#numbers can't be wooly

[calmlyerratic]

My favorite Hermione headcanon:

Although she scoffs at divination, she's secretly fascinated with numerology. Numbers are comforting and factual. Her favorite subject is arithmancy, because it's incredibly mathematical. She loves calculating the personal numbers/birth charts of everyone around her. She takes the numbers a little too literally, but would never admit it.

[gutzygumsho3]

Hello there :D, I joined June 20th 2024! It's not my birthday, the day I joined tumblr !

Age: only my friends know

Pronouns: They/her (questioning if demi girl)

Anyways! Hi, my friends are @oll1312-artz @misses-kiseki-san @creep3r-chan, @wolfangeldoodles24 , and @warkiii (warkii, ignore here, :] you are siller silly) there's more friends but I can't really spell their names-, it's hard for me to say no to anything, please do not take advantage of me, I do NOT post P3daf!le@, R34, S3×, NSFW, or anything else bad, you can trust me to anything, (IM A MINOR) so DNI pedos, proshippers, R34 artist, (KYS r34 artist, proshippers, and pedos) this is a LGBTQ free space, furry free space, proshipper free space (do not send rude comments), and a threarian (spelled wrong :[) free space! Oh and by the way predators, go f*#k off! I don't want to say "Go MeSsAgE mE" and seeing something weird ! I'm almost a pre-teen!

Favorite character involved Fandoms:

Regretavator / infected

Garten of banban / Bittergiggle

Sprunki / Wenda

Spooky month / Skid

Hazbin hotel / Angel dust

Alphabet lore / N

Amanda the adventurer / Wooly

Fundamental paper education / Alice

Number lore / 4

Bad parenting / Ron

The amazing digital circus/TADC / Jax

Don't hug me i'm scared/DHMIS / Yellow guy

Dandys world / Glisten, astro, shrimpoo, Goob

And ofc, my favorite songs :]

I'm not a proshipper! I'm 12 and check my art, I ship normal ships !

[rorywritesjunk]

breathe the freezing crystal air, watch my baby crack a smile

You and Buggy agreed on exchanging just one gift for the Winter Solstice, but he's a pirate and doesn't follow the rules. Rating: G-PG. It's just some fluff, that's all. Warning: None. Buggy can't bake in this. Richie causes very mild chaos. A/N: I wanted to have something about gift giving. This has no connection to any other story, it's just a fun one-shot. Title comes from "Cold Sunshine" by S.J. Tucker.

You and Buggy agreed on exchanging just one gift, simply because you knew how over the top he would get with gift giving. You always appreciated it, and he often gave you really good gifts, but you had no need for clothes, books, anything. Honestly, just spending the day with him doing nothing sounded like the best gift to you. So a month before the Winter Solstice, you talked to him and got him to agree to just one gift each. 

However, after so many years with him, you weren’t actually specific in what you meant by one gift.

When you woke up the morning of the Solstice, you found our bed empty of your boyfriend, but in his place was an envelope with your name and the number #1 on it. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you took it and carefully opened it, frowning at the contents. It was a photo of you from when you first started dating, which was sweet. He didn’t always want photos taken, conscious about his nose and worried it would be the main focus on the photo as he insisted the camera made it look bigger than it was (it didn’t). You didn’t ask too often to take a photo because of that. There was a note stuck to the back of it that read,

you didn’t specify what you meant by one gift.

buggy

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a grin as you finally got out of bed. You were already feeling the chill of the day so you dressed warmly, putting on wooly layers and your warmest jacket before heading out to the deck to find your boyfriend. He often gave the crew a case of rum to go around and the day off for their gift, which allowed you two a bit of peace and (some) quiet for most of the day. 

There was a package in Mohji’s hands when you saw him and he held it out to you. It was weird not to see Buggy yet, but you accepted it with a frown. Your name and the number #2 were on it.

“From you?” 

“No, the Captain.” The beast tamer replied before going off to join his shipmates in enjoying the gift.

You opened the package and jumped with a shriek. Colorful glitter spilled out onto your hands, shoes, and the deck. It got everywhere and you were mortified that Buggy actually thought that would be a good idea, because the first time it happened was the first time he gave you a Solstice gift. Instead of using tissue paper or any other kind of packaging, he used glitter and even years later you were still finding it on things. 

There was a note inside that box with an orange that had cloves sticking out of it and a blue ribbon tied around it, as well as a layer of the colorful glitter. 

there’s more to come

buggy

You were unsure if that was a threat or meant to be romantic. 

~

You got most of the glitter taken care of, but there would forever be a stain of red, green, and gold forever ingrained in the spot where you were standing. Buggy only had himself to blame for that one.

You got the glitter washed off the orange, however, and happily hung it up in your wardrobe to keep it smelling nice. It was a weirdly sweet reminder of when he took over Orangetown, only to disappear for a few weeks with most of his body left behind with the crew. And while they set up the tent on an island, mourning the loss of their captain and unsure what to do next, you were (kind of accidentally) left behind in Orangetown. While you were mad about it, you went about your life helping them rebuild and getting a job in a tea shop for a few months until Buggy showed back up to “rescue” you.

The third gift was left in the fridge. You were trying to think of what to start expecting from him. At this point you had been together 7 years, so was he going to do 7 gifts, or just a random number? Was there a particular order to these gifts? You carefully took the package out of the fridge and opened it over the sink, just to be on the safe side.

It was a piece of chocolate cake which was one of your favorite things. You took a fork and poked at it carefully, hoping there wasn't anything in it that could break a tooth, before you took a forkful and popped it in your mouth. Buggy was… an okay cook, but baking wasn't necessarily his thing. He didn't have the patience for it, nor did he follow the directions properly. The cake definitely was chewy, almost gluing your mouth shut. You decided to save the rest for later so you put it back in the fridge, which is where the note was still at.

because you're so sweet to me

buggy 

Okay, this was getting to be a bit too sweet and adorable for you. He was into grand gestures, flashy announcements and proclamations on his feelings for you, and other eye-catching things. But finding packages around the ship from him with little notes was almost too much. You were starting to feel like your gift was going to pale in comparison to what he probably had planned, but you also knew he would loudly say he loved whatever you got him and it was wonderful.

~

You actually found the fifth gift next. Were you supposed to find these in a particular order? This gift was… calmer. You didn't have to clean up glitter or unstick your mouth from glue-textured cake. It was a scented candle, something you didn't get to enjoy as much as you used to due to conserving them in case of an emergency. This package didn't have a note, but you took it to your room and set it next to the bed. 

Was he making a statement with these gifts? They were all rather sweet and you were now thinking of cooking him a nice dinner the next chance you got. 

When you left the bedroom you actually bumped into him. He hid something behind his back, looking slightly panicked at seeing you.

“W-What are you doing in there?” He asked as he stepped back from you. You shrugged as you leaned over to peck him on the lips.

“Just putting one of my gifts in a safe spot, Buggy.” You told him. “Thank you for the candle.”

“Yea, well… don’t burn it all at once!” He told you as he sidestepped around you to get into the bedroom. “Don’t come in here until I tell you too!”

~

You found what was left of the fourth gift with Richie. He had torn into the package, thinking it was for him, and when you walked up to his cage, you saw the remnants of paper and ribbon with a little stuffed toy hanging from his mouth. There was a letter that had some nibble marks in it which you managed to rescue while giving him some pets. 

You didn’t fight him for the toy but you read the letter.

because you give really good hugs

buggy 

Well, okay, you were told that was something you were good at, and often knew when Buggy needed a hug before he even realized it. When you peered through the bars to see what the toy was, it was just a cute little pony plush that was now being cuddled by the big cat. Richie deserved a gift so you kept the letter and let him have the plush toy.

~

It was closer to evening time when you saw him again. He shut the door to the room pretty quickly and stood in front of it, arms crossed. “You can’t come in here yet.”

“Okay, but… why?” You asked. 

“Because I said so!” He told you as stomped away. “Stay there and wait until I get back!”

You raised an eyebrow but did as he asked. There must be something in there that was part of the gift-giving. And you needed to get in there as well since your gift to him was in there, and you hated that you were starting to feel a little unsure about it. His were all sweet gestures and memories while yours was… not that spectacular in your eyes. 

He came back with two glasses in his hand and paused at the door, shot you a look you didn’t quite understand, and threw the door open and gestured for you to step inside. Confused, you did so, looking in the room to see… nothing. There was nothing in there. You scratched your head and looked at him.

“What am I not supposed to see?”

“Give me a minute!” He told you as he handed you the two glasses and went to the small locked cabinet. You knew that’s where he kept his favorite rum. Saying nothing, you walked over to the wardrobe to grab his gift, something wrapped in some pretty paper you had found at a port. He looked over at you and perked up. “Is that for me?”

“Yea, it is…” You hesitated and walked over to him. “I found um, the gifts, Buggy, and I appreciate them so much, but now I feel a little put out because I only got you one thing.” You took a moment before adding, “Richie found the fourth gift. I managed to get the letter.”

“What? Don’t worry about it.” He told you as he reached for his present. You sighed and handed it over to him. “Your gifts are always thoughtful.”

“Yea…” You raised your hand to your mouth, chewing on your thumbnail as he tore the paper off excitedly. He paused for a moment when he saw what it was: a wooden box with a locking latch and his jolly roger burned into the top. “So, I made that… thought it would be something you can… keep important things in, like, special treasures and stuff…” 

“You made this? When?” He asked as he opened it slowly. The box was well made, lined with a blue velvet while the outside was stained a dark color. His eyes lit up as he examined it. There were little imperfections that made it unique and told about being handmade, such as a few dents in the wood, a hole where a screw mistakenly created, and a few jagged lines around the lower jaw of the jolly roger, likely where you were first starting the design. “How did you find the time?”

You shrugged, moving onto one of your fingernails now as you watched him rotate the box in his hands, opening and closing the lid multiple times before he finally settled on tracing the design with his fingertips. “Some late nights. I started a month ago.” You hesitated before asking, “D’you like it?”

“It’s perfect!” He said as his hands went to place it safely on the bed while he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close for a kiss. Buggy wasn’t just saying that to make you feel good, you knew he meant it because there had been a few mishaps of gifts where he gave you his honest opinion of them if he didn’t like it, but you could tell he liked this one. “It will pair well with my final gift to you.”

“Final gift?” You repeated as he moved you to a spot in the room. 

He looked up at the ceiling for a brief second before making sure you didn’t look up. Next, he swept his coat back before reaching into his pocket and dropping down to one knee in front of you. Oh, oh you knew what was happening now. He held the box in one hand while preparing to open it with another.

“My love, the only one I cherish,” Buggy began, the small box open and revealing to you a necklace with a ring on it. “After seven years together, I’d like to spend another seven with you as your husband, so will-”

“Only seven years?” You asked, cutting him off, looking confused for a moment. Buggy stopped and narrowed his eyes at you for interrupting him. “Why only seven years?”

“I was trying to be poetic!” 

“Okay, but do you intend for either of us to die in seven years?” You asked, still a little confused by his wording. “Or… is that how long a pirate marriage lasts?”

“L-Let me finish!” He stammered as he got to his feet. “I just… I just want to know if you’ll marry me! It can be for seven months or seven decades, I don’t care, I just want to be married to you!”

“Oh, oh! I got it now.” You laughed softly and smiled at him. “You’re so sweet, Buggy, I will marry you.” 

He looked satisfied, though a little thrown off from the interruption, but he didn’t let that stop him from putting the necklace on you before he kissed you; one of his hands popped off and went to a rope hanging nearby, giving it a firm tug. You glanced up as dried flowers fell over the two of you, a bright collection of color during a cold winter day.

It was very sweet. You picked a flower that landed on his shoulder and stuck it in his hat before kissing him again.

“Thank you for the gifts, Buggy.” You told him. “I love you.”

He smirked, pulling you closer as his hand poured the good rum into the two glasses. “Cheers, my love. I love you too.”

[dmaskblog]

still liking the number 8 for no reason..

here's is! Wooly and Michael!

[can't tag the owner of michael cuz.. i can't find the account]

[aperfectlynormalblog]

Amanda the Adventurer 2 arg?

The end credits of the game give credit for an arg under the name Hamfan. -> hamfan'ds site!

which mentions a video by Jakeneutron -> Amanda_The_Adventurer_S_KENSDALE-Proj_00.06 "Hide and Seek".mp4

I scrubbed through the video frame by frame, and although the video has glitches, I didn't notice anything standing out. I think it's more of first pass animatic and meant to be like a "control" for part two ->

Amanda_The_Adventurer_S_KENSDALE-Proj_00.11 "Hide and Seek".mp4

which does have weird stuff...

to the left of Amanda "can [or can't] you find the [cut off or too dark?]"

"right?"

Blur slips

3 frames that seems to have Amandemon in them?

right of Wooly one of the smaller smears "hurry up"

Laughing Text

In red by the load bar "I GOT YOU!"

Ends with several 'codes' or random generated letters and numbers for effect. I'm not posting them all. You can pause the youtube video and use the keys " , " for back a frame or " . " for foward a frame.

Even more codes in this style and "CAN WE PLAY SOMEHING ELSE?..." becomes clearest on this frame.

underload bar "WHEN IS IT MY TURN?"

[apteryxparvus]

Seeds of Love — Oikawa Tooru / Reader

Pairing — Oikawa Tooru / Reader

Word count — 2,606

Content warning — none

Summary — You and Tooru’s teammates have a running gag that any plant named after someone in your life is cursed to suffer a terrible fate under your boyfriend's notorious black thumb. And, no matter how much you try to save them, your boyfriend always manages to transform them from thriving greens to shriveled-up twigs faster than you can say 'photosynthesis'.

“No way,” you state bluntly. “You’ll kill it. Again.”

As you hold the tiny pot that vaguely resembles Bulbasaur — albeit a bit misshapen and a completely wrong color, — you squint your eyes in concentration, trying to assess if it would match with any of the succulent cuttings scattered around the apartment. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Tooru jutting out his lower lip like a sulky child. His doe-like eyes wander around, anxiously shifting between you and the fluffy plant he's clinging onto for dear life.

His voice takes on a high-pitched, pleading tone. “Pleaseee, I'll love it and care for it like it's my own child,” he whines, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and shoving the wooly plant in your face. The fuzzy oval-shaped leaves tickle your nose, and your face scrunches up as you try to hold back a sneeze.

You really want to say yes — the plant is certainly cute, adorable even. In fact, you're already envisioning the perfect spot for the Kalanchoe, nestled snugly on the shelves between the cotton-scented candles and the graduation photos from high school and university.

But deep down, you know that no matter how much Tooru insists he'll take care of the plant, it'll end up like all the others: drowned or parched, a mere shadow of its former self. You can almost hear the poor thing gasping for air, crying out for a drop of water or a ray of sunlight to save it from Tooru's notorious black thumb. You've lost count of the number of succulents and cacti that have met their untimely demise under his care.

(It's like he has a special talent for killing plants, despite his best intentions.)

Tooru pleads with you once more, "Please, this time I'll let you name him."

You give him a skeptical look. "Tooru, darling, I can't handle giving it a proper name and then watching you unintentionally murder it a month later. My heart just can't take it."

He lets out a pitiful sigh, slowly moving the fuzzy plant away from your face. You look back and see him holding it like a baby, cooing. His lean fingers are trailing gently along the oval-shaped leaves.

He looks so content, his eyes shining under the unforgiving fluorescent lights.

"Alright," you finally give in, avoiding his handsome, sun-kissed face. But you can see his expression lighting up with excitement from the corner of your eye. "But remember, I get to name it like you promised. No take backs."

The thing is, you adore giving your plant babies human names. The silly tradition began, along with your soul-crushing, debt-inducing plant addiction, when, for your four-year anniversary with Tooru, one of his Argentinian teammates gifted you a large Lacy Tree Philodendron that took over a third of the apartment's tiny hallway space.

But you knew your dear boyfriend had a talent for plant homicide. Back in your high school days, you'd find yourself helping his mother tend to their modest garden while he stayed inside, sulking when she would scold him for killing yet another perennial.

So, despite being grateful for the generous gift, you couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy about the fate of the plant under Tooru's care. After all, you still had the sad remains of an African Milk Tree cactus barely standing on the balcony, a victim of his infamous killer touch.

Somehow, against all odds, the philodendron managed to stay alive. A few months later, during a celebratory dinner with Tooru's closest teammates at the start of the league season, you found yourself a bit tipsy and brought up his plant-killing tendencies. You recounted the time when he had fallen on the Tree Philodendron, exhausted from training, and accidentally snapped off two three leaves, leaving the poor plant struggling to recover. Everyone at the table laughed, and Tooru defended himself, claiming that he had simply been giving the plant a haircut.

Carlos, the gift bearer, had laughed, explaining that, coincidentally, that was around the time he got a broken arm after an unfortunate skiing accident in the Andes, near Cerro Chapelco. After another full glass of plump and smoky Malbec wine later (all thanks to Leon and his vineyard), and more apparent coincidences, the precious Philodendron got its official name — Carlinhos.

From that point on, it became a sacred ritual and an inside joke between you and Tooru's teammates to name each new plant after someone in your life and eagerly wait for any coincidences between the plant and its namesake. 

(Such as the unfortunate IKEA-bought Cascade Palm named Lola after Dolores, the evil fifth-floor neighbor who tended to throw her garbage out the window onto the street. A week and a half after Tooru had accidentally overwatered the palm, Dolores had to move out, never to be seen again.

Or the pink succulent cutting, lovingly nicknamed after Leon’s pinky finger. Both the succulent and Leon's pinky had suffered minor injuries, coincidentally, just days apart.)

"Come on, plant hoarder, let's bounce before you bankrupt us," Tooru teases, as you add the fuzzy succulent to the overflowing shopping basket filled with an eclectic mix of trinkets. Your boyfriend grins, his eyes crinkling in amusement, and your heart flutters at the sight.

Despite his notorious black thumb, he's just as enamored with the plants as you are. In fact, he's the one who constantly brings home new green babies, filling every nook and cranny with vibrant colors and sweet fragrances. You often catch him reading plant care books or watching videos on plant propagation, determined to learn more and improve his skills.

At the cash register, Tooru places the last plant on the conveyor belt and shoots you a wink, his lips stretched into a cheeky grin. His infectious energy never fails to lift the spirits of those around him, and even the two elderly ladies standing a few meters behind you can't resist commenting on how happy you two look together. They start gushing in rapid Spanish, and though you can't catch everything they're saying, you hear enough to know they're describing the two of you as a picture-perfect couple.

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment. Back in Japan, you were always the shy one, avoiding any public displays of affection, no matter how small. The old ladies in your neighborhood were always on the lookout for any potential gossip fodder, and anything from a simple kiss on the cheek to sneaking out at midnight for a game of volleyball would set off the gossip mill.

The cashier finally rings up the last item from your cart, and you start shoving the items inside your bags. Most of the trinkets fit snugly inside Tooru's backpack and the extra shopping bag you brought, except for the three large plants you ended up buying.

(Which you will proudly hug and carry to the car.)

Tooru effortlessly lifts the bags, and you both exit the store, elated by your successful shopping spree. As you walk towards the car, you steal glances at him, and your heart swells with affection. Even after all these years, it still feels surreal that he is your partner, your closest confidant, and the only one for you.

Inside the car, the larger plants are carefully secured in the backseat with seatbelts, but the tiny kalanchoe stays in your lap. Its velvety leaves tickle your fingers, and you can't resist the urge to caress them throughout the ride.

When the car rolls to a stop at a red light, Tooru glances at the furry plant and asks, "What should we name this little dude?"

“We’ll find out soon enough, when inspiration strikes me.” You stick your tongue out, and your boyfriend answers by softly flicking your forehead.

That evening, you and Tooru make a simple dinner and enjoy it with a couple of glasses of cheap store-bought wine. As the evening progresses and the alcohol takes effect, your playful mood only grows, and you can't wait to catch up with the rest of the Seijoh Four during your monthly meetup. Eager to see your friends, you log onto Discord earlier than planned and head over to Tahakiro's gaming server. To your surprise, he's already there, his camera on, displaying his strawberry blond hair and cheeky grin.

Tooru bursts into the channel and greets your pink-haired friend with a boisterous "Makki!"

You give him a playful jab as he turns on his laptop's camera and takes over the screen, giving a cheerful wave to your best friend. The three of you immediately launch into a lively gossip session about life, and within a few minutes, Hajime joins in the chat, his face a bit fuzzy due to his old camera.

As Iwaizumi’s pixelated face pops up on the screen, you can't help but tease him.

"Hey Iwa-chan, are you broadcasting from a potato?" Tooru jokes. Despite the poor video quality, you can clearly make out Iwaizumi's raised middle finger.

Moments later, the final member of your little Seijoh alumni group joins. Issei's tired-looking face appears on the screen, bathed in the neon glow of his gaming setup.

“What's the plan for this lovely morning slash evening? Are we gonna kick some butt in CS:GO or run for our lives in Dead by Daylight?" he asks, his voice slightly hoarse. 

You pause for a moment, considering your options. "Hmm, I'm feeling a bit too exhausted for that. How about some peaceful farming in Stardew Valley?"

Takahiro is quick to agree, jumping in with a condition, "Stardew is fine, but only if we play the Wilderness map. And just to be clear, I am not sharing my resources with Tooru this time."

Your boyfriend bristles and pouts as he turns to face you, expecting you to side with him.

You interject, "Tooru, darling, let's be real here. Choosing Joja Mart over the Community Center is a rookie mistake."

"But I wanted the achievement!" he whines.

You and Tooru quickly load up the game on his laptop, creating your shared character and setting up the farm. You send out invites to the others, and they set off to work the moment they join. Issei takes charge of plowing the land, while Makki becomes the farming guru and heads to Pierre's shop for extra supplies. Meanwhile, Tooru, still pouting like a grumpy toddler, watches as you and Hajime break the rocks and chop down the trees.

You spend the majority of your playtime being a love-struck fool, showering your favorite character with gifts and compliments, much to the annoyance of your boyfriend. You can practically feel his eyes rolling every time you let out a high-pitched squeal after leveling up your friendship with your in-game partner. Whenever you switch, you’re stuck watching him gift your in-game partner with soggy newspaper pieces and driftwood. He ends up getting himself killed in the mines, and you're quick to fall behind on money.

“Yes,” you let out a squeal of excitement as you exit the cabin and a cutscene starts to play. You watch as your character receives a pet from Marnie. “Guys, guys, what should I name him?”

“Nomi.” Issei suggests, earning an eye roll from you.

“Issei, I am not naming him ‘flea’.”

“Cream puff.”

“Assikawa,” Hajime pipes, and Tooru gasps.

"Iwa-chan, why do you have to hurt me like this?" he exclaims dramatically, collapsing onto the couch with a hand over his heart.

You laugh and type in the name "Assikawa," ignoring your boyfriend's failed attempts at keyboard mashing. As the cutscene ends, Makki and Mattsun cheer and gather around the adorable creature, giving it as many pats as possible.

A while later, Makki reluctantly leaves the game, but stays in the voice call, and starts ranting about his mind-numbing recent job at a local konbini. Issei, unfazed by his friend's usual complaints, barely spares him a glance as he delves deeper into the mines, his pickaxe ready to strike at any glimmer of gold ore. But you're intrigued — you haven't gossiped with your friend in a while — and you’re curious to hear more about this job, despite knowing of his job-hopping tendencies.

“---the old hag keeps trying to give me double shifts, even though I’ve told her a million times I have another part-time job,” the strawberry blond continues his spiel. "She must hate me or something," he gripes. "I swear, I've worked more night shifts than there are days in the week!"

"What's her name?" you ask, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. Makki looks at you with confusion as you continue, "Tooru, what if we name our new plant baby after her?"

“No,” your boyfriend deadpans. You pout, making your best puppy eyes at him, but he doesn’t budge. You try to win him over by moving closer and giving him a quick peck on the lips, but it only earns you a chorus of exaggerated retching sounds from Maki and Issei.

You sulk. “Fine then. Our baby’s name will be Assikawa then.”

Tooru's eyes widen in disbelief. "You wouldn't dare," he says, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

"Oh, I absolutely would."

Tooru looks at you for a moment, considering his options. “Not even if I kiss you like this?” He leans in, his lips brushing softly against yours.

More loud retches come from the laptop's speakers, and you and Tooru pull away, embarrassed.

"Uh, well, see you guys next week," you say, trying to conceal your mortification. "And good luck at work, Makki."

Hajime rolls his eyes, but there's a small smile on his face. Issei just laughs, clearly amused by the whole situation.

You do end up naming the innocent plant Assikawa. This leads to your boyfriend becoming overly protective of it, treating the innocent plant like a delicate newborn and fearing the wrath of the Plant Gods (and you, mainly you) if anything were to happen to it.

And it’s all fine for the first two-three weeks.

Each morning before heading to training, he would plant a gentle kiss on your forehead as you lay half-asleep in bed. After that, he would proceed with his typical morning routine, taking a quick shower before packing a light meal for you, followed by preparing his own nutritious breakfast and savoring a cup of black coffee. Just before leaving the apartment, he would give a tender pat to the fluffy plant, using it as a good luck charm.

That is until one morning, after a night of heavy drinking with some of his teammates, he staggers out of the bedroom, his head throbbing with pain. He makes his way towards the bathroom, his vision blurry and his mouth feeling like cotton. His lips are dry and chapped, and he stumbles, reaching out to grab something to steady himself.

You are abruptly awakened by a noise that isn't the birds chirping outside. You jolt awake, startled, heart rapidly beating. And when you leave the confines of your bedroom, your own head pounding, you're greeted by the sight of Tooru lying on the floor, shielding his face with his arms. The second-hand wooden shelf is barely holding up, one of its legs broken. Wet soil clumps are scattered on the soft carpet, and crumpled magazines are scattered around.

The fuzzy plant is barely visible, hidden under your boyfriend's large frame.

“Tooru!” you shout, rushing to his side and frantically checking for any injuries. “Tooru, are you alright?”

He groans in pain as you help him sit up and brush the dirt off him. “My butt hurts,” he complains, massaging his behind. “This is all your fault, Assikawa, for cursing me.”

Author's note: first time writing and posting a fanfic; i know there's absolutely no plot in here, but hey, i had to somehow indulge in my love for plants & writing xd

Thanks for reading 💚

[direwolfrules]

Another Mando Time Travel AU (I Don't Know What This Is This Started As A Totally Different AU We Don't Even Get To The Time Travel Till The End)

Tarre Vizsla's relatively peaceful afterlife is rudely disrupted by one Jaster Mereel. Now every time the Ka'ra meets, Jaster's always talking about his son.

It only gets worse after Galidraan, and honestly, Tarre can sympathize. He too would curse up a storm if his entire movement was slaughtered and his son sold into slavery. He actually did perform some of the more colorful acts of vengeance that Jaster describes, all those years ago when he was crude matter, and the Sith had kidnapped his padawan. It was part of what had made him leave the Order, once the Sith had been defeated. The shame of those moments of raw, unadulterated violence, the whispers in the halls that perhaps he was simply too Mandalorian...they had followed him since he was a babe in the creche, but towards the end they had grown in number and volume.

Then one day, Jaster starts cursing Jango's name. It honestly shocks Tarre enough that he breaks his most important rule: not engaging in conversation with Mand'alor the Ridiculously Loud. He's curious, sue him.

(Inside his head Tarre cannot help but chuckle, because his master had often said his curiosity would be the death of him. Now that Tarre was dead, would it be the life of him? He doesn't know. All he knows is his friend Fay would have groaned at that poor excuse for a joke.)

Turns out Jaster's son, his precious boy, his poor, brutalized child, has decided to help in a Sith plot that would see the Jedi destroyed, all for the low price of millions of enslaved sentients.

Tarre – who avoided looking at the affairs of the living after his descendants sacked Coruscant and stole the Darksaber from the Temple where he left it, turning his tool for peacekeeping into a weapon of war and giving the anti-Mando factions in the Senate all the ammunition they needed to unleash the Dral'Han – tunes back in. He's horrified by what he sees.

He can't help but watch as the Clone Wars wages through the galaxy, as Manda'yaim is subjugated by the Empire, as Mando'ade are so brainwashed by the Sith (and oh how it burns, that the ancient enemy managed to slip through their fingers all those years ago) and their propaganda that they build the very weapons the Empire turns on their fellow verde. His brief moment of jubilation at seeing the Mandalorian rebellion nearly succeed is crushed by the Night of a Thousand Tears.

It's horrible, and made even worse by the realization that out there in the darkest edges of the galaxy, hidden away like the spider-roaches they are, the Sith survive. They had devastated his people, both his peoples, and they had survived with plans to do it all over again.

The Ka'ra meets more frequently now than anytime in Tarre's memory since the Dral'Han. Or the first Dral'Han, he supposes.

Things had gone so wrong, the Manda was full of souls who had lived too-short lives and the Force was constantly screaming in pain. Mandalore, Geonosis, Alderaan, Serenno, all were devastated by an ill-tempered madman high on the pain he caused and his army of sycophants. That much needless, senseless death leaves lasting scars on the fabric of the galaxy.

"If we could go back and fix it all..." It's Mandalore the Binder who says it. Harswee's greatest native son had been silent since the burning of his homeworld's fields. Where once there had been herds of wooly-nerfs and banthas grazing without care, now there was only blackened ash. To hear him speak now in that rumbling, gravely drawl of his...they cannot help but all pay attention.

It's a simple statement, one that most of their number had been thinking, but never said aloud. What was the use in longing for the impossible?

But then, Tarre thinks, is it really so impossible?

Tarre's curiosity would be the death of him, his old master used to declare, before indulging his inquisitive padawan's bad habits. Sometimes, such indulgences led to Tarre and his dearest friend exploring long abandoned Temples with little to no supervision. And in one of those Temples, there had been holocron upon holocron dedicated to the study of Time and it's relation to the Force.

It was Fay who put together the fragmented ramblings of half-mad acolytes, the accounts of failed rituals. It was Fay – who the Force loved so deeply even then – who figured out how such a ritual would work. And it was Tarre who she chose to share this information with.

It was heretical, a piece of the Force that tread dangerously close to the Dark. Tarre had shoved that knowledge, that terrible burden his dearest friend had inflicted upon him, deep into the recesses of his mind, never to be accessed again. Until now.

To fix it all, to send back the consciousnesses and/or bodies of a few chosen champions...it's tempting. It tempts Tarre almost as much as the Dark did during that one horrid year, when his master had been killed, his riduur assassinated, his people ripping themselves apart—

He brings it before the Council of Kings. It's the only way to be sure he's not being guided by his own selfish desires. The Mandalores of the past are a vast group, filled with individuals as varied as the stars for which they are named.

The vote is a close run thing. For all the Mandalores who ascended to the position through their love for their people, there are just as many who rose to power through force of arms or hatred of the Jedi. Many of the latter view Tarre's very presence as an insult, as do some of the former.

Surprisingly, it's Mandalore the Indomitable who breaks the tie. The former Mand'alor had served his Sith master faithfully in life, had died to fulfill his oath, and millennia later the Sith repaid his sacrifice with the blood of millions of his own people. He detests the Jedi, he makes this point very clear, but he loves his people more. Let the jetii in their ranks perform his Force osik. Even if the very thought of such an act makes him feel sick to his stomach, the survival of their people and their Creed is more important.

With the vote decided, Tarre merely has to pick his Champions. The range of the ritual can only go so far back. The Force is infinite, but Tarre's presence within it is not. He had gone through great lengths during his early life to not seem too strong, too much of a threat, and his efforts had resulted in a rather limited way of thinking.

He brings in Jaster to help make the decision. As annoying as the man could be, as much as Tarre disagreed with him on matters of morality and honor, he was quite knowledgeable about the destination time period. Both of them made their careers not just on the strength of their arms, but in the force of their personalities. They know what they need to look for in potential champions: those who would follow the orders of the dead, those whose skill set would prove apt for their designated theaters of war, and those who could be manipulated through their honor and beliefs.

That last one, the manipulation, it leaves a sour taste in Tarre's mouth, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

In their dreams that night, two young Mandalorians and a Jedi are offered a choice by Tarre. They all accept.

Simultaneously, at the very edges of the Manda a father speaks to his son for the first time in many years, and in the face of his buir's stern disappointment the son reverts back to that orphaned fourteen-year-old. He agrees to his orders, and dreads facing his greatest mistake.

And in the Force, the essence of what was once a young knight who sacrificed himself for his family is plucked away from the collectiveness he had been lost in, and offered a similar choice. He eagerly accepts.

[wizardsaur]

Hermit-Wizard's Sleep & Dream Quick Spells

1. Nightmare last night? Open a window & shake out your pillowcase in the sunlight/fresh air. Get those vibes gone. No more Balloon Animal Alien Invasion or Fish-Hell nightmares

2. Big Day of XYZ got you stressy? Can't sleep? Glass of Warm Milk+ will fix you right up. Add chamomile & lavender for peace, and rosemary for clarity, if you've got it. Stir in a spoonful of honey for sweet dreams - Four times counterclockwise to remove the chaotic and unwanted vibes. Seven times clockwise to imbue desirable Snooze-Vibes. Tap spoon on mug's edge 3x to "Seal The Deal"

3. Not a spell, but counting sheep isn't actually numbering off fluffy wooly babies jumping over a fence. Pick a relatively broad theme. Mentally list off everything you can about that theme. Specific Names of Colors does the trick for me.

4. "In with the good, out with the bad" breathing. Deep breaths, breathing exercise style. Welcome energies that help you find peace, exhale that which makes you stressed & keeps you awake.

[umbrellamedic]

She's summoned to The Pile. 

Foreboding as the name is,  it's not much more than a trio of survivors' best efforts to have safety in numbers outside of trial. Amounting to a bunch of old mattresses and the promise of familiarity.

Carlos hasn't had a lot of exposure to the American birthday song,  so he doesn't try singing it.  Instead,  he employs that wooly voice and sincerity to wish her an uncomplicated: "happy birthday,  Michaela."

He presents to her a page torn out of a lined notepad.  Sketches mark the paper,  in a hand perhaps too macabre and certainly too artistic to be the work of Carlos.  Clever design amalgamations of the USS and UBCS insignia, together.  The splices are colorless prototypes of a crest.

"Maybe it's time we update our patches,  since we've been in here for a while — I know you miss your old friends."  Friends.  Not teammates.  It's both,  in Carlos' point of view.  "Me too."  A beat of silence,  in respect.  As the mind wants to summon the dead in memory. 

"But I'm grateful for the one I got now." As if that explains his intentions. He hadn't the right words.

"Oh, and Muller helped me with these."  When he turns back round,  he's balancing three jelly-filled donuts on stack of styrofoam plates.  Filling provided by a beat-up pot and the meticulous collection of those berries she's been caught enjoying.  Oxblood colored and richly aromatic. "Couldn't find any candles. But I got a flashbang you can throw."

Bertha shows up to The Pile with a medkit and the vague worry that always accompanies meeting Carlos somewhere. Part of her expects morning but blood and the realization that she's too late; or, worse. She forces down thoughts of his undead corpse. She sighs with relief finding him alive and as healthy as any of them can be.

The scene is comforting. Nowhere in the fog smells good, but this place is the least bad. Sometimes she's fortunate enough to be alone and able to find the scent of one of her teammates lingering on one of the old blankets; something that feels safe enough to wrap herself in and lull her to sleep. It is less embarrassing than waking up to find she's wrapped herself around one of her companions in her sleep. Knowing that Carlos is less hesitant about their little safe space than when Nikolai first created it warms her heart on some level. She sets her medkit down.

"You need something?" She isn't asking if he needs, but what she needs.

"Happy birthday, Michaela."

She blinks behind her mask before slipping it off and setting it on the medkit. Hiding her face is not appropriate. Her knit brow and the small, surprised 'o' of her lips on full display. It takes a moment for her brain to catch up to her naked face and remember that she can't just let her mouth hang open. She gives a small, "thank you" before making sure to close her mouth. It's more of a question than her previous statement.

Cornflower eyes scan the page once she accepts it. She doesn't know if it's beautiful or sacrilege.

"Maybe it's time we update our patches,-"

Beautiful. She settles on beautiful. Friends is what Carlos calls her teammates; how he regarded his own. She does not correct him. Bertha, Michaela, sees them as something more. Family is a closer term, but even that does not cover it. The blood of the covenant truly is thicker than the water of the womb. In her mind a true team is individuals bound together at their torn edges. She felt it with the wolf pack. She feels it with Carlos and Nikolai.

She doesn't look up from the sketches until the mention of Jake. It's hard to feel jealous that Carlos has friends outside their team in the face of filled donuts. Her favorite kind, if she has to pick a favorite donut. It looks delicious. It's more than she deserves. Tears swell at the corner of her eyes as her lips spread into a wide smile. Her cheeks warm with her joy. Undeserving of this kindness as she is, she is grateful and so, so happy for it.

"Save your flashbang for trials." She takes the plates carefully; Michaela has no intention of eating all the donuts; she wants to set the plates down and out of the way. "I will be happy knowing they are keeping you safe. And that they are upsetting a killer."

She throws herself at Carlos, confident he can take the impact without going down. Her arms wrap around him as tight as she can. "Thank you. This might be my best birthday." Usually she does not celebrate. Growing up, it was hardly worth celebration every time she survived another year.

She does not let go. She does not want to; not just yet. But she does say softly, humor lacing her tone, "I suppose one of those designs will have to do since you do not have the good sense to accept USS superiority." In truth, she loves the new design. Blended at the edges, as a team should be.

"Did Nikolai draw the designs?" The detail of them leads to her guess. Nikolai has always struck her as a man made up of a thousand little details- even in Raccoon when she would have been happy to crush his skull beneath her boot.

[jodilin65]

I was reading an article about the perception of old age and how it changes depending on how old we are, and it’s so true. When you’re under 25, you see 50 years old as ancient, and when you’re my age, you see 70 years old as elderly.

I've been very tired all day. I didn't sleep well last night. I definitely don't sleep well when I don't take Benadryl. Even taking Ibuprofen helps me sleep better. I thought of taking something, but then I figured I'd be woken up by storms, so it would be pointless. I wasn't woken up today, but tomorrow I'm almost certainly going to be. This really sucks. At this time of year, I'm wondering why we moved here. I miss being out in the country with more space around me and quieter skies, free from thunder and planes. I don't mind thunderstorms at all when I'm awake, but every time I'm on nights during storm season, it's a struggle. I don't understand why my husband can sleep through thunder without a sound machine, and I can't. As tired as I am, I'm trying to get as much cleaning and other things done as I can because tomorrow is going to be worse. I wish there was a way to flip my schedule. I don't understand how one of my exes could work rotating shifts like she did.

Believe it or not, even though I don't have a normal TSH, it looks like cutting carbs and sugar may slowly cause weight loss after all. This both pleases and scares me. It would really help my health in many ways, but because of the medication, I worry about it bringing back all that anxiety. I asked Jessie how much weight she's ever lost or gained on the medication and if she's ever had to adjust her dose because of it. From everything I've gathered from her, she's never had the kind of problem on this medication that I've had and could still have if I'm not careful. I've got the perimenopause out of the equation but not the sensitivity to the medication. I'm not completely sure I'll lose weight, though. I'm more sure that I'll never gain any more in my life than that I'll lose. If I ever gained more, something would have to be wrong because I don't intend to eat more and move less.

My new g-strings are a bit big but comfortable. The adjustable tie-dye set will be good for under shorts and pants, while the other brand will be comfortable for sleeping. When I'm wearing dresses, I still prefer a full-coverage style so I don't get a wedgie from the dress every time I bend over or stand up. Perhaps that's TMI, but you know how it is—I write for me first, LOL.

I'm allergic to cats and don't care for them as pets due to their claws, jumping, and smelly litter boxes, but they are adorable. Even when they're on sheets. The new polyester sheet and pillowcases are adorable! Now let's see how long they last before they pill. I can't believe they could pill any faster than the last two sets I got, which I'm now annoyed to have wasted money on. I should have just gotten these cheaper, prettier sheets from Temu instead of the pricey ones on Amazon. They feel nicer too—they have a smoother, less wooly feel to them.

I'm not sure about my new trimmer yet. The electrolysis has thinned out the number of hairs I have and thinned the remaining hairs, but I don't think it's ever going to completely eliminate them. Maybe I just don't do it enough. I forget or get lazy at times. It's not exactly a professional-grade tool either.

I'm kind of surprised I can do video chats with Mia. I could have sworn that was a premium feature, and it even says that it is.

I found that the quickest way to finish my latch-hook rug, because it's so boring to do, is to work on it while I watch TV. I couldn't drill or color while watching TV because I would need to look away from the screen too much.

Most people don't want to know the future. They don't want to know when they're going to die, how, or what's going to happen in their future. I'm different, though. I spent 58 years not knowing most things, so it would be a nice change of pace if I could know some things. Maybe not everything, but some things. I would really like to know if we're ever going to move or not because that would affect my goals. I would be more tempted to save for certain home improvement projects if I thought we weren’t going anywhere. I can kind of see where if we saved enough, we might have options in the future, but I don't know for sure. I guess it would depend on a lot of things, like the housing market and where it was and that sort of thing.

[sluntch]

I have a weird take that I need to get out in the world somewhere and this appears to be the best place to do so

Everyone should have their first playthrough of a Souls game be either alone or, failing that, with someone to whom that game is the best in the series.

Let me explain.

--- Disclaimer: This is all just, like, my opinion, man ---

To start this post off, there are a few things I need to get out of the way. Chief among these is that my first Souls game was Dark Souls 2, so I'm a sicko who has absolutely NO nostalgia or overfondness for Dark Souls 1. As such, people who slob all over DS1's knob are total fucking weirdos to me, because I think the game, gameplay-wise, is the absolute worst of the entire series and the lore is, like, mid at best. To a less-important extent, I have neither fought nor beaten Artorias or played the DLC for DS1. To be quite honest, I don't think that matters very much but I know some mfers will be like "BUT HE'S THE BEST THING ABOUT THE WHOLE SERIES" to which I would rebut - then that sucks. One guy in one, fairly small (considering later releases), DLC being the best thing about a series is kinda bleak isn't it? Personally, I think that DS1 is held in such a high regard because it was the higher-profile Second of its Kind, a refined version of what was started in Demons' Souls. People nut over the interconnected world thing too, which is cool but has pretty poor implementation that makes getting anywhere and doing all the backtracking you have to do REALLY tedious. Least important is that I have not, and probably am not going to, ever played Demons' Souls. I just don't have interest in it and the gameplay is probably jankier that DS1 and I already barely have patience for that.

As a side note, Dark Souls 3, despite having what I believe to be some of the better gameplay and some of my favorite weapons, areas, music, and bosses in the series, is just the worst in that it's a fanservice game for DS1 fans and almost exclusively nothing else. Yes, they tacked some DS2 stuff in there as a pity drop for DS2 truthers but it seems to just kinda pretend that DS2 doesn't exist and is just so masturbatory that I almost can't stand it.

Glad to have these off my chest. If you're ready to discount everything I have to say from here on out based on that first paragraph, then godspeed. Continuing.

In looking to take my mind off of my current situation (see older posts for context regarding my cool disease), I decided to turn to comfort vidya games, namely playing through Elden Ring again, something I haven't done in quite a while. I'm remembering how much I love it and my playthrough, which is still going strong as of this writing, is super fun. I'm taking the game much slower than any previous playthrough I've done besides the first (this one is number 5) and am just enjoying being in the Lands Between, readily awaiting the DLC for the game that will likely come out in 2024. One of the things I've always done when I'm playing a game, specifically a game that I don't really need to pay attention to story-wise or sound-wise, I have videos or music or something on in the background. I'm sure many of you do this as well.

[QUICK SIDE NOTE: One of my more nostalgic sensory memories is when I used to do this in my room, during my high school years, playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 while watching episodes of Archer in the background. I can see the evening sun coming through my windows and it was such a warm and comfortable environment that I constantly yearn for it again, even though I know I'll probably never have another moment quite like that, carefree and cozy, just doing my thing. Eh. A guy can dream though, right? END QUICK SIDE NOTE]

What I've been having on in the background as of late are the Super Best Friends Play [insert Souls game here] compilations. These playthroughs, with the exception of Bloodborne (Pat and Woolie switching off controls on death, arguably the worst way to play a Souls game) and DS3 (Pat on the sticks and overleveling to the point of ruining the playthrough lol), are in the same format - Woolie, is on the sticks and Pat backseats, providing some context and guidance throughout. initially, for the DS2 playthrough, I was very excited because Woolie's first Souls game was the same as mine! Hey! This dude is playing it in the same order that I did! However, when I watched through it the first time, ALL Pat could do was shit on DS2 and say how much better DS1 was. In subsequent videos and playthroughs, it comes through VERY clearly and notably that this tainted Woolie's view of the entire series and greatly affected the way he interacted with it. On this watch, I formulated the above opinion.

The Souls games are so fucking good that they do NOT deserve to be ruined by someone shouting in your ear about how a different one did things better. Yes, I think DS1 is the worst of the series but even at that point, it's the worst of one of the best series of games of all time, which is still incredibly good. Obviously, the ideal way to play a Souls game is to go in completely blind and do it by yourself. But if you're playing with friends or in your Discord or something or someone is coming over to watch you play (if people still do that. GOD I hope they do), someone in the room should have that Souls game be their favorite. The game gets proper hype and no sole voice in the backseat gets to say some shit about how the fight with Artorias was better or "there's too many dudes in armor" or something about how it's "SO INNOVATIVE" that Gwyn's theme is sad piano plunks instead of epic boss music (which, to be fair, it is but shut up about it already. We get it). It's crazy to me how just one person's attitude like that can poison a perception of a game. For someone playing through them for the first time (people of whom I am EXTREMELY jealous), the initial impression is everything and every person should get to have the joy of playing through them unmarred by negativity about the game they are currently playing.

I don't know if this is anything and I don't think this argument is fully fleshed-out in this post or even really coherent. Just some dumb weird thoughts I wanted to put out there on my favorite game series.

[thewoolyworm]

Feeling a growing resentment for Instagram and Twitter art communities in this chili's tonight

[madschiavelique]

A Crown Of Ink : Chapter 2 – The Emperor

summary : jayce is trying to cool the mood by having a conversation to get to know one another with reader, sky, and viktor. they then go get groceries, more banter ensues, and reader tries not to stress the hell out about the whole situation.

content warnings : none

word count : 5,2k

author's note : heyyy second chapter of this baby :)) hope you'll enjoy

proofread by the lovely @yaffles-world

masterlist : here

If you weren't currently sitting comfortably in a leather armchair in the common room sipping orange blossom water with a slice of lemon, you probably would have jumped at Viktor's throat. 

After your encounter with this stick insect, Jayce had tried to calm the atmosphere and had prevented you from starting a real duel to the death on the peaceful grounds of the Academy.

It was actually quite surprising that he had managed to make it all work out. "How about we all go back to the dorms so we can get to know each other better?" he had said, swiftly redirecting the conversation. 

It was hard to struggle in the arms of a guy who was six feet tall and weighed over two hundred pounds, so you didn't do anything that would make you look like a real rabid dog.

There was no lack of desire, though. No – you wished to tear off that smart, satisfied smile that stretched across his face.

The shuttle ride back to the dormitories was stifling. "I can't believe you came second in the pre-exams! That's amazing!" Sky repeated, over and over.

“Amazing”, my ass.

Second. That word echoed in your skull like the most infamous punishment in your trial against success.

Second. The number was tattooed on your eyelids and gave you no respite.

Second. Shivers crawled up and down your body, like an itchy, wooly jumper that ran up to your throat, unpleasant to wear. You wanted to tear it off, that uneasy, scratchy warmth on the back of your neck. It was useless, though. You could never tear it off.

Instinctively, your hand came to your left shoulder, as if a strange itch was tingling your skin. 

Second. If there was a chance for you to eradicate this word, you would have seized it without hesitation.

It was a good thing that this vicious Viktor didn't meet your eyes during the journey, otherwise you would have kindly introduced him to the flavour of glass by making him taste the windows of the vehicle with an ‘unfortunate’ false move of your fist.

But now that the four of you were alone in the common room, it was hard not to stare at your opponent with a look sharp enough to drill a hole in his skull.

"So… you guys have met before?"

Poor Jayce, trying to soften the situation through conversation.

"Among other things," Viktor replied, "she offered me help."

"Wrong," you immediately countered as if trying to justify the first interaction you had ever had with him, "I asked if you needed help. Nuance."

He tilted his head slightly, barely squinting.

"Help?" Sky shyly asked in an attempt to take part in the conversation.

At the moment, you saw both of Viktor's eyes as targets. His pupils were the centre that the knives you threw had to reach. Who knows, maybe he would stop examining you like… something. You didn't know why, but the mischief in his eyes bothered you. They were piercing, clear. It was like having conversations with blue-eyed people, feeling your gaze forced to drift from time to time to something else. So penetrating were their irises.

"Yes, Jayce had drawn me a poor map of the building and I had trouble finding my way around."

"It's true that on a straight line it's easy to get lost," you mumbled.

"Luckily, you, my saviour, showed up to help me. Otherwise, I would never have made it," he stressed, without any sincerity.

You let out a half-laugh, half-mocking burst of voice.

"Fortunately, he arrived shortly afterwards," Viktor resumed.

"Since when have you been a dormitory guide, Jayce?" you asked, turning to the latter.

"Since our flats are being renovated," he confessed.

"Under construction?" questioned Sky, before taking a sip of her own drink.

"Yes, you could say that there was a slight 'incident'...". He exchanged a look with Viktor that screamed secrecy and complicity but said nothing about its content. "Therefore, Viktor and I will share one of the rooms in these dormitories."

Jayce never mentioned Viktor to you before, so the confusion was growing intense. They shared something, something you didn't know about, something secret. What was the connection between them? What were they hiding?

"And how long are you staying?"

"The estimation is around one to two months.”

"Not counting delays," added the rod.

"Sounds like we have a building expert in our midst," you pointed.

"Only in engineering," he clarified.

"Oh, my apologies, being wrong is my favourite occupation." You let out an annoyed sigh.

"Ah, hence the second place."

Pepper sauce ran through your veins, as if you could feel the cortisol frying your neurons in real time.

Insolence. He had a way of expressing himself that made you want to strangle someone, preferably him.

"Why are you being so vehement?" he asked, clearly curious about the reasons for your bitter behaviour towards him over the last few minutes.

"Why are you going out of your way to try to annoy me?" you replied.

"I'm testing the waters of what we call 'getting to know each other'.”

I can let you get acquainted with my phalanx, you thought so hard that you hoped the words would come out on their own.

"But Vik’, why did you refuse her help?" Jayce asked. 

As he was about to answer his friend's question, you cut Viktor off.

"Because his Zaunite pride prevents him from doing so."

The confidence was no longer the same in his eyes when he met yours. It was full of unspoken words : 'How do you know?', 'Do you know me already?' and 'Yet your face tells me nothing' that led his eyes to scrutinize you more and more as if he was digging deep into his memory to recall a potential moment when he crossed paths with you that would explain this situation.

"Wait, are you a Zaunite too?" asked Sky, seemingly finally finding her place in the tumultuous exchange you were sharing.

"Are you?" he then questioned, turning to her, seeming equally surprised.

"Yes I'm from the Boundary Markets on the Promenade Level. You?”

The Promenade Level was probably the nicest floor in Zaun to live on. It was mainly where you could find the most affluent people, the privileged ones who lived in opulence and had little to no fear of vapour-borne diseases.

Notably, you could find the College of Techmaturgy, which you might have expected Viktor and Sky to be in instead of the Academy.

"Emberflit Alley, Entresol level."

The Entresol level was probably the level where the most Zaunites lived. It was where places like the Bridgewaltz, the breather station or delicious Delicatessens were located.

You remembered passing a Cultivar, those big green houses where strange plants grow and light up at night.

For your part, well…

"Emberflit Alley? I'm not sure I see where that is."

"No wonder, if you've spent so much of your life on the Promenade level... Why didn't you go to the College of Techmaturgy?"

"My parents can afford to send me here, you?"

He was silent for a moment.

"A bit like you."

Neither accurate nor inaccurate. Specific enough to silence too many nosy questions, but not specific enough to satisfy your curiosity. 

"Well, the only difference is that I spent two years there. It's just that the courses didn't meet my personal standards anymore. So I came here."

"It's true that the Academy's teaching is superior," confirmed Sky. "I just hope the classes aren't as labyrinthine as its buildings."

"Jayce gave me a tour of the place, it's actually quite exhausting."

"Surely with your elaborate sense of direction it'll be a piece of cake," you said, wearily.

"If you're not used to it," Sky attempted to contrast with your deplorable mood, "tomorrow and the day after we can familiarise ourselves with the Academy. I don't really know my way around either and I'm planning to go so I can find my way back for the first few days."

"That's very generous of you...?"

"Oh Sky, it's Sky." she said.

Sky's first name had been mentioned several times, but Viktor seemed to barely take notice of her presence.

"Thank you, Sky, that's very kind. Unfortunately Jayce and I have some business this weekend that we need to attend to."

"Oh, no worries."

You didn't have to think hard to understand that she was obviously disappointed by this cordial rejection. After all, you understood her. She was new, a stranger to this dented, ivory-white city. The alleys and corners did not hold the same fears as the Promenade Level. Discovering the place with someone was a comfort she would have preferred to give herself, which you understood. And even though you couldn't help her tomorrow or the next day, that didn't stop you from showing her a little more of Piltover.

You got up. Finally, you could get away from the stick on legs and get some fresh air.

"Let's go grocery shopping while it's not too late," you suggested to Sky. "You'll see, Piltover at dusk is quite different."

"Oh shoot, the groceries!" said Jayce, slapping his forehead.

"Didn't you do them?" Viktor asked.

"It seems not," he concluded sheepishly.

"Come with us," Sky offered, which pretty much erased any hopes of deserting Viktor's presence.

"I don't think-" you began before Jayce cut in.

"Perfect! I don't really know this area. And besides, it'll give you a chance to get to know the place a little better, won't it, Viktor?"

The concerned man turned his lemony eyes to his friend already up and about to go out shopping.

"I suppose that... making myself at home in this city would not be out of place."

"Great!" Sky exclaimed.

Great, you mentally cried. Were you doomed to constantly face the very personification of your failure till the end?

In the next few minutes, you found yourself outside. The temperature had clearly dropped. According to the weather report you had checked that morning with Eris' help, you learned that today was the final day of summer. The hot weather you'd endured today would be the last, as temperatures were starting to drop this very evening to let Autumn in.

"Any idea what you would like to eat tonight?" you asked Sky.

"Not really, all I know is that I'm really hungry," she smiled, trying to push her fist between her ribs to stifle the gurgles that were trying so hard to manifest themselves like bubbles of sparkling water trying to regain the surface.

You took out of your pocket a neatly folded piece of paper with some products you had to buy. With your student status, it was pretty obvious that pasta and rice were on the list so you could make quick, cheap, no-fuss stuff, without forgetting bread and other sorts of ingredients that you could put in a sandwich

Plus, now that Sky was your roommate, you could share the cost of groceries and have variety instead of just cold salads and biscuits. So, to celebrate Sky's arrival, you decided to have something to make her happy tonight.

From what you understood when you got to the mini-market, Sky wasn't picky. She was probably the kind of kid who didn't mind eating her broccoli or spinach when it was her meal. She liked sweet as well as salty, sour as well as soft, cooked as well as raw. In short, she was not difficult. This did not mean that she did not have preferences – quite the contrary. She preferred strawberry to raspberry, chicken to steak, peas to beans or juice to tea.

You let her take her landmarks from the shop, informing her that you would be over there where the pasta were. You would have bought some bread, but planned to go to the bakery afterwards to get some pastries for the occasion and some good bread.

You reached for what you were looking for. 

"I would not recommend those."

Your fingers froze in mid-air, as if that accent triggered an automatic mechanism within you, petrifying you in place. You looked up at Viktor, leaning on his crutch behind you. You considered him for a moment: ignore him and leave, or stand up to him? You opted for the second option.

"Not only do your building skills take the lead, but you're an expert in the culinary now?"

"Perhaps behind my obvious knowledge of science – that allowed me to surpass you in the rankings – there isn’t a great knowledge of food hiding?"

"Because no one can be both first in the Academy and first in the kitchen."

He obviously had nothing to say to that, as he resumed his initial argument.

"This pasta is not good. This one, on the other hand, is much better," he said, as he moved closer to point out a packet of pasta They were shaped in yellow moons, with sliced tips.

You knew these products – you had tried them yourself a few years ago. They were called "Datné's eyes".

"What makes them better?"

"Taste, cooking time and texture."

"No, I'm correcting you right now." You took the package you were initially going to take in your hand: 'red snakes'. "This pasta takes less time to cook and it doesn't need to be heated to a precisely calculated fire compared to Datné's eyes. Besides, yours loses its taste as it cooks: no chance with red snakes."

"Red snakes taste terrible."

"It's perfect for me."

"What, are you on a diet?"

"Yes, a strict diet of misplaced enthusiasm and heartbreaking regret," you said, before grabbing your pack. "Plus, yours have a poorly sifted flour that leaves lumps of dough and ginger in them."

"And the red snakes are too salty."

"Vik? Did you find everything you needed?" Jayce asked, as he came into the aisle with Sky.

"Perfectly," he affirmed, taking his pack of yellowish pasta that came within a few shades of his amber eyes.

I hope he chokes on a piece of ginger, you thought so hard that you almost expected him to choke in that moment, without anything in his mouth.

His very presence irritated you, like a mosquito you hunted at four in the morning but never managed to swat, coming back close to your ears and perpetuating that shrill little sound that left you without peace.

"I'm going to the bakery, should I get you some bread?" you asked Jayce.

"Don't bother with that-"

"No no, really, I insist."

Because the truth be told, being alone for even a few moments would be a real blessing right now. Ever since your note fell on you and weighed a ton, you had no break or solitude, nothing to allow you to breathe a little.

"Okay, just two baguettes and a brioche, please," he resigned, "I'll pay you back afterwards."

You let him know it was no problem, then gave Sky some of the bags to take back to the flat.

As you parted ways outside the shop, you felt as if your heart was being held tightly in someone’s hand, fingers wrapped around it, vicious bars closing in on itself.

Mechanically, you took the path leading to the little bakery you used to go to.

It did you good to be alone, to be free. 

Free? No, not really. You were not free from your worries, free from the heaviness that weighed relentlessly on your shoulders and your consciousness. Would the torments ever end? Would you ever get any rest from it?

How could he? How could he pass you by, lower you, make you go down in the rankings? What means did he use? Did he cheat?

No, you hoped he hadn't cheated. After all, cheating at the Academy was not such a simple matter.

Viktor, as in 'victory', was winning and you were losing.

All the cogs in your head aligned with the rails of the train of your thoughts, speeding through a landscape where all you saw was the horizon line that seemed to know no end.

But you had already arrived at the bakery. You left your thought train driverless, and entered the shop. 

The little bell at the entrance of the shop tinkled as you entered the warm room, smelling of butter, bread and melted sugar. No one was there, and that reassured you.

"Welcome," said Emeline from the back of the shop as she came up to you, wiping her flour-laden hands on her whitened apron, "what can I do for- oh, it's you dear!"

You were a regular at Emeline’s bakery. She was actually a pastry supplier at the café where you worked. So you got to know each other quite quickly. She was a plump, redheaded woman with star-studded freckled cheeks who smelled of hot apples. She always gave you little extra gifts. A cream puff, a croissant, a meringue, any extra of the day.

"Hi Emeline," you breathe out, with a tired smile.

"You…there's something wrong, " she remarks, approaching you with a concerned look on her face.

You sigh, your eyes lost on the contents of the colourful display of pastries. Pies, cakes and other delights that remained from the day.

"We got some test results today," you said, with a shrug.

"And they were bad?" she asked, leaning against the counter.

"Let's just say... they weren't what I expected," you confessed. "But then again, I'm not here to complain." You straightened up, your thumb gently stroking up and down the tab of the shopping bag that was lacing your fingers. "Today, I'm celebrating the arrival of my new roommate."

"Oh, but that's great! We have to celebrate indeed," she beamed as brightly as the first ray of sunshine of the day.

Your eyes settled on a single caramel and walnut tartlet with a hazelnut crust. From what you'd gathered, Sky really liked caramel as well as hazelnut, so this would be perfect.

"I'll have one of your little tarts," you said, pointing with your chin to the treat in question. This was added to what Jayce had asked you for in addition to your own necessities.

"You're lucky, it's the very last one," she chirped as she took it and slipped it into a small brown paper bag, wrapping your choice in a separate package. "Oh and, wait a minute here." She said before heading back to the back of the shop.

When she returned, she held a package that was as large as a watermelon, and handed it to you.

"Here, take this."

Your eyebrows furrowed. You put your bag on the ground to open the pouch. The pack was as light as a feather, but the sweet smell it gave off was a testament to its contents. Your eyes became as round as poros: a whole packet of chouquettes.

"This istoo much, I can't possibly take it," you said, meeting Emeline's kind gaze.

"I'm not allowed to keep them anyway, you know what the Piltovian food laws are. If you don't take them I'll have to throw them away and they'll get stuck in whatever toxic Zaun sludge. Plus, you'll just have to share it with your roommate."

You really didn't know what to say, but your friend's distant smile formed a new sentence that left you no time to do otherwise.

"I have to close the shop and you have to go home to celebrate the arrival of your roommate," she turnedto the back of the shop where she was about to disappear again.

"But I haven't even paid you yet!" you said, absolutely flabbergasted.

"No need, go away now," she said, shooing you to the exit of the shop and disappearing from your sight for good.

Outside, you found yourself dazed with your change in hand. You must have been standing outside for at least 30 seconds, long seconds during which you could only think of one thing: this is a nightmare disguised as a fabulous dream.

The catastrophic reading, the meeting with Viktor, and now you were offered chouquettes. The world was right side up and you were walking backwards. Someone was probably playing a bad joke on you, that was probably it. Was today a day to celebrate something in particular? The celebration of who was going to do the best absurdity? The celebration of the best possible prank? The day of “The Fooling Around”?

You felt the hand around your heart tightening, trying to awaken the beast of grief that would rise to claw at your throat, nose and eyes if you didn't compose yourself.

You grabbed the tabs of your bags with determination. What's the point of moping around forever if you only bring yourself more misery than you need to? No, you needed to act. That would be doubling your efforts, and if you had to speak up as often as possible in class, so be it.

The sun was slowly setting when you finally reached the dormitories, and your body was asking for three things: a shower, a meal, and sleep. But you still had to go to Jayce's flat to give him the bread.

You went up to your floor, arriving at your flat. Sky already had the spare keys you gave her before you left for the Academy. So you went in.

"Here, let me help you," she said, picking up one of your bags. She took the big brown packet and smiled. "Chouquettes! But you took a ton of them?"

"They were given to me, actually."

The gift left you bitter, however, in the sense that you felt it had been given out of pity and not out of support. But you pushed away this idea, which would only have made your current feelings, already approaching disastrous, gloomier.

"And what's this?" she asked, pointing to the packages that held your treats.

"This is dessert," you smiled. "Tell me, Jayce didn't by any chance tell you which flat he and the other skeleton are staying at?"

"Yes, of course. 004." She laughed at the nickname, putting away the last of the groceries you brought with you.

With Viktor's condition and his leg, you had to expect that he would have a ground floor flat at his disposal, which was only natural.

"I'll be back, I have to give them all this." You pointed to the baguettes and brioche, taking them before you left the flat again.

You felt like you'd been walking all day long today, and your legs were really getting tired of it.

You walked down the hallway to their flat and knocked on the door, perhaps a little too angrily. You just hoped that it wouldn't be the V-word who would open it for you.

Your displeasure increased when the man as thick as a twig opened the door for you.

"Is Jayce here?" you asked, clearly frustrated by having to confront this individual once again.

"He's taking a shower. What's that for?"

"I'm bringing the bread," you informed, handing him the brown bag.

"Your grace is too good to offer pittance to the lowly plebs," he said, not moving an inch and leaving you with your arm in the air with your package. "Your candor is delicious." He leaned to the side until his shoulder held him against the wall.

"I do believe you have overestimated my greatness of soul. My arm won't stay up forever in the void."

"I think your arm will be able to withstand gravity for a few more moments. How do I know you won't poison me with your bread?"

"I didn't come to the Academy to learn to bake, I don't know anything about bread. And if I really wanted to poison you gradually I would have taken a poppy seed bread."

"If I wanted to weaken my 'rival' I would have poisoned them slowly."

Damn Jayce and his interminably honest tongue. He'd probably told his flatmate that you considered him your rival, or at least someone who wouldn't help you with your work at the academy. Which, after all, was not really wrong.

"So that makes you a 'rival' who refuses to go toe-to-toe with your opponent."

"Are you implying that I am a coward?"

"No, you're from Zaun, you're too proud to be a coward, unless you're an exception to the rule." You finally lowered your arm when you realized there was no point in keeping it up any longer.

You didn't really want to waste your time any further, so you decided to head back to your flat.

"You're from Zaun too, right?"

You stop dead in your tracks. Up to now, apart from perhaps only one person, no one was aware of the fact that you were from Zaun. As you already had a special reputation within the Academy, you wanted to avoid spreading this information. You didn't want points like this to be used as pressure leverages by a few fools.

You turned towards him, facing him. That same sneering grin he had given you at the note panel was back in place. He seemed satisfied, as if you were on an equal footing, which was not exactly the case in your eyes. It didn't matter how he had learned where you came from. What mattered was how he wanted to use that information.

"I don't know who gave you that information but I think you should review your contacts." Maybe that with the ‘I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about’, it could pass.

"My contacts are my eyes and ears on you."

"What makes you think I'd be from Zaun?" you questioned, crossing your arms.

"The fact that you knew I was from Zaun."

"Pfft," you almost laugh, "anyone could have guessed that."

"Oh, yeah? How so?"

"Firstly, your accent, many people from Zaun have it. Secondly, your undeniable pride and your absolute refusal of help from others. And thirdly..."

You approach him slightly and sniff him, causing him to observe you with furrowed brows. You pull back, your lips pressing into a thin line.

"You stink of burnt coal, candied apricot and cold tobacco. Typical of the smells you'd find at the Entresol Level on the Bridgewaltz side. You might want to take a shower if you want to be more inconspicuous."

You almost regretted having given this advice to the latter. Any information, however meagre, would have been useful to him and another obstacle for you.

"I see," he smiled again, "thank you."

That smile, that stupid smile, you want to rip it off him so he never shows it to you again.

"What do you mean thank you?"

"With all this, you've just confirmed that you're from Zaun." The next sentence, if he was ever going to say another, never took place as Jayce emerged from the shower wearing only a towel around his waist. "Duty calls under the perfectly filtered water of Piltover, I hope to stink less after this." He backed away slightly. "Jayce? Miss number two would like to speak to you."

A muscle in the corner of your lips twitched at the title, and you chewed a flap of skin in your cheek to keep from swearing at him.

"Ah, good, I've been meaning to talk to you." Jayce, having taken no time to change, came straight to you and your eyes had to find a spot on his body or in the scenery that wouldn't make you squint at his abs.

"Jayce, can I ask what possessed you to introduce us?" You asked, shouting in your whispers. You didn't want the other stick man to hear this conversation.

"That's what I wanted to talk about," he said with a concerned and apologetic look on his face, "I know you have a problem with the ranking and Viktor is part of that problem now, but... I just thought you two would get along."

"I don't know how you came to that conclusion but obviously you got the equation wrong."

"Stop getting into it with him," he bellows as if you and Viktor have been bickering for weeks already, "You look alike…you two have some things in common…"

"I find you singularly spiritual. Sugar and salt are similar, Jayce, but that doesn't mean they taste the same. I think the less I have to do with him, the better off I'll be."

"I think if you got to know him better you wouldn't have to go to extreme measures."

"Jayce, this is nothing against you but I don't think it's the best way to go about it."

"Maybe, maybe not - you'll never be able to prove a theory if you don't put it into practice."

"I'm pretty sure that this theory can remain a theory."

"And I think the universe will take care of you both just fine."

"Sure, it will. " You sighed, too tired to argue further on the subject for today. You stoop to pick up the bag of bread. "Here, this is the bread."

"Oh, give me a moment to get the change."

"Forget it." you muttered before slipping away.

As you walked back through the common room, you passed by a small group of students. Some gave you smiles, some stared as if you were as charismatic as a boiled oyster. You didn't have time to worry about that. You didn't want to take that time, to waste it on trifles.

Walking up the steps to your floor felt like your feet were stuck in thick mud,each step requiring extra effort. But your struggles were comforted when you arrived at your flat and saw that Sky had started cooking a delicious meal.

***

Tap on, cold water for the moment. Your date with your shower concluded your day. The rest of the evening had continued over a lovely meal with Sky, who feasted on everything you had prepared and brought home.

So far she was a lovely person who you felt you could not refuse. How could you refuse Sky? She was as pretty and soft as a watercolour.

The water gradually warmed up, enough for you to slip underneath and fully appreciate its embrace. You couldn't thank Piltover enough for its abundance of filtered water, allowing you to shower at least once a day.

You hoped that the warmth of the water would rinse away everything that was bothering you, that it would remove the grease that stupidity forms around the brain and heart, that it would cleanse you of your doubts and pour rain on the fire of your rage.

Viktor.

Viktor.

Viktor.

You could only think of his name in your mind, like a broken record stuck incessantly on the most unpleasant part of a song. He came into your life like a wasp with multiple stingers, ready to sting anything that challenged him to reach the sweet fruit that was his target.

You couldn't let him pass you by, you couldn't allow yourself this, you categorically refused.

Better is the enemy of good, and therefore your worst nemesis, because this better was named Viktor.

Rivals? Yes, rivals. So be it. That is what you will be.

✦﹒ previous chapter

✦﹒ next chapter

[marzipanandminutiae]

you kind of feel like the quiet and kind of spooky cousin at the family reunion who's just in a dark corner the entire time knitting fanatically but when i finally retreat to the corner to hide away from the nonsense that's going on you let me join you and tell me lots of interesting facts about the things that have happened throughout all the centuries you've been alive and at the end of our long and fruitful discussion (during which i begin to suspect you may be a vampire), you present me with a wooly sweater to ward off bad luck.

I haven't been to a family reunion in ages, and I can't knit, but I hope I'd be exactly that sort of cousin if my cousins needed a bit of respite and weirdness in their day.

(I have a truly astonishing number of paternal cousins. My dad is one of seven siblings, and I'm part of a generation that ranges in age from early 40s to mid 20s. Some of the older cousins have children of their own, so I'm in the strange position of being closer in age to at least one second cousin than to my own sister. Not by a lot, but still.)

(Anonymously tell me what vibe I give off.)

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Robyn Hitchcock - Largo Café, Los Angeles, California, February 19, 2000

The Summer of Robyn has made it to the 21st century! Hooray. At this point, Hitchcock is bouncing from coast to coast, from Maxwell's to the Largo. On this tape, he's sounding very comfortable at the latter venue, as thought the audience has been invited into his living room for a casual (though often brilliant) performance. After a solo set, highlighted by an excellent "Victorian Squid," town troubadour Grant Lee Phillips ambles onstage to accompany Robyn on keys, guitar, and backing vox; Grant sounds especially nice on the I Often Dream of Trains numbers here. He clearly has that LP memorized. The pair are also working on their comedy act and performance art, which they'd take on the road later in 2000 — the bit about Lou Rawls is hilarious.

As is typically the case at the Largo, things get wild and wooly during the second set. Robyn and Grant get into an amazing dueling Bowie impersonation battle on "Golden Years" (I think Phillips wins), and there are various improvs and rambling covers, as the duo is joined by various friends. The rare outing of Morrissey's "Every Day Is Like Sunday" is a highlight, as is the wild medley of "Kung Fu Fighting > Sound and Vision > Rock Your Baby" and more. It all kind of goes off the rails at the end as a full band emerges for some very ragged Beatles covers — maybe a little more rehearsal was necessary. But otherwise, another fabulous night on Fairfax ...

Robyn Says: I'm probably just as cynical as always, but not quite as dark. I think that's because of lots of things, probably. I don't think the world's gotten any better. But I think I've been trying to celebrate what I can celebrate. None of the evil's gone away. When you're young and beautiful and you've got all the time in the world before you, you just want to die. And as you get older and you've got less and less time to live, you kind of want to make the most of it. Even in Rock music, you can't sit there smoking a cigarette and wearing a pair of sunglasses and a mean expression on your face much past forty — after forty, it just doesn't look that cool. The alternative is to become all, sort of, cuddly and mellow — which is just as horrible.

Robyn Hitchcock | Web | Patreon | Bandcamp

Added note! That illustration there is from Somewhere Apart, a new/excellent book of Robyn Hitchcock lyrics + drawings. Got get your copy, for the Sacred Crab's sake!

[lluu50]

Thanks @hidendumbassvillage for tagging me in that monstruosity of post. I loved it. I did some of the things:

Also, I never do this kind of stuff so I don't really know who to tag 😅. So anyone who wants to do something can just do it.

1. 10 fandoms, 10 characters, 10 tags

Madara Uchiha, Naruto

Jolyne Cujoh, JoJo's Bizzare Adventure

Atem/Yami Yugi, Yu-Gi-Oh

Poison Ivy, DC

Viktor Nikiforov, Yuri!!! on ICE

Mr. Compress, My Hero Academia

Violet Baudelaire, A Series of Unfortunate Events

Ritsuko Akagi, Neon Genesis Evangelion

Red Velvet Cookie, Cookie Run Kingdom

Mystique/Raven, X-Men

2. Trope Tier Tag

Link to the trope tier maker

3. This or That (Fanfic Edition)

Template

5. Catching up with/Getting to know better

Favourite colour: pink

Currently reading: The Lost Apothecary, by Sarah Penner

Last song: Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

Last movie: X-Men: Apocalypse

Last show: Brooklyn 99

Sweet, sour or savoury: Can't decide

Craving: Kvikk Lunsj melkesjokolade

Tea or coffee: Tea

What I’m currently working on: I'm trying to draw something for the founders week event in november

7. Playlist

Rules: we’re snooping in your playlist. put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then choose 10 victims.

Starships, by Nicki Minaj

Mamma Mia, by ABBA

Dancing Queen, by ABBA

AM I DREAMING, by Lil Nas X ft. Miley Cyrus

Welcome to the Internet, by Bo Burnham

How the World Works, by Bo Burnham

Rap do Madara, by 7 Minutoz

Rap do Hashirama, by 7 Minutoz

Drunken Sailor, by The Irish Rovers

Break My Heart, by Dua Lipa

There's a lot by the same people 😂 FYI numbers 7 and 8 are in portuguese, honestly a shame that most of y'all can't understand them.

8. MBTI

“Head over to personalitydatabase and pick out the top six fictional characters you identify with that share same MBTI as you! If you don’t know you MBTI here are a few tests to try out! X X X”

I don't particularly identify with none of them so I just picked the first 6 to appear.

9. Fall

pumpkin or apple // cocoa or cider // halloween or thanksgiving // leaf piles or apple picking // hay ride or corn maze // wooly sweater or furry slippers // pumpkin carving or knitting // squash or sweet potato // black cat or bat // skeletons or witches // fake blood or fake spiders // mashed potatoes or stuffing // orange or black // apple pie or maple donuts // marshmallows or candy corn // vampire or werewolf // fireplace or cozy nook // spiced wine or craft beer // candied apples or s'mores // big scarf or oversized hoodie

12. What do you have in common with...