of our supplies—strips of jerky, a few dented cans of vegetables. I perched on the hood of a dusty sedan, the metal cool against my thighs, and stared down at the can of corn in my hand. My stomach churned at the thought of eating it cold, the kernels glistening like pale teeth in the moonlight. It felt… wrong, like biting into a raw potato or something. I sighed, setting the can aside and reaching for the jerky instead, its smoky tang a small comfort.

Around me, the group murmured in low tones, their voices blending with the rustle of leaves. I glanced at them—Rick’s tense shoulders, Lori’s careful smile, Glenn’s quick laugh—and felt a pang of gratitude, sharp and fleeting. We were still here, still fighting. But the weight of the day pressed down on me, and I slid off the hood, grabbing my can of corn and heading toward the car I’d claimed for the night. As I walked, a thin curl of smoke caught my eye, rising from the bed of a pickup parked a little ways off. I grinned, spotting the faint glow of a cigarette. Daryl. If I weren’t half-convinced he’d skin me for it, I’d have tried to sneak up and scare him, just to see that rare flash of a smile.

“Hey, stud,”  I called softly, approaching the truck.

He looked relaxed, sprawled in the truck bed like he belonged there. His crossbow rested within arm’s reach, but his posture was loose—knees bent, one foot planted, hands folded over his stomach, cigarette dangling from his lips. The moonlight carved sharp angles across his face, catching the scruff on his jaw and the faint lines etched around his eyes. He looked up, ifting his chin in a lazy greeting.

“Princess,” he drawled, voice rough like gravel.

“Hold this,” I said, passing him the can of corn.

He took it without comment, his fingers brushing mine for a split second. I climbed over the tailgate, settling beside him against the back of the truck, my knees bent and my hands resting lightly on my thighs. He handed the can back, and we sat there, the silence wrapping around us like a worn blanket. The air smelled of rust and tobacco, undercut by the faint sweetness of wild honeysuckle growing somewhere nearby.

Daryl watched her from the corner of his eye, her presence settling into the space like it belonged. She was close—too close, maybe—but he didn’t move away. Couldn’t. She was like gravity, pulling at something deep in his chest, something he hadn’t let himself feel in years. He’d spent so long pushing people back, keeping them at arm’s length, but her? She slipped past his walls like they were nothing. Always had.

“Long day,” I said, breaking the quiet.

“Mm.” He nodded, holding the cigarette out toward me, an offer.

“No, thank you.”

He glanced over his shoulder, one brow quirking slightly. “Don’t smoke?”

“Nope.”

He hummed, taking another drag and turning back to the sky, like it didn’t matter. But it did. Every damn thing about her mattered—her voice, her laugh, the way she sat there, unafraid of the silence. He felt it all, and it scared the hell out of him.

“You look comfy,” I said, nudging his leg with my boot. “This where you’re stayin’ tonight?”

“Nah. Jus’ for a minute.”

“Time to relax a little?”

“Mm hmm.”

Her voice was soft, weaving through the quiet without breaking it. He liked that—how she didn’t demand anything, just let the moment be. The cicadas sang in the distance, their chorus rising and falling like a pulse. The air was cooling, carrying the first whispers of fall, and for a second, he could almost pretend the world wasn’t falling apart.

“Thanks for lettin’ me ride with you,” I said, a teasing lilt creeping into my voice. “It was a pleasure gettin’ you between my legs all day…”

He glanced over, the corner of his mouth twitching before he looked away, quick. Goddamn woman. Always poking at him, testing him. He snorted, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. She had no idea what she did to him—how she threw him off balance just by existing. He felt like a kid again, all nerves and heat, trying not to stare at her too long.

“How was it?” he asked, his voice low, rougher than he meant.

“Not bad,” I said, leaning closer, my hip brushing his shoulder. “Although… I could use a little more… hands-on.”

His chest tightened, the air catching in his throat. He exhaled a slow stream of smoke toward the stars, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. Jesus. She was gonna kill him, talking like that. He shook his head, muttering, “Ya got yer hands all over me, woman. What more ya want?”

“I’m talkin’ about your hands on me, sir.”

He froze, his breath hitching before he masked it with a cough. He didn’t know how to answer that—not without giving too much away. Not without admitting how much he wanted to touch her, to pull her close and feel her heartbeat against his. She was dangerous, not because of walkers or weapons, but because she made him want things he’d buried long ago. He liked her too much—her teasing, her warmth, the way she looked at him like he was more than a rough-edged survivor. But letting her in? That was a risk he wasn’t sure he could take.

I let the silence stretch, remembering that old psychology trick: don’t fill the space just because it’s uncomfortable. Let them come to you. I tilted my head back, gazing at the sky. The stars glittered like scattered diamonds, sharp and bright against the velvet dark. The cicadas’ song wove through the breeze, carrying hints of cooler days to come. My heart was racing, but I kept still, waiting.

His fingers brushed my ankle, the skin that peeked out from the hem of my jeans. They were hesitant at first, then settled there. His thumb moved in a slow, careful arc across my skin, warm and calloused. Then, just as suddenly, his hand stilled, like he’d caught himself—like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch me at all.

He hadn’t meant to. He’d fought the urge all day, keeping his hands busy with the bike, the knife, anything to distract him. But sitting there, the space between them alive with something unspoken, he gave in. Her skin was soft, warm, and his thumb moved before he could stop it. He knew he should pull back, tell himself it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. It was everything, and that scared him more than any walker ever would.

I held my breath, afraid that even the smallest sound would break the spell. His touch was electric, sending sparks through me, my pulse hammering in my throat. Don’t be that girl, I scolded myself. Don’t make it all about the physical. But God, I couldn’t help it. After years of loneliness, of keeping everyone at arm’s length, that simple touch felt like a lifeline.

He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes fixed on the sky, but I could feel him—every shift, every breath. I’d gotten used to this, to him. To the way we could sit together, not saying much, but saying everything. My attraction to him had started as something shallow—those sharp cheekbones, that quiet strength—but it had grown into something deeper, a full-blown ache that followed me everywhere. I wanted to be near him, to find excuses to talk, to learn every piece of him. Did he feel it too? I hoped so, but hope was a dangerous thing these days.

His fingers tightened briefly, then loosened, his thumb still brushing my skin. With his other hand, he plucked the cigarette from his lips, crushing the ember between his fingers before tossing it over the side of the truck. The gesture was so him—careful, deliberate, like he didn’t trust even the smallest spark to linger.

We sat there as the light faded, the world sinking into darkness. The moon rose, silver and cold, casting shadows across the truck bed. His hand stayed on my ankle, that slow, steady touch anchoring me. I was already dreading the moment it would end, knowing the dark brought danger—walkers, shadows, things that didn’t care about stolen moments.

Daryl’s chest rose with a slow breath, his exhale barely audible, like he was fighting to keep himself steady. He was thinking about her—too much, too deeply. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if this fragile thing between them shattered before it could take root? He’d survived a lot, but he wasn’t sure he could survive that.

His hand slid away, the warmth vanishing, but not before his fingers brushed my skin one last time, like he was reluctant to let go. He sat up abruptly, clearing his throat. “Should get ya tucked in,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual. His eyes avoided hers, darting to the horizon, the truck bed, anywhere else. Because if he looked at her, he might say something he couldn’t take back. Might reach for her and not stop. And he wasn’t sure if she was ready—or even if he was.

I reached for his hand, clasping it between both of mine as he pulled me up. The motion was too quick, and I stumbled, my body crashing into his. He didn’t budge, solid as stone, and I gasped softly at the sudden closeness. His breath hitched, his eyes dropping to my lips, my throat, before he caught himself. His tongue darted out, wetting his lower lip, and I saw the struggle in his face—wanting, holding back.

“Sorry,” I murmured, stepping back, my cheeks burning.

The air between us felt alive, charged with everything we weren’t saying. Then a low, guttural groan cut through the night—a walker, close. We both snapped toward the sound, the moment shattered. Daryl vaulted over the tailgate, his knife already in hand. The walker was alone, its decayed face grotesque in the moonlight. He drove the blade into its skull with a practiced thrust, the body crumpling to the ground. He wiped the knife on the walker’s tattered shirt, his movements quick and precise, before turning back to me.

I was already climbing over the tailgate, ready to jump down, but he was there, his hand outstretched. I took it, his grip steady as he helped me to the ground. The contact lingered for a heartbeat longer than it needed to.

“C’mon, Princess,” he said, letting go and nodding toward the car I’d chosen for the night.

We walked in silence, the gravel crunching under our boots. When we reached the car, I opened the door and slid inside, pulling the blanket over my legs. Daryl stood at the door, his head on a swivel, scanning the shadows for threats.

“Good?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Mm hmm.”

“Lock the door. Get some sleep.”

“I’ll try… you too, okay?”

He started to close the door, but I reached out, stopping it. “What?”

“Be safe.”

“Always am.”

He shut the door, the click loud in the quiet. I locked it, settling back against the seat, the blanket scratchy but warm. Through the window, I watched his silhouette linger for a moment, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, his posture tense but steady.

He stood there longer than he meant to, her words echoing in his head. Be safe. Like he was more than a survivor, more than a weapon. Like he mattered to her. The thought burned, sweet and painful, and he hated how much he wanted to believe it. His eyes lingered on her shape in the car, curled under the blanket, safe for now. He wanted to be the one to keep her that way, but that meant letting her in, and he wasn’t sure he knew how.

Finally, he turned, forcing his boots to move. The night was dark, the walkers were out there, and he had a job to do. But her voice followed him, soft and stubborn, refusing to let go.

**

@imadisneyprincessiswear

@knight-of-the-doctor **

[shyrule]

the boy! inspired by @triforce-of-mischief:

very loosely based off of this panel from @/linkeduniverse:

and with text/textless versions:

[sketchy-tour]

Okay listen I got distracted while working on my ask doodles. BUT LISTEN THIS IS SO SELF INDULGENT cause I was listening to an early 2000s playlist on spotify and realized... Reboot Wally would so be a blink 182 fan. And you SO know he would sing that mess at karaoke. A dork. I love him.

Reboot AU belongs to @/bloodrediscream (Man I do not need to tag them for just my silly doodles.

I WILL HOWEVER tag @kawaiialeisha because I feel like you'd appreciate this

[sysig]

Pretty clothes for you! ✨ (Patreon)

[icewindandboringhorror]

A few recent images once again

[marcelineuntitled]

i like this one a lot :)))

[daemon-in-my-head]

Based on my latest post I'm overjoyed that my moots (whether or not tumblr officially recognises them thx sideblog doing sideblog sht) and those who randonly stumble upon my shit are objectively some of the greatest people.

I love this weird corner I found myself in and the general mindset and views on things.

And I may be too scared nd socially awkward to approach anyone directly but be assured I'm on the sidelines rooting for folks in a very cutesy, very demure manner and y'all should feel loved.

[sskk-manifesto]

--

[nemmet]

question: who is your favourite scooby doo character and why?

in a similar vein to my how did you get into scooby doo post from last month, i'm now interested in hearing who your favourite character from the franchise is! are they a member of the core gang or a side character? which iteration/version of theirs do you like best? do you have any specific memories associated with them? do they mean a lot to you personally, or do you just think they're neat? it's time to gush about them in the tags/replies!!

[hua-fei-hua]

today i learned that we weebs are responsible for the existence of the .ass file type. #heritage

[ravenwolfie97]

hey. you know what

i'm pretty good at drawing :3

[allthecastlesonclouds]

castles pls ramble about your wips /is there anything you're working on and/or excited to share????

omgggg yes i have been STRUGGLING this past two weeks because i. uh. sprained my right wrist (my dominant hand) and doing Anything At All hurts so i have SO MANY thoughts in my head and nothing's going to come out of it until i'm healed

fight or flight has been a really interesting fic for me to write specifically bc i. didn't grow up religious? my mom's atheist and my dad's catholic and i've never gone to church, but religion is really interesting to me, and the topic of fate and God is really intriguing. i like looking into faith and fate and learning about the different ways people see things, and i wanted to write a fic that felt. A Lot. like my dad's Catholic Childhood ExperienceTM and where he and his siblings are now in life, since all of them fell to different religions different ways and still keep in contact. i also wanted to touch on suburban family relationships in general bc goddamn those are fucked up.

fight or flight was originally going to be a lot more Kristen Vs Mac and Donna– the document title's still a pun based on that– but the more i thought about it the little it fit with her character: as much as kristen is bold, she's much more of a say something and run character– she doesn't quite know what'll happen after she says anything, does she? and she doesn't think before she speaks, so if anything goes wrong, she's likely to flee.

i've also started revamping my Coffe AU! it was, essentially, a modern coffeeshop au where different characters were in slightly different scenarios and the bad kids didn't quite become a friendgroup until after college, where adaine and ayda ran a coffee shop and the sig figs were Vibing and riz? worked five million jobs? and aelwyn actually gets therapy. the pacing of the fic was bad, though, and it was overall unrealistic, so i'm planning out a slightly different fic– they're all going to the same excessively large college, and keep meeting up at the coffee shop Ayda and Adaine run for said college. goldenhoard was the main villain in the first one; kalina was fully a housecat; cass didn't even EXIST because i wrote it before i got a dropout account and i only could watch up to ep3 of sophomore year! that's all changing, though; the gukgaks still have a cat named kalina but she Is Named After Someone

the "fic", if i ever get around to writing it, would be an actual longfic, written from one person's perspective, and a series of oneshots for a buncha other characters. the longfic was originally from adaine's perspective, but i might go fig this time around bc my girl adaine is Hard and i want the challenge of writing from the perspective of someone who isn't the Main Character of the story.

(also. coffe!aelwyn my beloved. she's trying so hard.)

i had a riz + mordred fic in the works, but since it seems mordred is going to be in jy a lot, that one's on hold until the season goes. i wanted to write it because the premise made me laugh: it was riz really sweetly bonding with different members of mordred and then him and zayn. awkwardly staring at each other as they realize their adaine's-best-friend title will never belong to either of them again and will forever be ayda's.

i wrote a drawtectives fic recently, which i know you're not in the fanbase for but i started a second one, from york's perspective, which cycles around rosé going back to college and york learning how The City is different and what family is to him (and also learning to cook bc grandma is the Only Competent One) AND i want to round out the trio, since the first was a rosé fic and this ones a york and so the third would be a grendan one, which is about getting york to his fashion shoots, i think? that one's a lot more up in the air, because. i want them to be Mostly Separate and so i want to see where york takes me.

and, in the drawtectives vein, i'm working on episode transcripts! pre-sprain, i could do 10 pages per hour, but now i'm down to 4-6, depending on the complexity. it's the only thing i don't struggle to do bc it's mostly writing names and correcting (or messing up) some grammar. i finished s1 on the... 18th? 19th? and i'm about 25 minutes into s2ep1 so. it's gonna take a while. but GOD i'm becoming a lore keeper for this. and also my vocal recognition for These Four People Specifically is. so good now. i can recognize their hums, it's insane.

and my friend (the most lovely and also basically inactive @mug-fullof-roses) and i are making plushies! just four drawtectives (the guys and also eugene), and we're still in the fabric buying but i think i'm going to try to find some good patterns over break because. clothing??? help??

and!! bringing it around again!! i've sketched out the dumbest comic for dance au bc something happened in my dance class that had me going "bad kids right here" the entire week. my hiphop teacher started playing that billie eilish song from the barbie movie, stared at the computer for a solid five seconds, then went 'sorry this isn't it' and tapped the computer once to change it to whatcha know bout me by nicki minaj. god. wild. love her dearly.

i have So Many Quotes from dance i might just make a danceau incorrect quotes post bc. we wild.

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 5!!!