#yes they are stupid

[tactical-jellyfish]

For Joanna (pt. 1/3)

Warnings: Mild injury to reader (they are stupid an thwacked themself with a tool or fell or something)+ Nikolai is a depressed bisexual man.

There are a lot of things Nikolai knows that he can never hope to understand.

One of them is how many truly brilliant individuals lie unknown, being that single guy at the end of an "I know a guy" trail that's always way harder to follow than it sounds.

Price had said he knew some other tech who knew someone who was nothing short of a genius with a toolkit. Nikolai had never met them, but when Price showed him a gun that this mystery person had worked on, the Russian was sold, no contest.

So, now he stands before an only slightly rusted hangar space, cloaked by the depth of night and shielded from the chill by his leather jacket. It's small, for aircraft, but it will definitely fit his Joanne. He knocks hard on the shutter, and hears an almost girlishly loud yelp over the buzz of tools that sounds out despite the stupid late hour.

In a minute or two, the shutter opens, to reveal a very much upset person behind it.

They're wearing a thick shirt, probably flame retardant considering a welding torch was in their hand, turned off only recently.

"You better have a good reason for fucking up my last electrode and my gas shield, you little-"

"Привет."

Seemingly, they had not planned on Nikolai being there, because they quiet almost immediately, and swallow.

"I don't know you."

Nikolai fights back a small chuckle at how flat your voice is, just noting a fact right after being seemingly ready to tear his throat out and throw it in his face.

"Correct, you do not know me."

You seem to pull back a little bit at his voice, eyes opening just a bit more before your face hardens again, steeled even under his piercing eyes, catching the light of the moon.

"You're... very Russian."

This time, Nikolai does chuckle, but your brows pinch together, and you snip back at him.

"You heard of me from a man named Johnathan Price, didn't you?"

That makes Nikolai freeze in place, some mix of confusion, anger, and... a sort of fear in his eyes. Price had referenced you to him once, two and a half years ago, said he'd had a short conversation with you, nothing crazy.

And now, you stood before a man you didn't know, correctly identified why he was here, and knew exactly how he found out about you.

Seemingly, his pause brings you some sort of satisfaction, and you give a chuckle. It's a sharp, almost mean sound, like a cat batting a bloody mouse around in its paws, sinking its claws into flesh.

"Bring me my project in a week. Saturday, no later than 8 pm, or you're moving to the back of the line. Check only, don't bring cash."

Nikolai feels something bubble in his guts. It's hot, but not like anger, it doesn't twist and pull like lust, but it's close to both. His throat feels like it's been shrouded with drought.

He swallows, and you seem satisfied enough with yourself to let the shutter fall closed again, and Nikolai hears a lock click.

God, what is he getting himself into?

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

This client was... odd.

Even weeks into the repair process, even after acknowledging that he thought you were good at what you did, Nikolai hung in the corners of your hangar, always in a radius of Joanna, like it hurt him to be parted from the dinged-up thing for more than five fucking seconds.

A Pave Low, which you knew wasn't cutting edge anymore, named Joanna. And it's not uncommon to name a plane, or, in this case, a helicopter, but... it feels different, here, solemn. But that story isn't your job, fixing the little shit is. So that's what you'll do.

Your drill is whining under the force it takes to screw in yet another loose panel, but Nikolai remains in his spot, unmoving.

It's starting to annoy you, enough that you lose your focus for a critical moment, you don't pull away the drill fast enough.

Right as you turn to cuss at him, maybe just kick him out of your shop altogether, the screws holding the panel steady snap under the force of being bent, and your drill gives out, sending half of the thing flying toward you.

Your eyes widen, and a portal to hell seemingly opens in your throat as you fall backward, hand stinging and ground fast approaching.

"FUCK!"

Nikolai lets out a matching noise (much deeper, of course, and somehow still accented), and rushes forward.

He isn't fast enough.

It wasn't a long fall, but the air is knocked out of you anyway, leaving you panting and teary-eyed as you desperately try to coax air back into your lungs.

Your hand is at a, frankly, terrible angle, and as Nikolai stand over you, you try to move more.

Biiiiiiiiig mistake.

It's sprained, badly, but not broken. After your entire career up to now, you've (majorly) injured yourself at work with your least favorite client rushing to try and make sure you're not fucking dead.

"ты в порядке?? Are you dead??"

You choke on a sniffle, and cough to clear your tight throat, finally managing a full inhale.

"'M-" When you try to push yourself up onto your hands, you grunt in pain, prompting Nikolai to stoop to a knee before you, set his big hands on your back instead.

"M' fine. Just fuckin' dandy." You finish, despite not at all being dandy. Nikolai knows it from the way you grit out your voice, and you know it because you think you might have a broken tailbone.

It's that night that Nikolai starts forcing himself into your work day.

This first instance, it's... obnoxious, but acceptable, sitting in your spinny chair and letting the big man wrap up your hand, nice and tight, and hold some ice to it.

It's then that you finally get a good look at him. After weeks, yes, you're a little late, but you finally do.

He's... uncomfortably pretty, for a grown-ass man. There's a slight bump in the bridge of his nose, like it's been broken and healed before, thick but short-trimmed, scratchy stubble and neatly-combed-back hair.

It's professional, but almost boyish, antithetical to everything he should be on paper. He's military, or close to it. Russian, and you have never once met someone entirely content who had grown up with such boring, brutalist architecture.

But he still talks your ear off for the rest of the night, sends you home dizzied and confused, with a lot more knowledge on how to wrap up an injury.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ After that, you had thought (maybe stupidly) that Nikolai would fuck off a bit, maybe leave you the hell alone while you work on his trash-copter and honor your little "alone space".

He does not. You have decided, in all your wisdom, that this is an act of the highest disrespect because he not only doesn't trust you but distrusts your methods and your work.

So, you work doubly, hard, doubly good, just to get him off your ass for the next few days of repair.

Little do you know, Nikolai stand in that corner for a different reason now. He stand there to admire, to watch you do what he can't, and, to some extent... protect you.

He had been too slow, that day. He had been too slow and you had gotten hurt. Not only had it slowed the progress on this project, but he could still see you wince when you tightened down bolts with your dominant hand, grimace when you moved your wrist too far in any direction.

The final day rolls around faster than either of you think it will. You're excited to never talk to him again. Nikolai wants so dearly to thank you for saving his most prized possession.

It's a shock when you see the Russian bring more than a check and a few choice words as payment.

He's holding a small packet of biscuits, brightly colored, with a little cartoon cow on them, some Russian word you can't read in gold cursive. It looks cheap, but charming, like a childhood snack.

Seemingly, your look of question doesn't deter him, because Nikolai talks before you can question his intentions any further than you already have.

"For you. Because you did such a good job repairing her."

You feel... something odd in your mind open a set of floodgates, and realize that you've been misinterpreting at least three months of interactions.

This is nothing someone would do for someone they disrespected, this was a gift on top of a check that is at least two-hundred dollars more than what you had been asking, and even that price had a little wiggle room for your sake.

This is a present.

You take the biscuits into your hands first, trace the smooth, embossed letters of the packaging with a callused finger.

And, for the first time in a while, you find yourself... thankful.

You look up to Nikolai, see big, warm brown eyes looking back at you.

"Yeah... come back any time you need, alright? My door's open for you."

He nods. Nikolai, that motherfucker, he just nods like he hasn't uprooted every thought you'd had of him and turned it on its head. He smiles, like you didn't hate his guts before this conversation.

But you'll keep this promise anyway.

Nikolai is you best customer, after all, who would you to turn down... a friend? Yeah, a friend.

[teaboot]

Yeah Mr. Darcy’s proposal was a complete turd and a half but you gotta understand. You got your life together. A good career, stable income, retirement plan, all that shit together. And you meet this girl. And she’s everything. Clever, outspoken, funny, calls you on your bullshit. Grade A cutie, right? And she doesn’t go out of her way to spend time with you but she’s nice, and sometimes you catch her looking your way in a way that makes you think you might have a shot.

But her family. Holy shit.

First off, it’s p much ALL women, and mostly UNMARRIED women, which at this time means of something happens to her dad then you’re financially responsible for like. Four grown ass adults, potentially forever

Because mom in law is DEFINITELY gonna need someone to take care of her when dad in law kicks it, and they have like. NO money. So already you’re accepting that if all goes well, you’re gonna be one random old bag’s retirement home. That’s expensive and exhausting, yeah? Imagine asking someone on a first date knowing that if they say yes and things go good her high-strung chihuahua mother is gonna move in with you. IMAGINE.

And girly’s other sisters. Well, one is a sweetheart, yeah, so she probably won’t be an issue, but that still leaves three more, and two of those ones are INSUFFERABLE. Never went to school, dumb as rocks, spend cash like it’s toilet paper

And while one of the two is young still and might grow out of it the OTHER one is actively torpedo’ing her entire family’s reputation by wandering off with random dudes and chasing ass. She’s never gonna work, she can’t build connections, she’s a fucking sinkhole, and she’s being led on by the same goddamn con man ass leeching tit who’s been bleeding you dry while telling anyone who’ll listen that your family is full of ratty thieving bastards.

And if he dumps her after a week- WHICH YOU KNOW HIS BITCH ASS IS GONNA- you’ve got a SECOND UNMARRIABLE GROWN ASS ADULT TO PROVIDE FOR. And you KNOW she’s gonna be a tantrum-throwing little shit about it, and it’s not like you can lock her in the basement or something, you’re gonna have to bring her fucking. Everywhere. And give her an allowance and shit while she contributes zero, because again, she NEVER GOT EDUCATED AND HAS NO MARKETABLE SKILLS. She’s not even good to TALK to. FUCK

And you’re looking at this girl’s father like “please for the love of fuck get your spawn under control, marry them off, get them working on their résumé, learning to sew or be nursemaids or manage staff or SOMETHING, yall got no money and one foot in the grave” and that old man just laughs like “haha yeah, what can you do. lol”

So you’re looking to the mom and finally it’s making sense how she got that twitch in her eye and as MUCH as she is you’re starting to realize she’s the SMART one, desperately throwing her armloads of girls at random men like they’re a bunch of fucking lifeboats bobbing around a sinking ship, like yes Jesus Christ sweetly that life boat IS old and ugly and kind of boring but for FUCKS SAKE PICK ONE

And you look back at this girl who is ALSO REFUSING THE LIFE BOATS BY THE WAY and god damn it she’s still the most radiant thing you’ve ever seen so fine, fuck it, Christ alive, you’ll do it. You’ll shoot your shot. She’s everything you’ve ever wanted in anybody abut it’s not even just about that anymore, it’s about being her best fucking shot at a future, and even if she doesn’t like you all that much she’s still gonna say yes and that might break your heart a bit knowing it’s about the money but who knows, maybe it will at least be civil, or companionable, and even if she doesn’t LOVE you at least you’ll know she’s well and cared for

And so you’ll do it. You’ll take on the neurotic stress mess mother in law, the absent father, the broke ass wingnut no brain no money no future airhead sisters, the bad mannered relatives and the embarrassing behaviour and the impending future of sharing your entire shit with a clown parade of freeloaders, you’ll risk it all and accept the absolute certainty of financial ruin and emotional exhaustion for the rest of your whole ass life and you’ll make your own family deal with it too, you’ll do it, you’ll fucking DO IT, you stupid lovesick motherfucker

And so you go to this chick like “look. Your whole family’s a shitshow. You’ve got fucking nothing and you’re gonna die on the street. But for some reason- and I don’t get it either- I’ve fallen in love with you, and I wish I didn’t, but I did, so I’m telling you that whether you like me or not, I’ll give you everything. I’ll give you everything even if it’s the dumbest shit I ever done. Fuck my stupid Baka ass, I’ll marry you.”

And she looks at you- having heard or considered absolutely none of your months-long internal debate and monologue- and goes “The fuck did you just say about my family, you son of a bitch?”

And the shock of that is enough to jolt you back into a reality where you are able to actually hear and process what just came out of your damn mouth And yeah

Yeah, I think I kinda get it

[scionsthings]

Rewatching Arcane

[demonicsuffrage]

8 year old freshly adopted Dick, throwing the moths and flies he caught on Patrol directly at Bruce's face: I got you dinner!

Bruce, who was just bombarded with insects: Chum?!

Dick, smiling cheerfully: Bats eat insects!

Bruce:

Dick: I just read it in a book

Bruce:

Bruce: Bats also eat fruits and nectar

Dick: So you're a fruity bat?

Bruce:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick, throwing an apple at him the next day: Dinner!

Bruce:

[quixoticprince]

I don't think the fact that The Administrator is older than the invention of stairs in TF2 is talked about enough

Curse you Shakespearicles

[lotus-pear]

dancing in starlight fits go hard asl 💯 (ref)

[bllmak]

lawyer husbands

[chloesimaginationthings]

Why did William get FNAF springlocked? Is he stupid?

[tactical-jellyfish]

For Joanna (pt. 2/3)

Warnings: Nikolai is still a depressed bisexual man, google-translated Russian because I am writing this after two exams, in other news, reader finally figures out what feelings are and why they keep experiencing the pesky buggers. In other news, my hand is hurty and currently in a brace, but I refuse to fully rest it, so I'm writing anyway, but there might be minor spelling errors as my usual typing speed and rhythm is very much off.

Having a friend is... a new experience that you really happen to like.

Nikolai doesn't hang out often, but he's on the same wave as you when he is. Drinking slow and chatting, sometimes taking turns poking at the other's music taste because really, Nik? What is that shit? It's not "rock", I'll tell you that.

It's new, yes but... easy, so you let him closer than anyone else. When he brings his crackers, you bring your own snack in turn, an old favorite from the only corner store in your hometown that carried the brand, it used to be something you only ate with family, only on holidays. Now, you share it with Nikolai. And it's–it's not bad, not at all.

You'll admit, you're getting used to him. You like having him in the shop now, quiet or not.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ So, it turns out, you are far too stupid to know how to have a friend, even months into befriending your favorite pilot.

Granted, you've never been... the brightest, when it comes to social matters. And you know that, you accept it. But that doesn't make it any easier when another joke you had tried to give the Russian at your side in jest makes him pull back again, makes those pretty brown eyes point toward his glass instead. Calling it a glass is charitable, that thing is dirt cheap and made of plastic, your idiot brain adds, in some vain hope to not think about the fact that you seemingly bruised your best friend's feelings with the playful barb (Yes, Nikolai was your closest friend as of right now. No, you wouldn't be saying that aloud if you could help it).

You really didn't know why it seemed to make Nikolai recoil so hard so fast, to you it had just been a simple joke, because god, that English guy with the beard sure did talk nice about you, huh, Nik? I wonder about that sometimes. And seemingly, that had been squarely the wrong thing. So, you did the very best you could to backtrack when you saw him put his hands on his knees, almost dropping the glass in your hands as you race to meet him as he stands.

Maybe he doesn't see the panic in your wide eyes, maybe he chooses to ignore it because you've seemingly done so wrong by him that he'll just leave forever and never talk to you again, and- "мне пора идти, пока." You, admittedly, haven't picked up very much of his language yet, but you know that last part means goodbye and some part of your brain simply cannot let that happen. Nikolai doesn't say his goodbyes like this, he pats you on the shoulder and smiles, sometimes winks as he closes the door behind him.

His face is flat. It scares you.

So, you being the fool you are, grab his arm like he owes you money, take the cracked leather of his jacket into your hands, feel the dry texture because he forgot to take care of this one (it had since become his de-facto flying jacket) and hold. "Wait, Nik, please, whatever I said, I didn't mean to, just-"

You are not a person who sounds desperate. You are independent and you are a sharp bastard. So why are you stand here like a kid on their first day of school, desperately clinging onto your only lifeline to the outside world? You were supposed to like being a hermit, you've been fine for years now.

Nikolai seems to see this, and, despite his better interests, he pauses before he talks. Still flat, like he's barking out an order. "Do not speak of that. Not of John, and not like that." Ice water replaces every last cell of blood in your veins. What did you do? How did you get Nikolai to flip from being the single friendliest person (at least, an asshole like you) to the icy, distant tone that you knew you deserved?

You'll never say that you deflate under his pinning stare, but you know you did, to some extant, mentally riffling through every memory you had of the captain and all he said of the pilot. Nothing.

At least, nothing that would imply Nikolai was this willing to seemingly entirely cut ties with you because you had tried to make light of it.

Your brain never catches what's going on around you when you think like that. It doesn't catch the way he sighs or the slight remorse in his eyes at shutting off so hard, seemingly sending you into a tailspin. черт возьми, right. The Russian scolds himself for that in his mind. The mechanic is not often socialized. He takes a minute to stand, watch the emotions play across your face. Can't hide a thing. The touch of a callused hand pulls you from your thoughts for long enough to look back at him, and then at the big hand on your shoulder.

"Apologies. I have neglected to inform you of something personal to me."

To your shock, you aren't socked in the jaw, but rather, gently herded back into your (garbage) lawn chair (in the garage) and then Nikolai is before you, and he tells you a long, long story.

Of being young and in the military, before he branched off and did his own thing. Of falling head over ass for squarely the wrong person. Not because he had been bad, but because John was a man who knew his own values, and didn't make exceptions.

By the time the solemn tangent is finally concluded, you feel like hot garbage. In some part, because your friend is suffering under the weight of early-twenties feelings at least a decade later, but mostly because you dug that hurt back up. Unknowingly, yes, but you reminded Nik of love that wouldn't ever be given to him.

You've never been the sort to handle words. This whole incident proves that, so, instead, you reach out slowly. It isn't often you hug people, even less often you do it without them explicitly asking, but Nikolai seems to like hugs. You give him more than enough time to back out anyway.

He doesn't.

Instead, for a length of time that is between you two and the higher being (or lack thereof) of your choice. You hold each other in the shop.

"I'm sorry. I wouldn't have ever said it if I had known, I don't want to hurt you, Nik, I just-"

You're choking on words and apologies, some needy, selfish-feeling plea to just hold on to your friend, keep him around and not upset with you.

"I understand. Simple mistakes, yes?"

It's a heavenly mercy that is extended to you in that moment, Nikolai holding you by the shoulders just to pull back enough to smile at you, cheeks rounded and eyes crinkling at the corners, warming the lovely dried-mud color you'd grown attached to.

"Yeah, simple mistakes." Your voice contrasts his, a bit more shaky, still unsteady as you pull your mind back together.

In the silence, momentary and short, you decide there is one more than that much be said. You blurt it out before you can do any better thinking on it.

"You're a friend to me, Nikolai. A good one."

There's a soft chuckle, and a hand tenderly splaying over the small of your back as you're pulled close, flush to the warm oil-and-engine smell that always seems to hang on Nikolai more than you, despite this being your literal job.

His voice is warm again, you can feel his smile even if you can't see it.

"You are a friend too, механик. Very good."

[stargirl230]

ghost of you

super quick Sua screencap redraw to celebrate the new video release - no I was not expecting it to be Like That and yes I was devastated

(no reposts; reblogs appreciated)

[tempo-takoyaki]

Listen, I love the "XL helps HC to see how beautiful he is" scenario as much as the next person... But I also see it like this.

[creekfiend]

look i realize its something of a cheap shot but telling jokes on this website can truly be so harrowing

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

hugs for the familyy :3 part 1

[moniquill]

You folks know that there is nothing inherently dangerous about penises, right? They don't emit radiation or anything. You will not be harmed by being in the same room as a penis.

[grabrielcrunch]

💛🌧Nothing like listening to rain and feeling each drops on you (on nighttimes)🌧💛

[arcane-gold]

hello rookanis nation. can i present rel and lucanis’s dynamic. sun and moon trope, one with boundless energy and one who gets 2 hours of sleep a night, guy i pulled by being an idiot, etc. they’re special to me