#tw sock puppet

[daily-bipper-brainrot]

what did one sock puppet say to the other sock puppet? :]

[thewandererh]

grotesque hms from gay month day 1 of 2024. they all deserve to be a little freakish, as a treat <3 @sunnysaurr

top left and top middle turned into cccclinic simon and dove. toned it down a bit in the transformation, but maybe i need to draw body horror again

the render of the middle drawing:

[ladiemars]

can we.... see a photo of adam du mortain sock puppet?🙏 for clown scientific purposes only

i’m gonna put it under a "keep reading" button because the adam sock puppet has psychologically destroyed everyone who’s bore witness to it like some kind of biblical angel

whatever you think it’s going to look like, i promise it’s worse

[askbaldomore]

Behind the Sock: The secret of Arts and Crafters.

[opossumvalleywv]

The Aftershow

Look I get that Lionel is the older one of those funny Starstruck brothers.. But at this rate he'll be the freakin' biggest of 'em too, sheesh!!

[another-argo]

°•□Open Starter □•°

I Live Inside You Forever, With Satan Himself By My Side

ANYONE CAN INTERACT

>TW: Unwilling transformation, derealization, loss of bodily autonomy, body mutilization (possibly other things) <

Argo had locked himself in one of the prison cells the moment he felt it start. His wings had somehow.. absorbed back into his body? Making it all the more painful when they burst out again.

Argo lets out a bloodcurdling scream- like millions of souls worth of agony are being channeled through Argo right now.

Argo is wearing a weird outfit; like something an old puppet would wear. Bows. Everywhere. A bow tie, bows on their gloves, and bows on their little socks- and on every individual set of wings.

It would be cute, but the bows sprout into string; tying tightly around their respective areas. Wrists, wings, ankles, neck- and they lead back to an invisible control panel.. somewhere above Argo.

His wings are pure white- but tied back by razored, barbed, wire. So are his facial wings- and the smaller pair of facial wings that sprouted out with the large; actually functional wings.

They make Argo look almost.. angelic- in a biblical way.

Argo looks up, repressing another scream. Their voice already hurts.

They see a person and their face goes deadly pale.

You notice they're missing all their facial scars; like they're wearing a perfect porcelain mask.

The 'mask' which seems to now just be Argo's skin cracks; right where their jawline scar used to be.

Argo tries to move back- but their razor wire restraints prevent that. He almost objects; almost vocalizes- but a stitch comes undone from their neck and that shuts him up really damn quick.

Argo looks like a perfect little angel puppet.

So, what do you do?

taglist (ask to be added or deleted): @orion-the-hunterpt2 @lilacnightshade @pain-is-forever @reyno-solis-real @faceless-bugger @unlicensed-field-medic @the-great-emperor-commodus @the-eclipsed-sun @sophia-hunter-of-artemis @daughter-of-thanatoss

[cmkren]

— do you yield?

; gregory house x gn! Reader

Unsurprisingly, a night out between House and Wilson doesn’t end up uneventful. Tensions were strung in a-- stranger way, now with Amber in the picture. One of House's grand schemes goes sideways when the person he provokes ends up punching him right in the face. In an attempt to get Wilson in trouble (due to the whole curfew agreement), House got ahead of himself and now Wilson dumps him onto someone else rather than face the wrath of his girlfriend.

And of course, no one’s ever happy to see House on their doorstep.

a/n; sorta just ! Self-indulgent!! This fic leans towards sub bottom house roles, no sex just sloppily making out. Written in 3rd person, they/them for reader! Honestly not too proud of this, but I wanted to get this out 😓

tws!! Suggestive, minor blood play (like incredibly minor), and house bein house — 4.5k words

The plan had been going smoothly. Drinks were going down quickly for Wilson, lord only knows how stressed he had been to be downing alcohol like it was water, and thankfully for House he recalled scoring over God a couple years ago. Meaning he knew what had been haunting Wilson's always-ready-to-please mind.

The connection that Amber had been so similar to House had already been scrounged up, and even House would be lying if that made him think just a little too. Oh, nothing crazy maybe just the fact that if he'd been a woman, Wilson might have been all over him. Her?

The details didn't matter.

What did matter though, was his loss of control over the situation. House didn't know what he had been thinking. No one had been paying them much attention, and his goal was to just get Wilson drunk. Only Wilson. He supposed that he thought he needed to convince his friend to keep drinking? Maybe that's why House started drinking too. And maybe that's why he started picking fights with strangers.

It started off as passing remarks he made to Wilson, the infamous smug smirk that showed how he thought himself omniscient in a sense. That he was so sure he could read people like a book. To a certain degree, that was true. How else was he capable of coming up with schemes that would puppet the parties involved for his own benefit?

Eventually though, passing remarks would eventually turn into what seemed like heckling. No wonder he ended up getting socked right square in the face by a patron. House was always self-sabotaging, but sabotaging his own plans to sabotage Wilson's relationship with Amber? Now that was a little ridiculous.

Didn't change the fact that it happened though.

"Oh-- come on House, I can't bring you back to my place and you know it." Wilson's voice had some strain in it, one of his arms hooked around his friend's (questionable title given to the likes of House) waist as he led him to his car. "Especially not since you started this... this meaningless war." He muttered, the hesitance in his voice to say meaningless suggested that maybe he didn't think it was entirely meaningless. Perhaps a hint to the fact that he did find amusement in it. Hell, maybe even enjoyed it for a bit.

House was disoriented. Not by liquor, but by the fact that he had blood gushing out of his nose and perhaps even a bit of a broken nose at that. "She's got you on a leash, Wilson." He swallowed, wetting his dried mouth. "If I say I'm sorry for leaving you at the pound and give you a treat, will you come running back to me?" He spoke with a certain monotonous that always indicated that he was just being a dick. Everyone's heard it enough to recognize it.

On the other hand Wilson decided to ignore that remark and start tapping away on his phone. Scrolling through contacts in an attempt to make some sort of solution for this mess. “I’m handing you off to someone else House. Whether you like it or not—” he swung open the car door to the passenger seat, muttering a few ‘careful’s as he lowered the man into the seat. Impaired judgement kept him from stopping the bloody nose first, and instead opting to do it when he got into the driver’s seat first.

”Are you dialling Thirteen?” House tilted his head forwards, just letting his head hang before Wilson shoved a bundle of tissues against his face. In turn he winced and complained ‘oww!’ dramatically. “Better be Thirteen.” His voice all muffled by the tissues.

Little did he know, it was the nurse that worked under a couple of his former ducklings.

House usually didn’t care for the other staff around the hospital, but he cared when he thought he could squeeze out some information out of some. That’s what he’d done to them. But not only did they refuse to sell out their fellow coworkers, they had also exacted revenge on him not too long ago. They didn’t necessarily win but they also didn’t lose.

What they were capable of doing, was bruising his ego.

After that, the two just kept interacting. The rivalry the two shared was almost akin to a friendship, but neither of them would admit to such a thing. After all, they hated each other’s guts.

There was a mutual respect there though, hidden somewhere. Wilson liked to think that at least. He would mention it or make a comment about it to House but of course he was always met with a response like—

“Tomato, To-mah-to. Only respect they ever receive from me is purely superficial. Happy to see them go, even happier when they turn around and I get to watch them leave.”

Wilson had rolled his eyes then, taking it as another one of those jerky comments House made to be a dick for the fun of it. The longer he had let it marinate though, and the tone shift at the time, perhaps it had an underlying meaning to it. Or he could just be giving him the benefit of the doubt. Again.

The car engine roared to life when Wilson inserted his car key, his other hand pressing his phone to his ear as he gave his friend one singular glance to make sure he wasn’t doing something stupid. He wasn’t. Just popping some more pills.

”Wilson it’s—” a voice picked up. They paused, as if looking off to the side.

”It’s 10 pm. This is well after office hours.” They spoke with a certain exhaustion in their tone. Expected, to be fair. They were all employees of a hospital, hard to keep up a good amount of energy when you’re running around the place all the time. Especially a nurse.

”Listen, I know this is a big request but,” he put his hand on the steering wheel, grunting when House would knock the butt of his cane against his forearm, “House— you’re going to cause us to crash!”

“House? He’s with you?” They sounded surprised at first before it all melted away, “Oh, who am I kidding, of course he’s with you.” The tone of their voice simply went from quizzical to bemused really quick. “I’m not doing anything for that bastard— this is too big a favour to ask of me Wilson.” Their indignation to aiding him in whatever he was about to ask didn’t keep Wilson from having his foot on the gas pedal though. He was convinced he was going to have them agreeing by the time they get there. If they don’t agree well… too bad they were going to show up to their house anyways.

As the conversation continued out on the phone, it didn’t take long for House himself to realize who had been called to their rescue. It made him scoff in amusement, “oh yeah smart move Wilson. Get stick-up-their-ass to keep me from bleeding out at their place that’ll work out!” He raised his voice loud enough that he knew he’d be audible through the phone.

Wilson furrowed his brows, his mouth agape for a second as he struggled to formulate a sentence but they cut him off before he could.

”Bleeding out? What the hell were you guys doing?” The concern was real but they eventually sputtered and tried to backpedal, “you know we’re not close enough for me to be covering whatever illegal activities you guys are doing!” Which was reasonable reaction, honestly.

“No— no— nothing illegal!” Wilson opposed, having to fight the urge to just knock his head against his steering wheel. God, it was like having two children in each ear yelling at him. House was talking about something but so were they. It just became a garbled mess. Not to mention the fact that he was still driving.

”I warned you. We’re on our way.” In the end, Wilson stood his ground. Pocketing his phone, he would keep his eyes straightforward on the road.

__________________________________________

“You’re lucky to have a friend like Wilson.” They murmured, lips pulled taut as they dabbed a cotton swab around the other’s nasal area. It was reddened with blood, bits of it dark from it already coagulating and drying out. House remained still, for the most part. Pale blue eyes staring right at them, not necessarily happy about this situation either. He wasn’t even tipsy anymore, just sober and in pain.

To be fair though, that was kind of regular day to day for him.

House’s eyes looked down briefly, flexing his fingers. “Yeah? Well friends like Wilson end up dumping you to get butchered up on a chopping block.” Then he wiggled, “or I suppose on a kitchen counter.” Not even an amused noise from them. Just the knitting of brows as they were wary of his squirming to make his point.

They were firm with him, as many would have to be with House. A hand holding his face steady, thumb and index holding his chin so they could tilt his head if needed. House was surprisingly cooperative.

”Well good for you,” they paused their actions, giving him an obvious look over, “nobody actually likes old meat. Too tough, too chewy.” They scoffed, before going back to dabbing the bloody areas of his face. Unfortunately, he’d also gotten a busted lip. It wasn’t drastic but it was most definitely going to take more than just a couple weeks to fully recover from it.

House had his neck craned up, brows furrowed a little as he stared up at the ceiling. His eyes would shift downwards, looking to his begrudging caretaker. They had their lips pursed, their eyes a bit sunken from a long day.

He took the time to look at them though. Oversized band shirt over a pair of shorts. If he craned his head to the side just a bit, he could see that their shirt had hiked up just a little. Resting right above the small of their back, making it so that the front draped down but their ass visible.

His obnoxious ogling was cut short when he felt a dull pain, hissing as he felt just a little too much pressure being applied on his wound.

“I’m doing this for free already. If you want more, you’re gonna have to pay.” They muttered, voice thick with sarcasm.

House let sucked in a breath, “is this about the hookers? Just because I support sex work doesn’t mean I’ll let you drain me dry of my money! You’re not even a hooker.” He winced again, but not because they pressed too hard again. It was more a culmination of his leg and the busted up face situation.

For a brief moment, their eyes softened. They paused for a moment, pulling away and putting down the cotton pad they had held in their hand.

”Your Vicodin?” They questioned, as if expecting him to already be reaching for any sort of pill bottle. House gave a frown, not even really trying to feel himself to find said pill bottle.

He clicked his tongue, “must have dropped it back at the bar. Maybe Prince Charming will find it and return it to me and we’ll live happily ever after.” Actually, he was pretty sure if he ever came face to face with the guy again, he was going to end up with a black eye next.

They rolled their eyes. “I’ll get you something. Hold this.” They then passes him a bag of frozen… strawberries. Huh. Then they left the room, going to fetch something.

”Don’t even bother,” he held the frozen strawberries, and instead of using it as intended he opens the bag and pops one in his mouth, “it’s not going to even work.” His face contorted when the frozen fruit touched his tongue.

He supposed that was effective too. Brainfreeze. Maybe once or twice.

”I’ll just go on and skedaddle as soon as I can. Say, where are your car keys? A question of curiosity.” He called out, already turning his head to look about. When they popped their head back into the room they held what seemed to be clothes and a bottle of pills.

”You’re not getting my keys House.” They huffed, before walking back to him. The grown man sitting on their kitchen island with his legs dangling off the side, shirt bloodied and smelling of a rank bar.

This exchange caused him to raise a brow.

Not necessarily because they wouldn’t give him their car keys. But the fact that they held a change of clothes for him. Either they were just feeling generous, pitied him, or… they had actually planned for him to stay the night.

”Are you trying to get into my pants? You know, there’s different ways to do that—”

”Yes I want to have sex with you.”

The two stared at each other. His mouth agape as if he was going to speak, but they cut him off.

”No, House,” they gave an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose. “I’m not trying to have sex with you.” They dropped the clothes right next to him, “you just smell like dog food and shit.”

Then they showed him the bottle they brought with them.

”Ibuprofen? That shit doesn’t do anything!” House reached out for it, though his tone spoke of a child who had maybe received fish sticks instead of his preferred mozzarella sticks.

At his complaint, they clenched their jaw. “Either take some or I’m going to shove them down your throat.” That made him give a faux look of offence, “and you work at the hospital! I’m surprised Cuddy hasn’t canned you yet.” Though the look they gave him made him finally unscrew the cap.

They took a moment to watch him take a couple, before walking aside. “Go take that shower. I’m not taking you anywhere, but honestly,” they turned to give him a look, “I wouldn’t stop you from wandering out.”

House recognized that their first instinct might have actually been to care. Hence the actual attempt at cleaning up his mess. Even giving him clothes and letting him take a shower. But he also knew that their history wouldn’t allow them to just will themselves to be happy around his presence.

That’s why, as a fuck you towards them and Wilson, he was going to stay. Prove Wilson wrong by pissing them off they just have to go yell at Wilson tomorrow morning.

__________________________________________

The bright light of the TV flickered, colours danced along the surface of his gruff face as he sat on the couch. He made himself comfortable in their home, meaning he made a mess of the living room. It was almost midnight now. They told him off earlier, but after him not budging the slightest, they just slinked away into their room.

He knew they were still awake though.

It was that stupid pirate cartoon. Only played at night! When else was he supposed to watch it?

“House.”

He looked over, a clueless expression on his face as he then looked to his wristwatch, “is it early morning already? Wait, nope. Go back to sleep.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if shoo’ing them away. From their own living room.

The look on their face wasn’t even exasperation or frustration. They just looked done. They walked over, stepping in front of the television screen with their arms crossed. “Turn it off, you need rest.”

He tried to look around them at first, but it was all but futile! He groaned, “get out of the way. You really going to stand there the entire time?” The irritation in his voice didn’t necessarily match the glint in his eye. Amusement, perhaps even a hint of a challenge in them.

They squinted their eyes at him.

It was always that. The look in his eyes that presented a challenge that was supposed to push people away. Yet for people as stupid as those who willingly stuck around House, it did the opposite. Before their own experiences, they always thought it strange for Wilson or hell, even Cuddy to entertain him. Because for a lack of a better word, that was exactly what they do.

Now that they’ve been in a similar position, they understand why.

“Does it turn you on to be such a dick? Surely you’re getting some sort of sick gratification from what you do.” They sneered, approaching him and his smug son of a bitch face. He stared, like he always did, before turning his head and sticking out his lip a little ‘in thought’.

Then he gave a shake of his head, his expression dumb as he said, “my body says no but my mouth says yes.” Then taking a moment before furrowing his brow, “actually, pretty sure I mixed that up.” Just another one of his snarky remarks that made the recipient’s anger burn hotter. It wasn’t even good, the things he said sometimes. Not objectively.

Sometimes they were so stupid that it provided the same effect. The same results. And that was all House ever wanted— results.

Before they could get in another word though, House graciously interrupted them. “I’m not kidding. Step away.” He nudged his hand again, trying to wave them aside. His other? Rested on his thigh. Running along the problem site, up and down as if trying to soothe. Not that it ever worked.

“You didn’t take the ibuprofen.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. “No— I did. Would my incompetent nurse like to see me try again? It’ll only keep proving that I’m right.” He inhaled sharply, wincing. “It. Doesn’t. Work.”

At that, they finally took one step to the side. Allowing for the light of the TV to light him up again. He was sweating, just a little bit, on his head. If he was in so much pain wouldn’t he get up and go? Or was there something else he was trying to prove? Surely he didn’t hate them enough to endure his own pain to inflict pain upon them. Then again, that would be a House thing to do.

Silently, they sat beside him.

House scrunched up his nose, turning his head as he shifted, leaning further back against the plush of the couch. "That’s it?” He let out a shallow breath, turning ever-so-briefly to look at them. They didn’t return the gesture, just staring straight forward.

”That’s it.”

There was a quiet lull between the two, only the over exaggerated voices of the pirate and the princess audible in their space. Quiet wasn’t really House’s thing, though. He turned to them again, arm raised to rest against the back of the couch, “you’re just giving up? Just like that?”

Giving up?

They snorted. “I’m not giving up anything. You were the one with expectations.” Then they finally turned to meet his eyes, “I’m not in the mood for games, House. If you aren’t going to listen, then you aren’t going to listen.”

For some reason, he looked confused. “You don’t just give up. It’s the one thing that actually makes you interesting.” He spoke as if he was the one getting offended. Even if he wasn’t planning on it now, they couldn’t help but feel some anger bubbling up again. What did he want?

”Then you should fucking leave, shouldn’t you, Greg?” They hissed under their breath, trying to turn back to the meaningless cartoon.

Out of all the petty things they’ve argued about, this felt the most genuine. Over an… animated cartoon?

”No. I shouldn’t. You’re supposed to— to…” he paused, biting his tongue. As if the Gregory House was hesitating. When there was virtually no reaction from his uncharacteristic doubt, he grunted. “You’re supposed to fight back. Keep me here.”

A look of surprise crept up to their face. “What?” They blurted out, turning back around to see the man with his head down, eyes flickering up to get one glance at their face. To see what reaction he had received. There were so many things that could be said. So many things they probably should have said. One of them being ‘get out’ which so gingerly danced upon the tip of their tongue.

His head swayed to the side, mouth opening once but then pressed together in a thin line.

This was probably the withdrawals talking. The pain talking. It wasn’t anything he could really stop from spilling out, either way. “Come on. You’re not stupid now, too.” He clenched his fist, then unclenched, nervously fidgeting. “You might be boring but you’re not an idiot.”

”Stop speaking in fucking riddles and spit it out.”

House scoffed, maybe out of amusement. He made eye contact again and straightened out his back just a little. “You hate me. I like pissing you off.” They raised an eyebrow at this, opening their mouth to speak but House shut them up by just putting his whole hand over their mouth.

”Shut up. I know, stating the obvious.” He mumbled, watching them carefully before slowly lowering his hand again once he deemed that it was ‘safe’. “But you haven’t made any real effort into pushing me out. And I…” he furrowed his brows, pinching the bridge of his nose.

”I don’t know.” It all came to an abrupt end. House looked at them as if he expected them to understand what he was saying. What all this stumbling over words meant. There was a certain look in his eyes though, one that had replaced his smug piece-of-shit look from before. The one they were used to.

Too many silences. There’d been too many between them in such a short period of time. But whose fault was that, huh?

”You’re saying… that I… need you? Or what? That I like you?” Shock was still riddled all over their face— a mixture of shock and anger that is. Every time they calmed down he always managed to rile them up again. That has got to be a skill.

A sort of relief seemed to wash over him as he leaned back again. He made a gesture with his hand, giving them another look. The ever familiar House stare.

He was still playing a game. Whether or not his intentions were to simply screw around with them no longer mattered. Because even if he was being genuine the bastard didn’t know how to express himself without hopping through loops. His reaction to them finishing his thought spoke louder than any sort of response he could have followed up with. Even if they said that it was completely untrue it was too late, he made up his mind.

His reaction also meant that the thought of them needing him wasn’t a thought he disproved of.

They relaxed, eyes downcast for a second before they met his eyes again, “you’re a piece of shit.” They muttered, eyes then shifting to his hand that was closest to them. His other was still on his thigh. It had been the entire time. Right now though, it slowed down its ministrations. His attention was on them.

”I should be proving you wrong.” They were slow, grazing their hand over his before interlocking their fingers with his. Warm. Stiff but not dismissive of the touch.

”But you’d see through me, right? Because you always do. You know so much.” He didn’t lean in, but they did. It was like the air had gone still, nothing held either of them back. Not sure House wanted to be held back in any way. Especially considering the way he looked to their lips, ever slightly parted for him.

He was quiet. Waiting. Wasn’t this what he expected? Or— something adjacent?

They tilted their head, lightly lifting themselves off the couch to reach him, leaning over him just a little. “You’re not stopping me.” They mumbled, taking a brief pause. Their eyes stared at his face, appraising him. What did he look like? Hazy. Supposedly, they should back off now.

They got their answer. Didn’t they?

“You’re such a piece of shit.” They breathed out before kissing him. When did the mood change? Perhaps the very moment they decided to entertain his childish game of feelings.

House didn’t waste any time to reciprocate. His hand moved off his thigh, hiking around their waist and pulling them close, so they didn’t have to hover as much. Mouths moving in tandem, both of them warming up as hands travelled up and down and groped. He tried to advance, but they pushed back.

”Don’t you even think it House.” They whispered against his lips, one of their hands on his other thigh and another against his chest. Kissing him again, he chased after them as they pulled back again to give him a smug smile, “under my roof, my rules.”

”Taking my credit? For this? Didn’t think you a thief.” He spoke, but his eyes were trained back on their lips.

“You think I want the credit for initiating?” They muttered, their hand trailing up from his chest to his face. “No. I want the credit for this.” They leaned back down, inching their bodies closer as they kissed again. As feverish as they were, the heat of the moment wasn’t enough to cover the sudden sharp pain he felt on his lip.

His shoulders tensed, what was akin to a whimper slipping past his lips. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw them above him. A gleaming of something besides saliva on her own lips.

House’s hand goes up, pressing it gently against his lip, “you bit me.” There was blood, not too much, but enough. It was the busted lip they’d nurtured, now it was bleeding again. Yet he didn’t find it at all insulting. Instead, he almost looked pleasantly surprised.

”Want me to kiss it all better?” They mused, chest heaving still, and giving him time to either accept or decline. Maybe they should have asked first—

“You’d be sleeping on the couch if you didn’t.” He hardly finished his sentence before he reached for them again, the two clawing at each other desperately as saliva and blood was smeared against their faces. They were kind enough to not do much more to fuck up his lip more, instead going to plant kisses against the side of his neck and down to his chest.

A few red imprints left in their wake, which looked like red lipstick at the time but would most certainly just look like dried blood in the morning. And most certainly not look like kisses.

The hickeys though— that was most certainly going to be a conversation topic between House and Wilson in the morning.

”Admit it House,” they murmured against his skin, their hands quickly working to unbutton his shirt, “you’re the one who needs me.” They kissed and gently nipped at his skin, their hands moving to his belt when his upper body was exposed for them.

He tilted his head back, hissing out a breath as he tried to muster up some words without giving them too much gratification. Looking back, he eyed their close proximity to where he needed them most. “Says the one with their hands practically down my pants.”

“Fine. I’ll take them out.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Guess they were both going to be sleeping on the couch that night.

[crows-in-the-house]

Swapping clothes with Bill

Summary : headcannons for you wearing his and him wearing your clothes

tw: none

there may be some spelling mistakes ig, sorryyy, tell me what you guys think!

You wearing his clothes

laughts at you cuz u look stupid

adjusts the bowtie practically strangling you (he couldn't care how much he suffecates you, his favorite pet human looks just too cute! Maybe he should get you a collar? won't tell you that tho)

his gloves and shoes/socks? yeah no, you're not wearing those, they won't fit you, but you're welcome to wear similar ones

won't tell you but your impersonating attemps do make him a little amused.

will try to manipulate you make you fall for him harder, so if he's in human form you can get his overcoat. he will act like a gentelmen of course, putting it on you, saying he's worring his dumb little puppet will get sick! It's so chilly here, you should have brought a sweater! (as if you two are not inside your home)

his clothes have weird feel to them, like as if they were buzzing, maybe moving on their own just slightly, you won't feel entirely comfortable wearing them (10% evil silk, 90% ghuls skins, made in Ghx̌okþo)

just dont reach inside the hat. Whatever bunny joke you have won't make him laugh if you pull out something else and lose it.

Him wearing your clothes

will also laugh at you

your stupid human clothes are weird and don't make sense! (either help him put them on, or watch your shirt and pants get new holes)

it's not like you will want them back tho, some of your pockets will get filled with glass shards, centepides or even black holes if you've been annoying him lately. he can wear your jacket for mere 2 seconds and it will get altered in some way. maybe a zipper turns to teeth. maybe the fluffy insides are radioactive, who knows.

your scarfs, bowties, shawls and hats, have the biggest survival chances (don't think you will get them back tho, they are Bills now)

the least amount of "customizing" you got was when you begged him to give you back your favorite shirt. It has "Bill's property" cut out on your back now.

tbh if you want your clothes back in one piece you better just buy new ones and let him draw on them with those cloth markers. he will call himself the greatest model and designer

for him 10/10 experience, likes wearing your hoodies

will not admit that tho

[66kenobi66]

WTF Vivziepop

TW: Fujoshi/ SA Mention

Is it just me or does it just feel like all of Vivziepop's characters exist just so people can draw NSFW art/buy sexy merch of them?

Nearly 3/4 of the characters are overly-explicit, constantly sexualized, and are always talking about/partaking in sex. Any characters who happen to differ from this formula are either: 1) Children/portrayed as childish; or 2) are meant to be villains/mean prudes.

All the MLM characters are meant to appeal to fujoshis who think men hooking up is hot.

Angel is an especially heinous case of this as he doesn't just get the typical MLM-fetishization, he also is used as a sock-puppet for Vivzie/her friends S/A fetish (one of the workers of Hazbin has ADMITTED to drawing S/A art of Angel and Val that's intended to be "hot").

But maybe I'm just the problem.

[sweetestflow3rs]

tw for me rambling, also body horror & death

i like to think about what if noel didn’t ‘run away’ and decided to stay and keep going as riley… i think that’s probably one of two of noel’s worst timelines LAUGHSS

like not worse for noel mind you. she thinks she’s thriving ( delusional ). just worse for the pc on how stress & trauma-inducing it is.

the idea of an li / npc who seems so confident and sweet, the exact standards you’d expect a school’s star athlete to be: kind, helpful, warm. though, a bit untouchable because she always seems so busy with track practice and tutoring students, AND working part time as a front desk staffer at the hospital.

the only method of bonding with riley more being the tutoring, only being able to join the program if the pc has high grades. which, bc it’s DOL of course, the very first student to tutor leads to a combat encounter that the pc can choose to tell riley or not. which if they do, riley acts accordingly by calling out the student in front of everyone before throwing them out ( surprising strength for a girl that short )

and then everything after that…. is ENTIRELY dependent on if the pc has high awareness & if they visit the school at night.

which to not irritate people on the length of my rambles, putting it below here:

visiting the school at night, entering the library: the pc runs into the same student that harassed from the tutoring program there, sitting at one of the tables. it makes the pc antsy at first, but then the student speaks, saying they are only here to catch up on studying. since the pc DID get them kicked out for snitching.

a low awareness pc seeing the student not doing anything else. they notice a shadow of a coat over their seat but think nothing else of it and leave.

BUT A HIGH AWARENESS PC… sees something else that makes them freeze in their spot. through the faint shadows and lighting of the moon, they can see… fingers…. opening & closing the mouth. like a sock puppet. the shadow behind the student looking more another person that the PC SWEAR you can see peering at you in the crouched position.

your silence is deafening.

a loud, squelching sound of the hand removing itself from an opening of the student’s head that soon falls to the floor to reveal the crouched figure being riley herself. and of course, she’s not happy, she WAS banking on the pc not noticing. in fact, she’s wondering what the pc is even doing in the school this late at night!!!

the pc having the option to either help riley, or run. and like… turning to you all, the audience, we ALL know how riley is the star athlete, especially the track team. trying to outrun her is impossible, it’s a literal game over ( death ) for the pc.

BUT choosing to help riley get rid of the body and evidence will finally unlock riley as a love interest. her special stat being well, her hysteria. the pc now having the new option of reporting harassers to riley, who will HAPPILY get rid of them for the pc, at the cost of her hysteria rising. but the reward of combat encounters becoming fewer.

you may ask: hysteria regarding what?

well, the corruption of this town SILLY! riley who is becoming more wrapped up in her delusion that everything in this town is corrupt and awful ( she’s right about that ) and the only way to solve it is to get rid of everyone ( slow your horses ) (( and yes, even other fellow orphans. even the ‘good’ people in this town )) and that she and the pc is the only righteous thing in this town. riley at max hysteria taking too many victims to her list. the slightest fault someone makes in front of her could make them a target. ( god forbid someone says a lewd comment about someone’s body in front of her )

though, be careful of having her love too low when hysteria is high. being TOO submissive in combat encounters and taking enjoyment of the abuse the town dishes out can lower it! because then she’ll think the pc is now corrupt and ruined. and she might do something about that!! ( she’s going to kill the pc, she can’t trust them anymore. game over )

and raising her lust seems almost impossible. helping her crimes only raises it by 1-2%. but if the pc ever decided to take charge in the crime, if they have the sadist trait, it grants a 10% boost of lust from riley.

and why not add another level of fun freak by having that riley almost seemingly prefers to only engage in sex with the pc IMMEDIATELY after they just commit a murder? like what’s not hotter than just killing someone you hate in the most brutal fashion imaginable, to then fuck in front of their corpse ( or almost corpse, they might still be bleeding out ), covered in blood??? like thats amor to riley

[lovesickf-fics]

Cursed and Coerced

tw : imperius curse, light depersonalization, cnc, implied non con, slapping, pinching, hair pulling, anal, spit as lube, degredation, manhandling, cumming inside, pulling out, cumming on back, masterbating

Character(s) mentioned : Barty crouch jr x James potter (marauders)

Summary : constantly at eachothers throats, barty decides to put the rivalry to end with a little magic, James just happens to enjoy this a little too much

It happens everywhere. Quidditch, classes, Lunch hall, study group, the hallways. Barty Crouch Jr and James Potter will argue on sight.

Both of them start it, and neither of them ever finish it. A constant tiff of "who's better," "stronger," "smarter," "can fly better," and it never ends.

One day while wandering for his prefect rounds James comes across Barty in the halls, instead of fighting Barty suggests a truce.

"I mean, if you're too much of a shitbag to admit you love it"

And james takes the bait. Barty's suggestion was stupid. Reckless and downright illegal but something about it made James' stomach churn with the glee he gets right before a prank, execution that has never failed him yet and thats what makes him agree.

The imperius curse is dangerous. Unforgivable by law and definition, it makes the user fully in charge of the person they casted it on and James would be Barty's sex puppet, and it had James feeling like he'd peaked puberty all over again with how many boners he was getting and dealing with by himself.

It happens a week later, past curfew in an abandoned classroom, James enters the room with a tint of nerves and with his heartbeat in his ears as he meets Barty's eyes, the slytherin leaning on an abandoned desk, flipping his wand in his hand with a smirk on his face

They dont say a word to each other. Barty lifts his wand but hesitates, the look in his eyes it's most sincere James has ever seen him. James nods, and then it all goes fuzzy, his body not his own, his actions not his own volition, and the only voice in his head belongs to barty

Barty watches in awe as james practically goes stiff, obedient, and just waiting on an order, to test it worked properly Barty gives him a simple command first

"Jump potter."

And jump he does, he feels his body react to the words before the fog in his mind even deciphers the instruction, something about that makes james burn inside.

Barty can't stop grinning, walking around James and slapping his ass. Enjoying the lack of reaction he is given.

Now that his test showed the results he wanted he swiftly moves on from those simple sort of commands.

"Strip for me, James"

As James strips, cloak, shirt, tie, shoes, socks, trousers, boxers, Barty goes around him, hitting the small of his back, his face, shoving his shoulder, grabbing at his hipbones and tugging his already messy hair with the more skin on display the more he has to play with.

By the time James is naked, his skin is red with handprints, pinch marks, and his hair is a mess. He looks fucked and barty hasnt even began.

With Barty fully clothed, he spits onto his fingers, dragging james so he's bent over a desk by his hair. The ache makes james' foggy head a little clearer, and he blinks away the sensation, letting the unwavering obedience return. His cock standing tall and leaking at the pinkish tip.

James' head is shoved down, the top of it hanging off the edge of the desk and the rest of his body bent for Barty's pleasure, the spit covered fingers are teasing over his ass, making james want to whine, his mouth unmoving.

"I bet you wanna make all sorts of pathetic sounds huh potter?"

And james preens. The attention makes his body thrum, and he's so delighted that part of him wonders how much the spell is and how much his own reaction is.

With the angle made, perfect barty just pushes two fingers in, the spit barely there with all the teasing, and it hurts, only enough to make james aware again, he lets out a grunt, a moan, and then the curse returns, barty having been watching his pathetic reaction with a look of something insane in his eyes.

"Merlin, this really is doing it for you, isn't it? you're disgusting james, what if someone seen you like this?"

James' face is red, his cock leaking across his stomach and his ass tight around barty's fingers. He looks sinful, like a mess, and Barty wishes he could keep that image forever.

Barty fucks him, hard but slow, every push delving deeper, each movement getting the boy beneath him more accepting of the intrusion

It doesnt take long for barty to get bored of this, even if the puddle of dumbed out drool is getting larger, sticking to james' cheekbones and chin now, He's selfish and he wants to feel everything.

Pulling his hand away and out of James, leaving the boy strewn across the desk as he tugs his underwear and trousers down just enough the he can grab his own hard on, hand sticky with the spit he used to loosen james up.

Barty doesn't bother stripping properly, moving so he's lined up with James, Spitting down once more and pushing in, its tight and its hot and Barty has to take a breath so the sensation doesnt overwhelm him.

He sits there for a minute, his body pressed against James', cock fully inside him and his hands are moving, grabbing his hips, tugging his hair, just messing with the body pathetically laid there beneath him.

James' body is pink with marks, his glasses are skewed, and his face is covered in spit,sweat, and unshed tears. His cock leaking and red from lack of attention and too much attention all at once.

Barty keeps a grip on his hair, the other hand on his hip and he thrusts, selfishly taking everything he wants, the pace is rough and the sound of skin on skin echoes around the empty classroom. His thrusts are shallow and rough, the smacking makes james convinced he'll be bruised and it makes something in him hot.

James head gets tugged up harder, Barty's grip tightening as he speaks through his groans

"There we go, this is what you needed huh potter? all those arguments were just the foreplay right?"

And james agrees, the word yes falling past his lips numbly, body moving on its own.

Barty lets out a laugh, his orgasm hitting him in waves as he cums inside james, he pulls out as he does, the cum dripping from his hole and up across his back.

James, who is now back from the spell snapping from the lack of concentration grab his own cock, bringing himself to the edge and cumming across his stomach and the table beneath him. His body spend.

Theyre both panting as barty spells james clean, the only reminder of what happened being the lack of clothes and how james' skin is turning dark where barty tugged a little too hard.

They grin at eachother and james speaks

"Well, i guess i gotta do that next time to find out who tops better?"

Barty laughs.

[kittynugg]

i wrote another one of them fan fiction thangs

(the link wont do the thing where it looks cool fsr 😔)

(pspsps if you read it read this first it's like,,, gonna be context but im working on it)

words: 7,354

TW: TECHNICALLY SUICIDE ATTEMPT BUT NOT REALLY (you'll understand if you read it)

keep reading at your own risk it long

Dipper tiptoed down the halls, tugging his jacket onto his arms. He wasn’t sure why he woke up at, like, two in the morning, but he had a bad feeling about it. “Trust your gut,” he’d been told by both of his Grunkles, “you might save a life from it.”

So he decided to investigate.

The shack was dark, like Grunkle Ford always kept it even if he was up, but the sound of a pen scratching against paper gave him away. Somewhere downstairs, to the right. He’d check the kitchen first because Ford never hung out in the gift shop. For some reason he just felt like time was of the essence. Something about the way the air felt around him. A gut feeling he couldn’t shake.

And he trusted his gut, which led to him down the stupidly creaky stairs in nothing but his socks, pajamas and a jacket.

Luckily he made it to the ground floor undetected. ..Unluckily, the tension in the air didn’t ease up at all. The light was on in the kitchen and he just barely peeked in to catch Ford rolling down his sleeve before he resumed writing. Not in his journal, but on a piece of tattered paper. The way he wrote didn’t look natural. Call it paranoia if you want, but it didn’t look like he was.. thinking. More like his hand was guided by puppet strings that already knew exactly what to write. 

He wrote a few words, maybe a couple of sentences, then folded the paper in half and stood up. Dipper hid around the corner as his Grunkle briskly walked out of the room and.. Into the gift shop. Huh. He guessed he should have expected the unexpected. Naturally, the boy followed him. Always one doorway behind.

Ford dropped the scrap of paper onto the counter and walked around it toward the ladder. A chill ran through Dipper when he began to climb it. Writing a note, then climbing onto a roof!? The signs were all pointing in one direction it terrified him. 

Once Ford had reached the top his nephew ran to follow him. He grabbed the scratch paper on his way past and tucked it into his pocket. Just as he picked it up, one phrase caught his eye, “this is the only way.” It made his stomach churn. No time to read it now.

When his hand gripped the first rung he froze. This couldn’t be happening, right? Grunkle Ford was the smartest person he knew. Probably the smartest person in the world! So why would he..

Then again, now that he thought of it..

He shook it off. Trust your gut, he reminded himself.

Dipper made lightning quick work of the ladder, shuddering as the freezing outside air hit him along with snowflakes whipping in the wind. Keeping his footing was a struggle on the frozen compound of mold and moss covering the roof tiles despite the way his socks uncomfortably stuck to it. He suddenly regretted not at least throwing on a pair of shoes, but part of him wondered if he’d have been too late to do anything now that he was gazing at Ford, standing ramrod straight on the very edge of the roof.

He nearly slipped as his Grunkle spoke up without even looking at him.

“Go back to sleep, kid.” His tone lacked the coldness Dipper had kind of gotten used to at that point. It lacked.. Much of anything. He sounded tired. 

So tired.

With a frantic shake of his head, Dipper took a few more steps toward him. He’d been in dangerous situations before, he’d seen Grunkle Ford in dangerous situations, but this was different. This wasn’t some monster threatening him, this was.. “I’m not doing that,” he insisted without thinking. The note was taken from his pocket and opened with a crinkle. He held it toward the man figuratively and literally on the edge, hand shaking from more than just the cold. “This– This note. What is this, I–” 

What was he supposed to say? How could he fix this!? If he waited a second too long he’d be gone. He had to act.

“Are you okay-?” A stupid question, sure, but it was the only opener he could think of. This.. Entire thing seemed to freeze all trains of thought. Maybe it was the cold getting to him. Maybe the liquid running down his cheeks was just snow melting.

The response he got was absolutely not what he was looking for. “Honestly..” An unnerving chuckle escaped him as he turned to look at Dipper. He swore he saw a flash of yellow in those eyes beneath the moonlight, a faint smile resting underneath them. “I’ve never been better.”

That only served to turn up the heat on the panic boiling in his chest. He remembered the first time Ford tried to encrypt his thoughts, when he thought Bill had possessed him and nearly wiped his memory for good in a panic.. But this time his fears were real. This time–

No. Too risky to make a judgement now. One wrong word could tip him over the edge, Bill or not.

“Listen, we can talk about this!” He pleaded in a shaky voice, swiping at the “snow melting right under his eyes” before it could freeze there. “Get away from the edge!”

The eerie smile of Ford’s widened a little, and he shifted closer to the edge. Snow crumbled to the ground underneath them when his boots kicked at it. “Relax! I have a feeling everything’s about to fall into place.” He wheeled around to face Dipper, causing his breath to hitch in his throat. What if he accidentally slipped!? “I know what you’re thinking, kid, you’re not stupid.” He rose a hand to pry his eyelid open a little further, angling his head so the moon hit them just right again. Yellow. Slitted pupils.

Dipper pressed a hand to his chest as he felt his heart race, the suffocating cold surrounding him even colder now. Of course it was Bill! He wasted precious seconds waiting after that first glimpse, he should have acted! His mind worked twice as fast as his heart to find some way to explain it. Trust. Your. Gut. He reminded himself, but how was he supposed to trust his gut when his gut was telling him everything was wrong!?

The fact that Grunkle Ford wasn’t in control made it half as terrifying and a hundred times more at the same time. 

He took a breath, the air coming out in a puff of condensation, with his hands clenched at his sides and strengthened resolve. His eyes remained fixed on the yellow husks of Ford’s as he tried to come up with a plan. Think on your feet, Dipper! Ford would encourage as he walked him through an encounter with a particularly dangerous cryptid. As a bit of an exercise. It’s not the monsters that get you, it’s the hesitation!

Now was the time to think on his feet. Using his advice to save him.. He’d be proud.

So he shifted to get as much grip on the roof as possible, and broke into a run toward his possessed Grunkle. For only a second he doubted himself, wondering if this was the right choice, but he couldn’t stop himself from acting. His heart pounded in his ears. He could barely feel the cold or the snowflakes whipping at his face, the snow crunching under his feet and the stinging cold. 

“BILL!” He yelled angrily, reaching for his arm to pull him back, but skittered toward the edge as Ford sidestepped him in one unnaturally fluid motion. He’d have gone right over if a six-fingered hand didn’t shoot out to grab him by the collar of his jacket.

“Gah-!” He hissed, kicking his legs and clawing at the hand holding him over the edge. “Let me go! Get out of my uncle, Bill!” A rough shake from the body Bill was piloting gave him second thoughts about wanting to be let go. It was a long way down.. He tried not to focus on that. Think on your feet, trust your gut, act! Something!

Ford’s voice chided, “careful what you wish for!” His grip was impossibly strong, considering how little sleep and food Dipper had seen him get. With a wide grin, he used his free arm to shrug. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh? I was getting bored of pretending for you, anyway!” He remained still as a statue when Dipper writhed in his grip, kicking at his legs.

“There’s no way I’m letting you get away with this!” He attempted to swing backward, back onto the roof, but was held in place.

A dark snicker cut through the air. “I’m not gonna drag this out, kid.” Dipper gasped as his grip loosened slightly. “Your time’s up! Fourteen years.. And this old thing survived fifty more!” He pointed at his chest, then stared Dipper in the eyes and continued in a detached tone, “that’s just pathetic.” Sharply lifting the boy to his eye level, he smiled. “C’est la vie, right?”

“Wait- you’re not actually gonna..” Dipper’s voice trembled as he spoke, staring down at the ground below. “You wouldn’t–”

He was interrupted with a chipper, “SEE YOU DOWN THERE!!” And yelped as he was swung back, then thrown.

The world tilted around him and it almost felt like he was falling in slow motion. A scream ripped from his mouth as his gaze locked on the face of his uncle, smiling down at him with a dainty wave. 

He could hear wind rushing past him, gravity forgotten as his world bent and distorted. 

There was.. Nothing he could do. No heroic rescue. Bill said it himself, Ford would be right behind him. 

He failed him.

As the thought echoed through his mind he felt tears sting at his eyes. 

He wouldn’t even get to say his last words. 

The ground below him was blurry.

What would Mabel and Stan do? Mabel would be crushed.

He almost felt weightless.

Were they gonna bury him here or back in California?

Was this even happening?

He hoped they played Hot To Go at his funeral.

That cruel pause in time ended as quickly as it began, his body rocketing toward the ground for only a second. Then the impact. 

His world went dark.

----

Ford’s eyes snapped open.

He found himself standing on the roof, snowflakes fluttering through the wind and sticking to his clothes. The cold sent shivers through his body and bit at his old wounds Stanley had insisted upon bandaging. A stinging sensation called attention to what must have been several fresh wounds tucked under his sleeve thanks to Bill, an aching in his ribs to boot. Probably literally. He would not be surprised if Bill got someone to kick him in the chest. When he looked around to truly get his bearings his entire body locked up on a boy curled up in the snow underneath. The snowflakes twinkling in the moonlight seemed to blur and warp around him.

As soon as he froze, he bolted. His boots skidded across the roof as he got a running start and hurled himself over the edge. The pain in his chest spiking as he landed into a combat roll was the least of his worries. Nothing but a background detail. Adrenaline drowned out every thought, every feeling and every action.

“Dipper!” Ford’s voice cracked as he fell to his knees beside the body, leaning down to listen for breathing. He allowed himself to breathe when he felt little puffs of air hit his ear. Shaky, weak, but there. Two fingers pressed to his neck picked up on a weak pulse. 

Pulling Dipper into his lap to provide a barrier between his nephew and the snow, he patted his cheek and spoke in a voice shaky from the cold and not the the horror at his actions that weren’t even his, “Dipper, say something– stay with me!” His eyes darted to the spot where the kid had been laying and shot back to him as they caught a smear of red in the snow. A six-fingered hand cupped the back of his head, only to feel a warm, sticky substance. Bleeding from the head, unconscious. So a concussion. Could be a skull fracture, brain swelling.. Whatever it was, it needed medical attention and he wasn’t fit to drive. He carefully felt for any spinal injuries and confirmed that he was.. Safe enough to move. The snow wasn’t an option.

Without a moment’s hesitation he scooped Dipper into his arms and ran on wobbly legs into the shack. It was dark and everyone was surely sleeping, which he hoped to combat by kicking the door open with all the force he could muster.

“STANLEY!” Ford’s voice echoed through the house loudly enough to sting at his own ears. He swallowed to clear the hoarseness in his throat. “I need help! Dipper– He’s very badly hurt and I can’t drive him to a hospital!”

The second he finished talking (shrieking) he started to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, trying his best to avoid jostling the oh so fragile child in his arms. He hadn’t checked for any minor injuries like  internal bleeding or organ failure but he was sure that the movement may exacerbate them. Unfortunately he had to move. He couldn’t stop, his legs would give out on him if he stopped.

It felt like hours, but couldn’t have been longer than a minute before Stan bounded down the upstairs hallway, then fell down the stairs with a series of yelps. It’d have been funny if Ford wasn’t cradling his half-dead nephew in his arms. Only for a moment longer before his twin scooped him up and elbowed the front door open. Pressing his sleeve to the injury on the back of Dipper’s head to slow the bleeding, he spoke.

“Get Mabel, lemme know what the Hell happened on the ride to.” He ordered simply, nodding toward the stairs. A muttered curse escaped him as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

Ford felt a lot colder with Dipper taken from him. Shaking hands ran down his face and took off toward the attic, bounding up the steps three at a time and nearly stumbling into the door once he reached it. Don’t startle her, he told himself before reaching for the doorknob and gently pushing it open.

Mabel peacefully slept hugging her plushie, a cat Ford had won her at the traveling fair last month. The room would be pitch-black if not for the moonlight filtering through the curtains. It was a peaceful scene that Ford hated to interrupt, but knew he had to.

“Mabel?” A deep breath calmed his heart rate such an insignificant amount that he’d bet it sped up slightly. He continued once his niece stirred, a confused hum escaping her. “Get your coat and shoes on, dear.” There wasn’t much he could do to prepare her (or himself) for what he was about to say. He figured he’d just get it over with. “We’re taking your brother to a hospital.” 

Mabel shot up at his words, but hesitated for a second. She stared down at the floor in silence before darting to the coat rack hung by the door. A helpless look cast at Ford shot guilt tearing into his heart. “..What happened, Grunkle Ford?” She asked under her breath, pulling her coat on and tugging her boots onto her feet. Her lip quivering wasn’t lost on him.

Hiding the tremble of his voice was difficult, but he spoke. “Bill happened, sweetheart.. I’ll explain further in the car.“ His ribs practically screamed in protest with every heavy breath that wracked his torso. Something he hadn’t truly noticed before and attributed to adrenaline wearing off.

He’d felt worse.

A tiny hand wrapped around his, the contact much-needed by both of them. Ford led the way downstairs in silence and tried his hardest to ignore the way their hands shook in each other’s grips, or the way those new wounds in his arm stung and throbbed. The feeling was all too familiar from Bill’s heinous actions over thirty years ago. Now it’d affected Dipper.

Now it could kill Dipper.

Now Dipper’s blood was on his hand.

Now he could have killed-

“Ford!” Someone called for him, causing him to flinch and his eyes to dart around. Freezing cold suddenly stung his face and injuries. Snow whirled around him and stuck to his clothes. When had they gotten outside? “You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna get in!? I will not hesitate to leave without you.” Grumbled Stanley in the driver’s seat, Mabel and Dipper buckled into the back. 

Once he saw them as safe as they’d get his head began to swim. His legs felt almost too weak to hold him up and he had to brace himself against the car to keep from crumpling to the ground, pinching his eyes shut for a moment. Just a few steps. He told himself. Come on, Stanford, Dipper needs you.

A long, awkward and shaky hobble led him around the car and he collapsed into the passenger seat. Violent tremors in his hands made buckling his seatbelt a struggle, but Stan eventually noticed and brushed his hands away to do it for him. 

“Breathe, Ford, we’re gonna figure this out,” his twin reassured. He could barely hear it. His ears were ringing and his shallow, panicked breaths were at the forefront of what he did pick up on. The rest of his senses were clouded by pain that made his breath hitch in his throat and quicken even more. Now that he had nothing else to focus on he couldn’t bring his attention off of his injuries, the way they all seemed to flare up into an agonizing crescendo. The vibrations of the car’s engine sent a shudder through him along with the vertigo of the car moving. Too much. All of it was just too much and it was killing him.

Stan’s words repeated in his head a few times. We’re gonna figure this out. How? When? He wanted so badly to believe it, to use the phrase as a lifeline, but hearing Mabel’s quiet sobs in the backseat muffled by his own shock and seeing how pale Dipper was.. ‘It’s going to be okay’ only went so far before it became bullshit. He knew that now as he smothered his mouth with his sleeve to regulate his breaths. Too fast, like the world around him, and too ragged to receive enough oxygen.

His brother’s hand gently placed on his shoulder felt like a hearty smack to Ford, sweat causing his clothes to uncomfortably cling to his body despite feeling like ice. And his voice hammered in his ears despite how soft his tone was. “You’re gonna pass out. You need to calm d-”

“Please stop talking.” Ford pleaded in a breathy whisper before he even realized it. As he felt the hand slowly retreat from his shoulder, a blur overtook his vision and the sounds around him became even more muffled. Like his head had been dunked underwater. It was like a switch had been flipped, his breaths slowed and all the pain and stress didn’t.. It didn’t stop, but it was pushed down by something he couldn’t place. The pain that was, just a few seconds ago, smothering and overwhelming was now a distant feeling that almost didn’t feel like he was the one feeling it.  He wasn’t worried for Dipper. He wasn’t happy that he wasn’t in agony. He was just.. There. Staring into space as something or other happened around him. Stan and Mabel were talking.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Nothing did. 

There was nothing.

Surely the feeling should be stressful. He shouldn’t feel right about this. But he just.. Couldn’t find it in himself to form a real opinion on it. All he could do or think about were Stan’s words. They looped in his mind.

We’ll figure something out. We’ll figure something out. Figure something out. After long enough the words became difficult to grasp. They wouldn’t stop repeating but they didn’t mean anything. His fingers flexed, a command he was half-sure he gave them despite how hard it was to tell. They felt tingly. So did the seat under him. Speaking of which, how long had they been driving? Willing his head to turn toward the window didn’t help him. 

He couldn’t see anything coherent through the window, just shapes that he knew were supposed to be things but wouldn’t register in his head. Fuzzy, blurry shapes. He looked forward again. Dipper and Mabel behind him were shapes. Stan was shapes. Nothing around him felt alive anymore, was he even alive? When was the last time he’d taken a full breath?

Everything was tilting now, and he felt a faint impact on the side of his head.

He came to in a brightly-lit waiting room, his breath hitching in his throat. His eyes darted around until he realized he was in the hospital with a half-full cup of coffee in his hand. When he’d gotten the coffee, let alone to the hospital was beyond him. Stan sat next to him with their niece asleep  in his lap. She looked peaceful. Something about their presence was comforting. The pain was back, obviously, but it was.. Manageable. His limbs ached and felt like lead, but now that what he could only assume to be the shock had faded he felt more in control.

“Hey, Ford, you back?” Stan whispered, waving a hand at him. The words seemed to go in one ear and out the other before he metaphorically reached out to grab them and pull them back into his head to register them. Was he back? Or was he still in that dreamy, dissociative state? He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. Normal. 

He spoke up in a somewhat-distant murmur, “yes, I’m here. I’ve been here the entire time.” A sip was taken of the coffee and the bitter taste served to almost ground him in reality a little more. Machinery of sorts hummed in the background, threatening to steal his hazy focus. It was a nice sound.

“Y’sure? I kinda had to drag you out of the car.. You looked like a zombie, just leaning against the window like that.” Stan squinted at him for a moment, then shook his head. “Whatever. Wanna talk about what happened back there? Before you woke me up.”

Ford held his coffee in both hands to occupy them and stared at his feet. His boots were dirty and wet with melted snow, a pattern of mud tracked across the floors revealing his exact path. From the door to the chair, the chair to the coffee machine in the corner of the room, then back to the chair. Now that he’d put together the fact that he hadn’t been pacing he felt the urge to. 

Maybe he should respond to Stan. Right. “Bill. I didn’t investigate the scene very much but I‘m assuming I.. Threw.. Dipper. Off the roof.” His foot began tapping against the floor as guilt clawed at him. Were they really Bill’s actions if it was his body that performed them? What kind of uncle threw their nephew off a roof? What kind of monster?

Stan’s voice cut through his thoughts like a cleaver. Or.. Maybe a hammer. “What’s this ‘I’ crap? I know you didn’t go and toss him.” As Ford tried to open his mouth to speak he was interrupted. “You’re not gonna blame yourself for this. I swear, I’ll kill you if you get all–” he spoke in his impression of Ford, “‘I’m a bad person!’” Then coughed. “..on me.”

“Well,” grumbled Ford before taking an unsteady drink of his coffee. “I can’t argue with the facts. I-”

“You, weren’t in control of your body. Don’t make me swear at you around Mabel.” Stan gently ruffled Mabel’s hair to accentuate his point. 

A sigh escaped Ford. “Fine, fine,” he relented and leaned back into the chair. “I suppose you’re.. Right.” But his foot didn’t stop drumming against the floor, his mind didn’t stop racing.. He called it a white lie. A necessary evil to get Stanley to worry about what actually mattered, the fact that their nephew was presumably unconscious in a hospital bed. Realistically he could have regained consciousness in the time Ford spent.. Elsewhere, but the memory would be lost to the mental puzzle that was the last hour. His eyes trailed down to the paper cup in his hands. The liquid inside of it rippled from his shaking hands. Cheap paper crinkled as he tightened his hold on it, not quelling the tremors in the way he hoped.

Stan’s logic was right, he was entirely correct and it made sense, but logic just wouldn’t quiet his thoughts. A term for it cropped up in his head and absolutely mortified him. Survivor’s guilt. Realistically, there was a chance Dipper wouldn’t make it. Did that make him a murderer? 

The edges of his vision blurred, he could feel himself slipping again. Almost like his consciousness was being tugged from his–

“Pines family?”

An unfamiliar voice made him snap back to reality as gravity returned to him, the source being a nurse with a face mask sporting the nonbinary color scheme. Mabel and Stan appeared to have a similar jolt as him. Ford shakily rose to his feet, almost toppling to the floor with the motion, to address the nurse. “That’s us.” He stated in his best impression of a mentally stable human being. 

It did not work.

The nurse was clearly thrown for a loop, gazing at Ford with wide eyes. “You’re not waiting for a doctor-?” They looked him up and down. Judging him, then. He wondered if it was the blood seeping through his sleeve or the fact that he was casually wearing a trenchcoat in the first place. His frazzled mind assumed the second one.

“Is Dipper stable?” More important than anything. If he didn’t get answers, if he got the wrong answer, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. “Can I- Can we visit him?” His eyes flicked back to his family. Mabel was awake, muttering something to Stan that he didn’t care to register. 

A shake of the nurse’s head sent an icy chill through his veins. ..Until they spoke of course. “He’s conscious, but you need treatment before you can do– uh– anything..” They gestured to Ford. “Honestly, just looking at you your condition looks worse than his.” Ford crossed his arms with a scoff (and a wince at the pain of agitating his wounds) at their words.

“Oh, yeah.” Stan took over to Ford’s horror, rolling his eyes. “You should see under his sleeves.” Pushing himself to his feet he lifted Mabel out of his lap, then set her on the chair he was sitting in. Ford flinched at his hand on his shoulder. So Bill had done something to that too..

If he was on kilter, on his gourd or on his rocker, he’d simply allow himself to be checked out. He was aware it’d make him feel better, but he was off all of those so he shrugged Stan’s hand away from him. “I’m standing. I’ll be fine,” stated the man coldly. If ‘fine’ had to be ignoring chest pains and bleeding through his coat, then so be it. He was great. 

Maybe he didn’t believe it himself. Maybe he was wrong. But.. It made him feel a little more in control.

His twin, though? Not having it. Neither was the nurse considering their glare at him. “Ford, come on. You are inside of a hospital.” Stan glanced back at Mabel, who’d long since entered Sweater Town. The sight chipped at Ford’s heart just a little and he’d be damned if Stan didn’t exploit it. “B’sides, you wanna be in your best condition for Dipper and Mabel, huh?”

That goddamn snake.

“Hm, and he was asking about a ‘Grunkle’.. I’m guessing that’s one of you? Brown hair, trenchcoat..” The nurse made a show of squinting at Ford, pointing around his features as they named them. “He’s really worried.. Wants us to make sure this ‘Grunkle’ gets medical attention.” They knowingly cleared their throat.

Ford glanced to Stan, then pointed at him. “..He meant him.”

“His hair is grey and he’s in PJs,” said the nurse flatly.

“Damn.”

So Dipper was worried about him.

Wait.

Dipper was alive.

The conversation finally started to register in his mind, didn’t the nurse say he was conscious? And if Ford couldn’t visit him because he was in too unstable of a condition that implied that if he got treatment he’d be allowed to see him.

His shoulders drooped as the realizations all hit him in a stampede. The best course of action was to.. Accept.. Help?

Naturally, his mind wracked itself for a way to disprove it. Because the simple fact was that he did not like accepting help and therefore he wouldn’t!

After a pause and the people around him giving him those concerned looks, he sighed and looked down at his hands. Shaking. Bloody. Maybe he would benefit from some help.

“..Okay, fine.” He relented to his brother’s shock, but before he could give an astonished exclamation the nurse bustled over to him to mutter about paperwork. Ford pretended not to hear their comment about him not being in the right mental state to do paperwork.

Credit where credit was due, they whisked him off to be checked out quickly.

-----

“Your uncle might be a little out of it,” warned Dipper’s nurse as he wheeled him down the hall. “He’s on morphine. Do you know what that is?”

Dipper had to think on that one for a second. He knew this one.. It was just fuzzy. Tapping his chin, he gave himself a few moments for the information to come back to him. “A painkiller, right? An opioid.” He remembered learning that from a research binge after watching one of those bad medical dramas. It could make people pretty loopy so he doubted Ford was on it willingly.

Honestly, he didn’t remember a lot from the past few hours, it was just a blur of doctors and nurses. They told him he had a concussion, hypothermia and a sprained ankle. So the wheelchair made sense. And the memory loss.

The man in scrubs nodded. “Yep, you’re a smart kid!” He chuckled in a way that made Dipper feel kinda patronized, but he decided not to speak up about it. Instead he just thanked him in a murmur and tried not to think about the IV in his wrist. There wasn’t much feeling in the area besides a bit of cold that crept up his vein, but it was hard to ignore the pole wheeled next to him holding the bag. Mostly because the wheels squeaked pretty loudly and it took up half of the peripheral vision to his right, but it also tugged uncomfortably at his wrist whenever he tried to move it. It sucked.

They were moving him to a room he’d get to share with Grunkle Ford. And with his last memory of him on that roof? It didn’t take much imagination to picture the shape he could be in. Or what Bill must have done to him after everything blanked out on his end. All he knew was that he was technically conscious and a little banged up, that was literally all the doctor told him. Could they have been any more vague!? Technically conscious!?

He figured that meant he was in really bad shape. Considering the way they tried to sugarcoat everything and dumb it down like he was five. Didn’t the little reception forms ask for your age? Fourteen! Not five! Apparently they either didn’t care or thought fourteen was still too dumb to handle basic medical.. Stuff. Or maybe they thought his head injury suddenly tanked his mental age, maybe his brain was frozen from hypothermia!

He flinched and looked up at the nurse when he addressed him with a simple, “how’re you feeling, buddy?” Little man. Great. Now he was a buddy.

“Uh, kinda cold?” As he said it he felt the leftover chill from his hypothermia rear its head again, it was way more noticeable when he actually thought about it. He continued in a sheepish whisper, “..nervous?” Suddenly the grippy socks on his feet looked a lot more interesting. Yellow with little rubber dots on the bottom, honestly pretty comfortable. Boring, but better to focus on than what he’d see when they finally made it to his new room. Images flashed in his mind of his Grunkle, bloodied and mangled in the snow beneath the roof. Stop thinking about it. Stop. Sto-

Before he could really get into it his nurse spoke again. “I know it’s scary, kiddo,” he said, his voice softer but still too cheerful for Dipper’s liking. “But you and your uncle are going to be fine. He’s being patched up, and you’re both stable enough to see each other.”

Obviously. They were going to do that right now. He flexed his fingers, stiff from the lingering chill in his veins, and took a deep breath. This was fine. Everything was fine. His palms shouldn’t be sweating, they were freezing. He wondered what was up with that.

It didn’t matter, he decided as the nurse opened the door to a room.

A.. Really dark room. Compared to the rest of the hospital, anyway. When his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw two beds, one empty with a pair of crutches propped against it, and the other holding the object of all his worries. He wore a hospital gown matching Dipper’s, bandages on both arms and a sling on his left. He expected a lot of tubes, and for Ford to be unconscious and all frail-looking (medical dramas. Ahem.) but he looked.. Fine? Just an IV drip in his right arm and a few different monitors. The heart monitor beeped a calm rhythm that definitely reassured Dipper. He was fine.

Grunkle Ford leaned forward and extended an arm to wave. “Hello!” He greeted cheerfully, then squinted. “I can’t see who you are.” That was when Dipper noticed he was missing his glasses. They were forgotten on the table, proooobably the source of his blindness.

“This is your nephew,” Dipper’s nurse began as he wheeled him toward the empty bed. He couldn’t help but notice the way Ford’s eyes lit up at the mention of him. “I’m his nurse.” And.. the way his demeanor flattened a little at the nurse.

He reached out to sluggishly gesture toward them, Dipper figured all he could see was a fuzzy blob. “Can I see him? I let you poke and.. And prod at me so I could see him.” An icy, not-at-all threatening glare was directed slightly to the left of him and his nurse, and Dipper caught him rolling his eyes before the nurse changed courses to bring him to Ford’s bed.

Now that he was closer he could see a lot more detail on Ford’s face. His eyes looked a little glassy and droopy, but he didn’t look terrible. “Hey, Grunkle Ford.” He greeted with a faint smile in spite of the tears already pricking at his eyes. Lots of things he wanted to say.

I thought he was gonna kill you.I tried to stop him.

I thought I’d never see you again.

I’m sorry.

He almost wished he could hear his thoughts so he wouldn’t have to say it.. “Uh, I’m really sorry about wha–” Instead of letting him finish, Grunkle Ford reached up to pat his head. The movement was uncoordinated and a little forceful, enough to make him a little dizzy for a second with the concussion, but it was something. Tangible, warm human contact with someone he thought was dead.

That was enough for him. Maybe he could let his apology go unspoken.

“I was worried about you, you know,” scolded Ford before shakily raising a finger and poking his nose. ..Definitely a lucky guess. “You and your.. Your little face.” He smiled softly (and a little dopily) at Dipper before returning his hand to his hair for a few more pats, which he narrated with a mumbled, “pat. Pat pat.”

A laugh escaped Dipper at the sheer silliness coming from his Grunkle. That morphine really messed him up, huh? “Yeah.. I was worried about you, man, I mean– Do you even know what happened?” It took a lot to fight off a saddened expression when Ford shook his head. “..right. At least you look better, how do you feel?”

Ford drawled a trailing, confused “um…” for a few moments before coming to a verdict with snapped fingers and a point at Dipper. “High.”

Dipper came to his own conclusion, not without a snicker; there was no way this was his actual Grunkle. “I mean, they did put you on an opioid..” He reasoned, shrugging.

“They did,” parroted Ford. “Hey.. Did you know your body actually, um, it naturally makes a painkiller that’s.. It’s ten times stronger than morphine, Dipper. I think that’s pretty damn interesting.” 

Definitely out of it, but definitely Ford.

Another nurse, the one he woke up to (a nonbinary nurse he remembered a doctor calling “Angel”) poked their head in. “Yo, Dave,” they muttered to Dipper’s nurse, and he let go of Dipper’s wheelchair with a mumbled reassurance that he’d be back to walk over. They had a short conversation about Dipper and Ford being stable enough for visitors, then Angel left. 

So this guy who kept treating him like a first-grader was named Dave. He acted like a Dave. 

Dave stood in the doorway with his hands folded in front of him and addressed the two. “Me and my colleague just talked,” he said as if they didn’t just watch it happen, “and if you two would like it, we can have your family come in and visit you.”

Both of them jumped at the chance. Figuratively, Dipper was pretty sure that he’d just fall over if he stood up. 

“Yeah!” Dipper chirped, flanked by a “oh, absolutely” from his Grunkle. “Totally, we’d love to see them.” He folded his hands innocently in his lap. 

Nodding, the nurse mumbled into a radio on his shoulder, “can someone bring in the Pines family for a visit? Room 618? Thanks.” He then turned back to the two patients with a smile. “They’ll be here with your other nurse in juuuuust a minute. I have to go and get another dose of Promethazine ready for you, Stanford, so..” Dipper could tell he was holding in an exasperated sigh. “Be on your best behavior? Please? No antics?”

“I’ll show you antics in a minute..” trailed Ford, pointing at Dave (Dipper still thought it was a dumb name) with a wavering finger. Then he turned to Dipper with a proud grin. “I took the IV out. Now I have to wear this.. thing.” He lifted his other arm, the one Dipper hadn’t seen yet, to reveal a thick padded brace around his elbow to conceal the needle in his elbow. The sight of it made his eyes widen a little.

Huh. Troublemaker, then. Not surprising that Ford wouldn’t be too happy about medical care.

He glanced back to the door, only to see that the nurse had left, then turned back to his Grunkle. “Why?” Asked Dipper under his breath. Was he supposed to laugh or scold him for that? It was kinda funny..

“..I don’t know.” The reply was delivered candidly, with a blank stare. “They’re, um.. I just remembered they’re called endorphins.”

Ford’s random mention made Dipper blink a couple of times. Man, he felt slow right now. “Uh, what are called endorphins?”

“The damn.. The, um..” Snapping his fingers, he looked away thoughtfully. He had to be playing it up for a joke or something, Ford would never actually act like this! He was a scientist, he took himself so seriously and now he was acting like.. Like a toddler! “..paaaain.. Killers. Those guys.”

Oh, yeah, he knew that. It came back to him once Grunkle Ford said it. “Sure, but those are in a really small concentration. Otherwise we’d all be walking around like.. Like that all the time.” Chuckling, he gestured toward Ford and his goofy, doting grin.

“You’re my favorite nephew.. Don’t tell your cousins.” He huffed out a sigh, running an uncoordinated hand through his hair. “I would not.. ever.. Let a bunch of doctors look at me and put me in this,” he gestured to his hospital gown. “For anyone but you. Or your sister. Or Stanley. Or.. Nikola Tesla.” 

Why wasn’t he surprised that Nikola Tesla made it on that list? “Honestly, I’m honored.” He wondered how much pain Ford had to be in if the medication they had to give him made him this loopy. “So.. What happened after I got knocked out?” Asked the boy, choosing to ignore the voices muttering down the hall for the time being.

Unfortunately before Ford could respond (with an answer Dipper didn’t expect to be coherent), Stan walked in with the two nurses from earlier, Mabel in tow on his shoulders. “Total nerds, both of em,” gossipped the technically-older-at-the-moment twin. 

“Yeah, your brother tried to tell me how the meds we’re giving him work,” muttered the nonbinary nurse with a roll of their eyes. “Dipper’s been nice, though.” They put on a professional expression when they realized Dipper was staring right at them. “Dipper, Mister Pines–”

“Ford,” corrected the man grumpily.

“..Ford, your family’s here to visit you two.” 

As soon as Stan set Mabel down she bolted toward Dipper, skidding to a stop just before she could crash into him. “DIPPER!” Her voice stung in Dipper’s ears and made him reflexively reach up to cover them. Then she continued in a quieter tone, “you really scared me..” There was a certain softness to her voice that Dipper was familiar with, one that made him feel a hundred times worse about everything without even trying. “Both of you.” She said with a glance at Grunkle Ford, who was already sleepily chatting with Stan. Something about missing him in the.. Maybe two hours he’d been away from him? 

Dipper was too foggy-eyed to really pay attention to it, something Mabel made worse by hugging him. He blinked tears from his eyes and tightly wrapped his arms around his sister. Apologies were again caught in his throat. Ones for scaring her, ones for not doing enough to keep Ford safe.. He wondered what would have happened if Mabel was the one who went up there. Who knows, maybe she could have actually convinced Bill t-

“Dip..soooon..” slurred Ford with a lazy reach in his direction. “You, um.. Hm..”

Stan leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “Those meds hit him hard..” He commented under his breath.

“I’m going to sleep, now. ..yep. I’m..” a six fingered hand rose in a sluggish salute. “I’m done with this corporeal realm.”

Now that he mentioned it, Dipper was getting kinda tired too.

He made a move to lift himself into the bed, pausing when his head swam and his arms wobbled, but with Grunkle Stan's help he lay beside Ford. Then Stan lifted Mabel into the bed. As both of the nurses began their respective murmurs of “maybe you shouldn’t do that”, four death glares silenced them.

Dipper wasn't sure if it was the concussion, pain medication or the family togetherness, but he was out like a light.

“..Is now a bad time to say they'll need to be kept here for at least a week for observation..?”

“Wait, what!?”

[satanicsanity]

Satanic potentially as a sock puppet???

(If ykyk)

Tw: Cracking sound effect & yelling

Subtitles: Neighbor... Don't turn me into a marketable sock puppet...

[danganronpa-ship-tourney]

If you want to make propaganda you can view the submissions here but please know the second tab which also contains the reasonings submitted has like every TW so be prepared!

Right now the rules of the next section of the tournament are as followed

You WILL be civil to the shippers of the ship you think is worse, no I do not CARE if it's abuse or incest or the most problematic thing in the world, we will be CIVILIZED. If I catch you spewing toxic shit about how all shippers of a ship are horrible terrible people who need to die you WILL be blocked. We are not here for a guilt trip! We are here to have fun being dramatic! Small PLAYFUL pokes are fine, but everyone should have fun even the shippers of the ship you think is worse.

I shouldn't have to specify but be like, actually decent about what you say, I had a person in the forms wishing rape on a character and like bro take that up with your ao3 search results not me or anyone else here. So like, yeah the characters are just characters, but theres a difference between edge and potentially being intensely triggering and uncomfortable for literally no reason.

If you want to make propaganda I advise either light hearted gags at a ships expense,

Example of a light hearted gag would be like a picture of Junko sitting on Mikan kneeling into a bench and a caption like "would you really not vote for this?" thats hilarious and doesn't target actual people.

Or you draw art for the ship that gives you less despair, branch out a bit. Never drawn I dunno Ryoma x Kirumi before but you think its less toxic then uhh Hajime x Mikan? Well here's your chance to try drawing some Ryoma x Kirumi! Make propaganda for the ship you want people to NOT vote for!

I can't enforce this but the tag you want to use for anything you create for this should be "#Despair Ship" this is so people can filter it out more easily. I'm here to cause fun, not make people frustrated because their tag got overrun.

Again I also can't enforce this but remember the point isn't to find the ship that's the most abusive, or the most toxic, its to find the ship that gets the most despair. For instance there are very few ships on the list I find personally more despairing then kokichi and shuichi, and that's because it's a lot harder to stumble on some of the more kneejerk offensive ships compared to how I cannot escape kokichi and shuichi making out no matter how hard i try. Like I said I can't enforce this but if you're wondering why a ship you think is more inherently toxic is losing, this is probably the reason why.

I am also a single person, while I have a friend who is here on the sidelines cheering me on, I hand made the bracket and everything else about this. If the brackets aren't perfectly balanced or a ship you don't like didn't make the cut, remember that I am just a single person.

Voter fraud is allowed and encouraged I'm not a coward this is the voting fraud website if you're determined to make a thousand sock puppet accounts just to make sure Celeste x Togami is the winner then that's the biggest possible powermove and I respect it. Also I guess I accept bribes now, because I think it's funny.

Thank you for all the support I've gotten! While rather small scale compared to other polls, the fact I've got people sending asks and following means a lot to me. Even if I barely get any interaction from here out, I still had fun and am happy to have done this. Voting will either open Saturday or Sunday but if I forget and it's a day or too late then feel free to shake me in the asks by short term memory is Not Good

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Howdy!! How about some platonic headcanons for TF2 Medic? I just really wanna hug him and infodump to him fr fr JENDJDHDHDHB :3

Platonic HCS w/ TF2 Medic

You're so valid! SO valid. If I wouldn't be afraid of their stupid bullshit resulting in an early death for me, I'd totally want them as a big family.

TW: Death, medical gore

Klaus (red)

Klaus plays around way too much for a man in charge of medical care. Making jokes as he handles organs, using his temporarily dead teammates like a sock puppet during surgery, replicating things like their teeth and then displaying them... it's all very morbid.

He'd probably let you do surgery under his guidance if you wanted! Think of it like bonding! He's sure Scout won't mind. And even if he did... eh.

Hopefully, you don't mind super unsanitary hugs with a lot of blood! If you encourage hugging, he will forget to change his clothing and greet you with a squish! Between him and Heavy, you'll be filthy and your back feels like a cracked glow stick. It's affection.

He doesn't always understand the info you're dumping on him, but he definitely listens with rapt attention... As long as you're prepared for his practically unhinged ramblings on medical procedures that absolutely should not be performed on people. Why he doesn't have a license, silly things like that. You'd give him a license, right? Right.

Sometimes as his friend, you might have to help find Archimedes. For whatever reason, Klaus's dove has this penchant for burying himself into patient's body cavities. It is what it is. Like his owner, the bird loves giving affection while he's still covered in viscera. You might as well start wearing scrubs whenever you're coming to visit your friend.

His other doves surround you on your shoulders when you come by. Not as tall as Heavy, but still a nice perch!

One way you notice his care for you is how he fusses about your health. You aren't like the team, you know. You won't just respawn if something bad were to happen. Better let him check you out if you're ever feeling poorly! That being said, wouldn't recommend it given his... alternative methods for fixing things, sometimes.

Ludwig (blu)

He doesn't take his work much more seriously than his red team counterpart. However, he seems to have this odd fascination with death and "true death." He's not suicidal or anything like that, just. Sometimes he'll wax poetic a little too often about how exciting it'll be when he finally reaches his end. He looks at you with affection that one day you might die and he can hold a ceremony.

He wouldn't let you do surgery per say, but he'd be down to let you assist and hand him tools as you tell him all about your hyperfixations. Spy might be on this table for hours, it's fine!

He's a little more mindful of the bloodstained hugs than Klaus. While he doesn't mind aseptic technique the way he should, he does recognize you could get sick if he doesn't change and he doesn't want that to happen to his little friend! If you got REALLY sick, he'd have to install that little respawn chip all of them have and it's not... pleasant.

Do you like reading? Does he have a collection of books for you! Old ones, some quite rare. If you ask where he found them, he just smiles. He's traveled the world, you know! He totally stole them.

Once the two of you are really close, he'll even let you help him give Archimedes his "bath" aka a little water spritzer hose that the dove likes to dance in. He still likes being pristine and clean outside of his owner's work, being a former wedding dove and all.

Archimedes bugs you for treats because he thinks you can convince Ludwig to hand over the goods. The other doves have started doing it, too. They all coo in unison when you enter the room.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This day in history

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in CHICAGO (Apr 17), Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

#20yrsago EFF guide to Gmail privacy https://web.archive.org/web/20040516090804/https://blogs.eff.org/deeplinks/archives/001425.php#001425

#20yrsago Stephenson’s money-centric interview on Wired News https://web.archive.org/web/20040510183726/http://www.wired.com/news/culture/0,1284,63050,00.html?tw=wn_tophead_1

#15yrsago Somali pirates versus European toxic-waste dumpers https://www.independent.co.uk/voices/commentators/johann-hari/johann-hari-you-are-being-lied-to-about-pirates-1225817.html

#15yrsago If you lose your Amazon account, your Kindle loses functionality https://www.mobileread.com/forums/showthread.php?t=44350&highlight=amazon+banning

#15yrsago Secretive US prisons hold “terrorists” including animal rights activists and people who gave to the wrong charity http://www.greenisthenewred.com/blog/communication-management-units-mcgowan/1747/

#5yrsago The #ShellPapers: crowdsourcing analysis of all correspondence between Shell and the Dutch government https://www.ftm.nl/dossier/shell-papers

#5yrsago Air tanker drops are often useless for fighting wildfires, but politicians order them because they make good TV https://www.latimes.com/local/la-me-wildfires29-2008jul29-story.html

#5yrsago America today feels like the last days of the Soviet Union https://eand.co/how-american-collapse-resembles-soviet-collapse-94773b44fe17

#5yrsago EFF to Facebook: enforce your rules banning cops from creating sockpuppet accounts and be transparent when you catch cops doing it https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/04/facebook-must-take-these-four-steps-counter-police-sock-puppets

#5yrsago Not just Apple: Microsoft has been quietly lobbying to kill Right to Repair bills https://medium.com/u-s-pirg/microsoft-named-as-stopping-right-to-repair-in-washington-b880bf4ad052

#5yrsago Silicon Valley’s techie uprisings reveal growing support for socialism in tech https://www.salon.com/2019/04/11/silicon-valley-once-a-bastion-of-libertarianism-sees-a-budding-socialist-movement/

#5yrsago Investors controlling $3B in Facebook stock demand Zuckerberg’s ouster, and they will lose https://www.businessinsider.com/facebook-investors-will-vote-to-oust-mark-zuckerberg-as-chairman-2019-4

#5yrsago Starz abuses the DMCA to remove EFF’s tweet about Starz abusing the DMCA https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/04/effs-tweet-about-overzealous-dmca-takedown-now-subject-overzealous-takedown

#5yrsago RIP, science fiction and fantasy Grand Master Gene Wolfe, 1931-2019 https://reactormag.com/gene-wolfe-in-memoriam-1931-2019/

#5yrsago Leaked, “highly classified” French report shows that the slaughter in Yemen depends on US support https://theintercept.com/2019/04/15/saudi-weapons-yemen-us-france/

#1yrago SVB bailouts for everyone – except affordable housing projects https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/15/socialism-for-the-rich/#rugged-individualism-for-the-poor