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factorialsotherfandoms · 5 months

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Hello welcome to another installment of the XCOM QSMP au, in which we finally discover how Mike got himself kidnapped! As fair warning, the ending of this one is fucking miserable, and I still have an ending to write. You're also lucky. On ao3 this one is going to be chapterfic, but I've already written the last bit and included it in this post.

There's some also really weird shit going on with the soul link this time. Full on body swapping/sharing. The first section is a bit weird for it, but just go with it, okay? Thanks!

Oh and I did Felps' PoV of the middle bit yesterday. You can find it here

TW: self-sacrifice, suicidal thinking, open but miserable ending.

Tazercraft are exactly where, and how, they are supposed to be. Two minds, two souls, two bodies, but the lines between them are blurred. They're deep in the heart of a Federation office, searching for information on where the Hunter's base could possibly be - they've found the Assassin's, and Aypierre thinks if they hit the bases they'll find some way to take the respawning fuckers out for good, but they'll need to be quick so they don't get wise to it.

Pac drops out of a vent into the control room, and trades souls with Mike. Mike now pilots Pac's body through searching the computers, while Pac pulls Mike's body into the vents and through to the same room.

There's no need to speak, not like this, not when their thoughts are one and the same and every change in the plan is communicated as soon as it is thought.

Pac sings as he works, but he sings in his soul, ancient music replaying internally as he sways the hips of whichever body he's more inside, and where-ever Mike is that other body's foot taps along to the beat.

Another second, another sway, another shift of ideas, and they're both in their own flesh again as he scoots up into the rafters, keeping watch while his other gets to work on another of the computers. They might be puppetting their own bodies now, there's too much of them merging together to truly be Pac and Mike at all. It's Pac's body, and Mike's body, and Pac's mind and Mike's mind in perfect harmony as they swap back and forth, blurred and combined and shifting bodies as their skills are needed.

It's so nice to be like this again. In a full unit, it's good, but they have to watch out for everyone. There's no Pac getting lost in Mike and Mike getting lost in Mike until the division is meaningless and they can rest in each other when there's more people around. Because they truly do get lost in one another, and together they are more than the sum of their parts, but it's not conductive to a shootout in a backalley.

But when it's just the two of them? It's just like old times again.

Like this its just them, them, them, two people two minds two bodies two souls all blended together by years and years inside one another, catch and release catch and release, a standing wave, two harmonies fused into a single song. They've done this before, and they'll do it again - Pac and Mike, Mike and Pac, Tazer and Craft and a high security complex, one thought in two bodies and the sharp laughter of an expert at their craft.

Pac isn't Pac, he is Tazer, and Mike isn't Mike he is Craft, and together they are the greatest fear of every security detail on the planet. Paired geniuses in perfect synch and their eyes on a prize.

They dance and they move to a shared, silent beat, slipping around the guards and the workers and anything else that might be present. It's the fourth or fifth of these places they've come looking - there's time for maybe one more after this, before their supplies run dry and they either vanish into the night, or call back to base and get a pickup.

They've not found what they came for - yet - but there's plenty of other things they have learnt, things which will earn a pretty penny if they end up in the right ears.

Pac sits in the rafters, watching both with his own eyes as Mike's robotic rats scurry around each attaching themself to a different computer and draining it dry, even as Mike works on overpowering the main one.

Pac also watches through Mike's eyes as he lets software fight through seven different password screens, then navigate around.

And there it is - photos of the complex they need, and lovely, lovely coordinates. Another team will be sent to find the way - Tazercraft are too good at getting in, other people can't always follow, and it will need a team - but they have what they came for.

And plenty of other things to barter with besides.

Mike recalls his rats, tapping them each and ordering them to reassemble themselves into a tablet. He copies the data from the main computer to said tablet - the rats both speed up the process over many devices, and spread the data between them minimise what is lost.

Mike's soul whoops with the success, and Pac's joins him with a laugh and a twist. They let themselves merge in their delight, joy radiating back and forth, before seperating again. It's time to head out - not back the way they came, in case tracks were spotted, but out none the less.

Pac pulls himself back to his feet, ready to jump down.

Mike holds his gun ready as he reaches for the door, just in case a guard lies on the other side.

The door is opened.

A trap is triggered

Tazer slams into himself

Craft slams into the floor

"Mike!" Pac screams, as the shock of Mike being hit throws his balance, and he falls to the floor.

Tazer and Craft are no more; they are Pac and Mike once again. Pac pulls himself from the floor and reaches for his gun and - shit, he left it behind again. Mike's tablet splits back into robot rats. They run up to him - all over him - clinging to his jumpsuit even as their eyes meet.

The data they have taken, escaping from the trap.

"Pac!" Mike screams back, terror reverberating along their bond.

There's a net around Mike's legs, made with concrete and vines and awful, glooping gel. He's plastered to the floor, unable to get up - unable to run.

Pac stumbles his first few steps towards him, and begins to run. He reaches his Mike's side, and tries to cut away the ropes. It won't come - it refuses to come, it won't it won't, and it's the diamonds all fucking over again.

He can't even swear at him; Mike can't even speak. Wide eyes meet wide eyes, and their bond explodes through with terror.

Standing wave, amplification; Pac takes a moment to breathe through the fear, forcing it calm, forcing it tame. Mike takes a few seconds longer to do so; by the time his name is called, Pac has his sword out and is hacking through the ropes.

It's slow going, but it goes; they get out together or not at all, just like it's always been.

There's laughter - grim laughter - from the rafters. Pac grabs Mike's gun, and points it up that way as he shields Mike with his body.

The laugh sounds again - behind them - and again - no back the other way. They twist, and watch, and when finally his back is turned Pac hears someone screaming his name.

"MIKE!" he turns back, only to see... Purple skin, glowing purple eyes, hood covering his face and his body. Custom rifle, snake tongue flicking over very human teeth as he grins.

Hunter.

Fuck.

Pac grabs onto Mike, and tries to pull him out; the Hunter laughs, and steps forwards, every step shooting panic through Pac's spine.

"Look at what the cat dragged in, just for me," the Hunter grins as he says it. "Two little /rats/."

With the final word his features turn sharp. He lashes out, psionic whip snapping Pac's face to the side as it tears through his skin.

At least Mike isn't hit.

"There's at least eight rats in here, asshole," Mike calls. "You'll have to be more specific."

/Pac, run/

/Mike I won't leave you/

/Pac!/

/Mike!/

"Really?" another step; they're both stuck in the trap, the Hunter can take what he wants, whatever he wants, and neither of them can resist. "Because I can only see the two."

/We have to get the coordinates out/

/The rats could send them/

/The radios are blocked here/

/Mike/

/Leave me. I'll be fine./

"Maybe you need glasses. I've spares in my pocket if you want to try."

"I don't think so."

/There's two billion people living in this territory, Pac, if we can get the coordinates out and someone to stop him.../

"/Fuck you/" Pac thinks, and he says, because fuck it Mike is right, but he doesn't want him to be.

He isn't seventeen any more; this is no museum, or art gallery, or even a lab. He's not holding paintings or diamonds or stolen pharmaceuticals. It's six robotic rats, and a set of coordinates, and a half of Mike's soul.

If Tazer lives, then Craft can never die.

"Already down to such foul language? Such a shame. I was told you were worth something," the Hunter sneers.

"Fuck the both of you," Pac hisses in Mike's ear. "I'll come back for you, asshole."

He will, he will, he has to, he takes his knife, throws it at the Hunter, and in the distraction Pac runs.

Behind him, Mike screams profanities fights and struggles and Pac catches the drift of hands picking him up and manic laughter through the bond - not a shot, a kidnapping, he /can/ come back at least but oh god the torture and he's left Mike be and what do they want - before Mike shutters most of it off.

Pac clings to him as he runs, feet pounding on old concrete. All around him he can hear the echoes giving chase, but he has to get out, he has to - get the coordinates away, get out, get help, come back and save Mike!

And-!

And Pac's grip on Mike drops and, fuck, he's been teleported. Somewhere away.

He could be... He could be /anywhere/ Pac doesn't even know if he's still on /Earth/.

Fuck Mike, fuck Mike in paticular; once all they had was themselves and each other, and all was well in the world no matter where they were. And now Mike is gone - gone, gone, in cruel hands, to be tormented and tortured and Pac tries to reach out but he's too far, too far, distant and hurting and all Pac can hear is his screams.

Pac keeps running.

The Federation's hounds are gaining on him.

He can't stop the tears, when they come, they come and keep coming and never seem to end.

Left and right and up and out and then he's in the city ruins but they keep coming and coming and coming. They're slower out here - the ruins are his domain, child of crime and the streets as he once was. He rips himself through blown-out windowframes, yanks long-broken shelves down behind him, scutters and leaps and crawls and twists through the ruins.

Mike is faint, but alive, pained, but alive, screaming, but alive, their bond weak but throbbing like an open wound as whatever is done to Mike is done.

Pac does his best to send hope, and surely only manages terror, and keeps running.

---

Pac cannot run forever.

Eventually, he collapses in the shelter of a ruin. The sound of the guards, the aliens, and whatever else are distant. He's not lost them - not exactly, they know his general direction, just not where /he/ is.

The robotic mice scramble out of his pockets, rebuilding themselves into a single entity again. It's almost tablet shaped, but not quite - the important part is their small screens align to make one larger one. Pac pulls out his radio, and navigates through the files.

He's not as quick as Mike, not at things like this - the rats belong to Mike, Pac's just also keyed in to use them. Pac knows the construction but less so the coding of the masterpiece; he rests it on his keeps and starts sobbing all over again, at what might be the last piece of Mike-Mike-Mike he ever holds.

Without the presence of mind to be complicated about it, Pac just hopes the settings on his radio are fine. He shoves the batteries back in, and turns it on, and begins to read off the coordinates on screen. He isn't sure how well he does - he's sobbing and it's all be can do to cling to his legs and the radio and not rock, not risk dislodging the unstable wall right behind him.

He recognises the voice that answers, but that is all. The words make no sense, so he keeps chanting, chanting, chanting what he can see on screen. Coordinates for the Hunter's base, coordinates to where the fucker lives, too close to be where he took Mike but distant all the same. Pac repeats it and repeats it and barely hears the words from the other end of the line.

He hears his name and... A request for clarification. Pac stumbles his way through, stuttered and confused, does his best to say, to explain. There's swearing and the tears bubble into a laugh because - yes - shit shit shit is very very correct.

And then the voice asks about Mike, and Pac's crying all over again. He tries his best to say, but he clings to the bond, and doesn't think he ever could.

The line goes quiet - is that the end? Did he do what he needed to?

Can he let himself be caught, now, get them to bring him back to Mike?

Will they finally-

A wall nearby is blown up.

Pac shrieks.

It startles him enough to end the tears.

No, no, they wouldn't be so kind as to bring him to Mike. If he wants Mike... If he wants Mike, he has to bring himself to him.

He's lost his knife, but he still has Mike's gun.

Pac reloads it quickly, and aims through the window - just in time. A Federation guard notices him, raises a hand to it's comms.

There's a bullet through it's skull before it can press them, and then another few for good measure.

"Pac!!!" The radio crackles back to life.

Pac finally, finally recognises Felps' voice and, oh god, for how long has he been screaming for Pac to listen.

There's terror in Felps' voice, and Pac wonders if his eyes are blown just as wide as his own.

"Just..." Pac gasps for breath, still unsteady. "Just a guard. Just a guard."

"Pac, you need to run." Felps' tone is dire, serious, and it makes shudders up Pac's spine. "Please, Pac?"

Having passed the message on, Pac can feel the adrenaline crashing. Every bruise and every break from the fall, every strained muscle, every wound where gunfire just missed him - or hit less sensitive flesh. The skin around his prosthetic smarts, and he knows he's pushed it too far.

He's pretty sure his left wrist is broken, but he can prop the gun on his forearm, so he'll live.

He's also tired, he's so fucking tired.

That might be harder.

And Mike...

Pac does the opposite of what Felps asks, slumping against a broken wall, "But..."

He doesn't know what to say.

"For me?"

The request from the radio is soft, gentle, almost lost in the static. Pac /whines/ in response, but uses his good arm to push himself from the wall. He clips the radio to one strap across his chest, and the rat-screen to his belt.

Grabs the gun, blinks through the wave of black threatening his vision.

He's always been weak to be asked to do things for others.

He's always been weak to be asked to do things for /Mike/, but he's been weak to Felps for a damn long time too.

"Okay," he whispers, pretty sure it won't be heard. "For you."

Pac stumbles more than runs, unsure where to head except /on/. Away from the corpse, away from the facility, away from everything that's going on. Vaguely he's aware that he's following his soulbond, staggering closer and closer to Mike despite knowing he's too far, that he'll never reach him like this.

Worry brushes him along the bond, sharp worry, and Pac can but hysterically giggle; Mike is captured, surely being tortured or at least waiting for it, and yet he has time to worry about Pac?

He won't say no, though; Pac rests his mind against the worry and lets it switch off. He stops listening, stops hearing, just one foot, one foot, one foot, stumbling along like he was asked to.

"Pac, don't leave me," the radio asks of him. "I need you."

It's a low blow; Pac barely even registers as more words are said to him. Mike needs him out, to stage a rescue. Felps needs him... Pac isn't sure what Felps needs of him, but he'll give it all the same. Carve his heart from his chest and hand it over on a platter, if it will help.

Mike gets first refusal, after that... After that it could be anything.

He misses Mike.

Pac begins crying all over again, continuing to stumble on.

And on.

Until his body gives out beneath him, and he clatters into a heap. He can hear Felps calling for him, begging him, screaming for him; Pac can do nothing. He exists in a haze of pain and grief, still sobbing but now unable to lift his head from the concrete.

The sounds of the Federation have gone quiet now, at least.

...

Pac almost wishes for their company, rather than be so alone again.

---[chapter?]---

When the world fades back in, it's to arms belonging to worried eyes scooping him up from the concrete. But they're not the eyes Pac wants - not Mike's eyes - so he doesn't listen to what matching lips have to say. He's carried from the dust to a helicopter, handled carefully as he's strapped into place. Listlessly his eyes follow strong hands, at least until they come near his face.

It taps his cheek, and Pac leans into the warm, and realises he is still - somehow - crying.

"Pac?" a low voice asks.

"Hi Fit," he whispers back, voice dead and broken and full of water.

"Take it easy," Fit replies, brushing his cheek. "Let's get you home. Do you need anything?"

"Mike," he says, without even thinking.

Fit's face breaks, his fingers twitching, "I'm sorry, Pac... I can't... I'm sorry."

Pac knows that, but he needs Mike, he needs Mike like a tree needs the rain.

There isn't anything else; he shuts his eyes, focusing on Fit's warm hand on his cheek and the now dull bond with Mike - he's sleeping, Pac can tell, actually sleeping, with dreams.

He hopes they're good dreams.

His aren't going to be.

---

The next time Pac fades back in, there's saline solution being dripped into his veins. Fit is gone, but Felps is there - holding both of Pac's hands, and leaving none of them for a pacing Forever.

"We told Fit to get some sleep," is the first thing anyone says that Pac actually understands.

Pac thinks he's supposed to care.

He isn't sure he does.

"Where's Mike?" he asks them, he ask them because it's the only thing that matters.

He watches Felps and Forever share a desperate, despairing look.

"We don't know," Forever is the one to bite the bullet and answer. "I'm sorry Pac, I'm so sorry... We've got people out searching. Do you know...?"

"He teleported," Pac whispers. "Hunter... Teleported... I want Mike. I want Mike."

He feels like an idiot - he knows that's the one thing in the world neither of them can give him. Felps even drops his hands, reaching around instead to hug him tightly and shake against Pac's skin.

Pac is shaking too.

Forever joins the hug, trying to soothe Pac and Felps both.

It only serves to make Pac cry all over again.

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hai-nae · 26 days

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uh, so how does the tumblr crowd feel bout risq?? second is wip fa for this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/42886503

#ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #mw #my art #ok but fr this is the 1st time ive ever shared this genre of my art. ever. usually im the only person to ever see em i dont share em w a1 #playin chicken with my self doubts we'll see who wins #see if i can stick it out and not just delete this

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vanlegion · 2 months

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thedemonscrawler · 2 years

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as promised; lots of effort for an ultimately very silly comic

part 2 (maybe?)

#fnaf security breach #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #comic #idk man it'd been a bit since I'd really sunk my teeth into rendering #or did a comic in color #this is 100% on brand for me btw #98% of my BatIM comics are silly #future installments may or may not have the same level of rendering #we'll see!#but i absolutely wanna do future installments #Daycare Attendants vs a Bird #who will win #art

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paintpanic · 6 months

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#kirby series #kirby triple deluxe #no characters to tag today!#i made myself a new desktop background. if you like you are free to use it also.#it was fun to draw something in this style again. maybe we'll see more of it in the future?#headcanon time i think the castle here was left overgrown and in a state of disrepair after tdx. not at all a priority for the people-#who ended up in charge. who i think are probably the people of the sky.#apologies for the infrequency in posting! i've been drawing but it's all doodle sheet type stuff which i bet you guys are sick of by now.#i'd really like to be able to make more complete pieces but i'm in a bit of a creative rut atm. maybe when tablet come it will get better?#who's to say. certainly not me.#...if you read this all the way through you win a cookie.

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b4kuch1n · 9 months

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fanciful stories (you're way too good at this)

(that's not what it's about. being good at it)

#pokemon #swsh #champion leon #gym leader raihan #assistant sonia #three parts of a whole idiot #hi. this is mostly me testing just goin at it with ink again. its wonky but! thats not what its about!#thinking abt little boy... in the arena with a set of league uniform a size too big. winning because it's fun #leon truly is like a recurring nightmare I have. every other month I wake up in the middle of the night like oh shit leon pokemon #also reintroducing the dragonfly motif for raihan... I debuted it for leon but tbh? it fits raihan better #this is like magical girl to me. the image genre of using kids toys to do archetypal hero things #man. I really need to draw a very specific thing for gloria. leon may be in it but I want it to be for gloria #we'll see! Im so fucking sleepy rn #theres a feast to be made tomorrow. I need to lay down n save up my energy for cookin #have a good night lads! remember: making bad art is fucking awesome

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myrmica · 13 days

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its so funny that all minute—the guy who once upon a time hoped to redeem zam—'s team has accomplished is getting him to consider giving up his remaining honor in order to match the level they're playing on ?

#m #lifesteal #i can't stop thinking about minute&co dismissing the argument about how they've encouraged players #to ban themselves and thus contradicted their own stated goal #the way 'peaceful ending' warped into 'it doesn't matter what we do so long as we can flip a switch at the end' but what the fuck happens #in a scenario where you unban everyone who you've pissed off ? are they happy? is that peace? and you won't even defend the choice!#what the fuck is happening here!#you laugh at zam for saying he's won but you won't have the argument that you know you'd lose ^_^#none of this is angry in tone i'm having fun. thisis my bread and butter. i'm happy lifesteal is weird and tense again #enjoying that it's looped this far around into the ACTIVE dismissal of rp-logic where zam&co are having to say 'okay then #we'll win This game too!'#them acting dismayed that mapicc wouldn't walk into that obsidian box. like oh my god #and it's so different from the weird tenseness of s4 it's something different entirely. new meta conflicts just for me !????#we'll see how it all ends.... they might make me mad again but we'll cross that bridge #it's so different from the Vitalasy Incident even though both involve people functioning in opposition to lifesteal's 'storytelling rules'#for vi it was because of his emotional investment. it manifested in nothing but endless 'character-level' debate in the lead up and #plenty of emotional roleplay from vitalasy in the aftermath #vi's primary effect on season 4 through the wormhole was to render lifesteal's gameplay obsolete #pb&j's primary effect is instead to focus intently on Winning that game while everything else falls by the wayside

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akkivee · 2 months

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The Rosho Special☆ Cream of the Crop Curry: Hypmic Curry Drama Track TL

Sasara: Oh, you’ve really been cookin’!

Rei: That curry smell is really making me hungry!

Rosho: It’s a miracle I was able to even decipher what you meant in that text! Why am I the only one working on this??

Sasara: Don’t sweat the small stuff! Have you finished making our super interesting curry yet?

Rosho: I did my best to follow your recipe but…

Rei: Hm? You didn’t make a normal curry?

Sasara: Tut tut tut! You see, this curry was made with some special ingredients!

Rei: It looks brown like any other curry, so I can’t tell the difference.

Sasara: I’ll give you a hint! I was thinking of calling it, "This Curry's Got You Gigged!!" Setting off any bells??

Rei: You can’t be thing about… Actually, no, that hint was so stupid, I got nothing for you.

Sasara: Hey now!!

Rosho: I used flounder in the curry, but if you can’t tell that at a glance, that’s gotta mean your joke’s fallen flat, right?

Rei: The curry’s meant sell, so it should have a little more impact.

Sasara: I guess you’re right… It’s gotta be appealing televised too…

Rosho: Let’s take a moment to brainstorm.

-----------

Sasara: *pops a cold one open* Man, nothing’s coming to mind at all…!

Rei: The theme you had settled on was, “A Bizarre Brown Curry,” right?

Rosho: We shouldn’t even try to be teeming with themes! It’s all about the flavours!!

Sasara: “Okra-zy Curry” doesn’t sound too bad!

Rosho: Okra me a river!!

Rei: How about “Kelp!! Addicted to Seaweed Curry”?

Rosho: Oh, now you’re just sailing on his coattails!

Sasasa: “Ya Kraken Me Up Squid Curry”!!

Rosho: Quit it with the seafood puns!! Geez, you’re not even trying to solve the root of the problem.

Sasara: Nyahaha…! No, yeah, you’re right.

Rei: But curry’s just curry, isn’t it? How can you even get someone to give a laugh at it at just a glance?

Rosho: How many times do I gotta say, that’s why we’re sittin’ around thinkin’ about it!!

Sasara: I think the alcohol’s getting to us~ Let’s get some food down, so we can sober up.

Rei: I agree. I’d like one order of flounder curry with rice!

Rosho: You takin’ my home as an izakaya?? Serve your own curry!!

Sasara: Phew whee, Mista Rosho here sure is stingy!

Rei: Well, sounds like I got no other choice.

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

Rei: Hey, so this is getting annoying to handle, you mind if I use this whole pot?

Sasara: Rosho, whatcha want me to do with this bag?

Rosho: Shut up, the both of you!! For now, just bring everything to me.

Rei: And there. Rice is served~

Sasara: And here’s a bit of the curry to top it off!

Rosho: Oh yeah, we’re using this too!

Sasara: “A White Stew for Rice”? You brought out some boil in bag goods you had bagged up?

Rosho: A student of mine gave it to me as a souvenir from a Hokkaido trip. It apparently has some Hokkaido specialties in it.

Rei: Their milk is incredibly tasty. And so… *pours it in*

Rosho: Hey!!!! What the heck are you doing??

Rei: This is my specialty, “Stew On This Rice”!

Rosho: The bag wasn’t even boiled yet… I guess I’ll stick it in the microwave.

Sasara: Wait a sec!

Rosho: What are you making that serious face for?

Sasara: If it’s cream… How does “Cream Of The Crop Curry” sound??

Rei: Ohhh, we are aiming for something eye-catching but… Wait, actually, this might work.

Rosho: It’s more of a stew though…

Sasara: Let’s have a taste test first!

*microwave dings*

DH: *eats*

Sasara: Woah??? This creamy stew and rice pair together so well!!

Rei: And this white colour gives it quite the impact.

Sasara: This is it! This is the curry that’s going to carry Dotsuitare Hompo to victory!

Rosho: But this isn’t curry?? What do you mean we’re going to use a stew??

Rei: Why’re you fussing? All we have to do is say we made a white curry.

Rosho: Then how do you explain how we made it??

Rei: White curry does exist, you know. There are spices for it and everything. Curry connoisseurs would be familiar with it.

Sasara: Is that so?? Well, there you have it, Rosho! I’ll let you figure out what those spices are!

Rosho: No, you won’t!! Shouldn’t we all be trying to figure this out??

Rei: Ahaha! I believe you’ll figure it out somehow.

Sasara: Alright! “The Rosho Special☆ Cream of The Crop Curry” is definitely going to take us to the top!!

#sasara nurude #rosho tsutsujimori #rei amayado #dotsuitare hompo #hypmic #hypnosis mic #HOW DO DH TRANSLATORS DO IT I WAS MISERABLE TRYING TO MAKE THEIR STUPID PUNS WORK #a lot got lost in the sauce i'm sorry i'm not better at this lol 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️#first and foremost is that the title in romaji reads 'omoshiroi karee'#and that the word for 'white' is 'shiroi'#'omoshiroi' and 'shiroi' you see the pun right lmao #i decided to tl it as cream of the crop bc cream is a shade of white and it has milk lol win win i think #this whole thing was made of little puns like that i'll type them out if you ask but i won't in the tags lol #also if you've had a rice and chicken casserole add some curry spice to it and that is exactly this curry LMAO #i understand why rosho was concerned lmao but it was incredibly tasty lol #a very familiar tasting curry bc it tasted like a casserole but idk i kinda wanna dock points off for it lol #we'll see how it falls in the end lol #curry tl

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agapintheskin · 11 months

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Win Metawin in Enigma Ep.1

#enigma #enigma the series #win metawin #leoのcontent #hating the font on the last one but what can you do #not sure about this show yet i love horror and wins aesthetic in it but it was kinda weird/almost funny #we'll see tho

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tomaturtles · 2 years

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I've beaten Frontiers twice and it's still not enough

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #koco #sonic frontiers #sth #toma draws #that's saying a lot bc i don't usually replay a whole game so soon. im SO obsessed with this game im rotating it on my mind at all times #i love playing it i love its story+characterization i love its music i love its voice acting i love the foundation it lays for future games #i love the positive reception it's been getting i LOVE what it means for this franchise that means the world to me #thank you sonic team for this fun wonderful delightful experience 😭💖💖 this is THE goty in my heart #here's hoping it wins player's voice!!!!#anyway HI long time no post!! I haven't been drawing a whole lot the past few months between being busy and out of art juice #but it seems to be returning now that frontiers has been marinating in my brain so we'll see 👁#i Did make a couple traditional oc stuff in the meantime tho. ill try to remember to post those sometime #also i'm glad i can still draw sonic it's been So long

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ywpd-translations · 6 months

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Ride 753: Bird's eye-view

Pag 18

5: That day, three people climbed on the Minegayama

Pag 19

1: The first one to arrive, surpassing by 10 seconds the course record made three years before on that same mountain by Makishima Yuusuke

2: was the man wearing the blue jersey

Pag 20

3: 12 seconds after him, was the man wearing the yellow jersey

4: And then, 48 seconds after, appeared the figure of the mean riding a mountain bike

Pag 21

1: One week after this

2: Those three people will move the stage to Kyuushu

3: and fight again

Pag 22

1: For Onoda Sakamichi is the start of his last summer Inter High

#yowamushi pedal #yowamushi pedal translations #yowapeda #yowapeda manga #yowamushi pedal manga #yowamushi pedal spoilers #ride 753 #you people could have read this without my help lmao a mute chapter!!!!#amazing how intense a mute chapter can be!#i have two different opinion on this chapter #1st: noooo i wanted to see this race better!! I wanted to see what they say to each other and what theyre thinking and everything else!!#2nd: actually it makes sense that watanabe didnt show this to us in details bc i bet we will see a race between these three again during th #the ih* and ofc it makes sense that the first time we see them properly is during the IH #also i bet that when that happens we'll see flashbacks of this race #also: manami finally winning against onoda????? you go boy!!#12seconds of difference between them is A LOT wtf #that kiji is so far behind makes sense both bc he just started road racing but especially bc hes riding a mtb #but onoda??? the ih is in a week baby you cant be so much weaker than manami???#even though it must be said that every year hakogaku shows up and is so so much stronger than everyone #and they win everything at the ih #but in the end manami loses anyway lmao sorry baby i love you but its the truth #ANYWAY NEXT CHAPTER THE IH IS STARTING I GUESS!!!!#it's been 200 chapters since the end of the second ih can you believe???#amazing

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onepiece-polls · 9 months

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One Piece Shipping War - Poly Bracket Finale!

Who deserves to be with Buggy and Mihawk more? Crocodile or Shanks?

Propaganda under the cut. [Contains some manga spoilers]

Propaganda for Cross Guild:

Idk there's something about three people who hate each other that just works.

they don't need no propaganda. I could never make propaganda like buggy the clown does in canon

mr. pathetic (buggy) paired with two actual warlords who could (but haven't !) demolished him ? it has to be love

Crocodile and Mihawk are a fucked up rich ass couple and Buggy is the chihuahua in their purse

CROSSGUILDCROSSGUILD XXX

Its cross guild. you know why (mod: as an anime-only fan, I don't, but I'm looking forward to find out 😂)

Propaganda for MiShaBug:

Why make Shanks choose??

#one piece #cross guild #Dracule Mihawk #Buggy the clown #Sir Crocodile #Shanks #op shipping war #round 4 #grand finale #poly bracket #I think it's funny the finale is between the ship with the most submissions and the one with the least submissions 😂#Will the underdog win?#we'll see it in this final battle!#honestly kinda surprised they beat all Strawhat ships though!#but good for them!

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crimson-catalyst · 10 months

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SECOND artfight attacka for @queijac of their Howl!!!! i had two ideas and i am not the kind of guy to deny himself inspiration LMAO

not gonna lie probably my favorite piece this season he just came out SO good

#artfight #artfight 2023 #art fight #art fight 2023 #to be fair i have not finished my last two #but tbh i love this one enough i think hes gonna be the winner LOL #[redacted] might win tho we'll see #crimart

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 months

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hey hey hey I have had a hell of a day (Actually Hell) because I did too many fun things (a problem apparently) and then also we put up the christmas tree leading to the inevitable christmas tree installation arguments (they pop up every year like clockwork!)

anyway i have been overstimulated and stressed (just want to emphasize that there is NO pressure here whatsoever! id like to avoid any semblance of that actually and I know you're already working on 12 days so take your time) and it would be very cathartic to see chris dealing with similar issues (the Wonderful guy. we are pretty similar.) thanks a lot for reading this, even if you don't write anything !

Sorry this took so long, Anon! I swear I've been trying to get this written for literally almost two months now

CW: Some references to Chris's past, overstimulation, anxiety

"Hey, where did Chris go?" Laken blinks and looks around, but the living room of the house they rent - filled with laughing, happy people - shows no sign of Chris's telltale lavender hair with its new-penny copper roots.

One of Brit's friends just shrugs at them and gestures, vaguely, in the direction of the kitchen. "Dunno. He wandered off a while ago, maybe that way?"

"Oh, okay. Huh." Laken steps back, the circle of laughing people closing up tight as soon as they do. Their dark eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of him.

He'd been doing great - all but holding court, one of the most popular people at the party. He's sort of famous, since the Olympics, and people had been peppering him with questions and compliments, crowding around wanting nothing more than to be friends with the ex-pet who stood up to the bad guys on live TV. They'd seen him dancing, too, the music loud enough to nearly make the walls shake. The easy, unselfconscious dancing they loved in him the most.

He'd seemed to be enjoying himself, at the time, but...

Where has he gone?

They weave around people, stopping to pick up an ornament that has fallen off the tree. The scent of pine is subtle and ever-present, and they carefully work the ornament's little loop back over a branch, ruefully watching a couple of pine needles come loose and drift down. The damn thing is already starting to turn a little brown around its edges, thanks to Laken's roommate having insisted on buying it literally the day before Thanksgiving.

Laken doesn't even celebrate Christmas, not since they stopped going to Mass on Christmas Eve years and years ago. Still, in a house they rent with three others, they're the only one who doesn't at least pay lip service to the holiday.

And even if they don't give a fuck about Christmas, they do like having an excuse to throw a party.

The tinsel wrapped in spirals around, over, and below the ornaments glitters in the light, and the look makes them think of Chris, and how his eyes have always looked just the same, to them, when they're out at night and the moon hits the green of his irises just right.

Their search leads them to Ben, contentedly sitting on the couch, a drink in one hand and his phone in the other, quietly reading something there while the party is in full swing around him. He glances up and then instinctively, immediately, uses a finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Hey, Laken. What's up?"

"Is Akio not coming tonight?"

"Oh... no." Ben blushes - it's adorable, and Laken can't help the smile playing around their lips. "He's got some kind of meeting with the gymnastics team, or his coaches? Or... something like that. He said sorry, though."

"Nah, no problem. But, hey, so. Uh, have you seen Chris, like within the last ten minutes or so??"

Someone puts Christmas music on and Laken shudders as they hear that damn 80s pop song start up again. If they have to hear that fucking song one more time...

"Nope. Not in a while." Ben shrugs, taking a drink. Whatever he has in that cup is pinkish-red and probably far more alcoholic than it tastes. Laken's roommate had insisted on a signature cocktail. "You could check outside? Sometimes when there's a lot of people, to Chris it's... too much."

Laken nods, still scanning the crowd, but their stomach knots a little with the first hit of real anxiety. Ben is right, Chris can get overwhelmed by too much noise and movement, but also he's been drinking tonight - they saw the same red punch in a cup in his hands earlier - and he has a tendency to get... hazy, when he drinks. Flirty in ways that aren't natural to him. Willing to let people hug him that he doesn't like, unable to bring himself to stop them. Sometimes his stammer smooths out, which makes people who don't know him feel more comfortable and people who do know him nervous. He starts tipping his head to the side in a way that makes the sweep of his growing-out hair hide the scar on his forehead, biting his lower lip when he smiles. It makes Laken feel a little sick to see it happen and realize Chris doesn't even notice when he's doing it.

The last thing they need is to have to come up with an explanation for Chris losing track of himself again, or why he's eating olives off the charcuterie board Brit brought knowing damn well he'll just go to the bathroom and get sick all over the place again, or... fuck, what if somebody hits on him and he's too drunk to stop it?

That hasn't happened since college, but...

They pull their phone out, uneasily checking for a text, but there's nothing. If he went outside, he'd text, right? He does, he always does. Texts can be easier and Chris is always a little nervous about being outside alone.

He insisted on coming tonight, said he was feeling good lately, but-... what if-...

They flinch when fingers touch their arm, only to see Ben must have stood up when they weren't looking. He slips his own phone into his jacket pocket and looks Laken over more closely. "Hey. It's okay, he's probably fine. You know he gets weird when parties are really going. It's like a light switch, enough to too much, I totally get it. It's why I'm on the couch fucking around on Kindle instead of, you know... talking to people." Ben says it like talking to people is literal hell, and... okay, Laken can see how that might be the case. "He probably just needed to get away from it and wandered off."

"Uh, yeah. I know." Laken rubs at the back of their neck, fingers moving through the soft, shorn undercut beneath their longer black waves. "I'm sure that's it. Just... you know, sometimes he... when he gets nervous..."

"I got you." They adore Ben, sometimes, for how often they don't have to finish the sentences they don't want to say. He knows what words haven't yet spilled, unwilling. Sometimes he acts like he belongs to us, not like he loves us. Sometimes I can't trust him to find his way back on his own. Sometimes I feel like Jake, and I hate feeling like Jake.

Words die in their throat.

Ben squeezes their arm, gently. "Let's split up and search around. I'll go outside, you go around the house, okay? We verify how he is, then whichever one finds him tells the other. Sound good?" Ben smiles, and Laken relaxes a little, finding a smile for him in return.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Ben."

"No problem." Ben has always understood Chris, thanks to his little brother being similar in some ways. He understands Laken's worry, too, because better than anyone else here - he knows how Chris sometimes gets lost in his past, especially if he's drinking, worse the maybe twice Laken's ever seen him try an edible or a pill.

What if he got drunk and someone offered him something and he took it? Drunk Chris sometimes isn't a Chris who can easily turn down anything he's offered.

This party was a stupid idea.

Laken takes a deep breath and squares their shoulders.

Chris is not a child.

He is a goddamn grown man and Laken is not his keeper. They're not his parent and they're not a babysitter. They're definitely not his fucking... owner or whatever the bastards that hurt him would have called it. They're his partner. He can handle himself, better than they could if they'd lived his life, and they need to trust him to either know his limits and to get away if he can't say no, or to come to them if he wants to ask for help. Otherwise, they're not any better than the bullshit he's been buried in for longer than he's known them.

Ben goes to check outside, slipping silently out the sliding door onto the back porch where a small crowd has congregated in a cloud of skunky smoke, while Laken heads upstairs, peeking their head in to room after room with no sign of him anywhere. They see some movement under a pile of coats, but that's... definitely not Chris, based on the very female voices who yell at them to give them some fucking privacy, please.

"Sorry, Brit," Laken calls, closing the door tightly. "And, um, Leigh. Just looking for Chris-"

"Well, he isn't in here or we'd have kicked him out already," Brit says, cranky but without any real anger in her voice. Laken doesn't recognize the redhead whose eyes pop up from beneath the pile of coats next to her. "Check a different room."

"Yeah, I will. Uh... keep having fun, I guess-"

"That's the plan! Now leave, please!"

The door latches as they close it, and they exhale. There's one room left, at the end of the hall, and they can hear a familiar murmuring from behind the door when they press their ear up against it.

Laken knocks, rapping gently with their knuckles, and turns the knob when they hear no answer - but no demand to stay out either. The murmuring goes silent. They sigh, and the door swings open, light cutting across the carpet until it reveals their wayward boyfriend.

No one has claimed this bedroom yet, so it's bare and empty except for a couple unpacked cardboard boxes, Brit's exercise bike by the window, a couple of her yoga mats, a laundry basket with a few folded towels, and a bare mattress the last housemate had left behind on the floor when they moved out.

Laken's lips press together, eyes scanning the room. Chris's phone is on the mattress, along with an empty beer bottle, but Chris isn't. "Chris? Cariño?"

A muffled rustling makes them jump, heart in their throat, and then they realize the sound came from the closet, where the folding doors are closed. Laken pulls them open to reveal Chris curled up, knees nearly to his chin, an open bottle clutched in one hand, his chewy necklace in the other. He'd chosen the bat one tonight, and his hand is closed around it in such a tight fist Laken can tell his knuckles are white even in the dark.

Chris doesn't look at them. He's swaying, rocking forward and back, his eyes focused on something far, far away from them. There's red lines on his left wrist, where he's dug his nails in, scratching not quite deep enough to draw blood, but close. Laken takes a deep breath, shifting into a crouch.

"Talk to me, Chris."

"No." The answer is flat, and they watch his thumb rub over the little nub of the silicone bat's nose, the points of its tiny ears. "No, no, no. No."

At least he's saying it out loud.

That alone makes the knot of anxiety in their chest start to loosen. If he can say no, he isn't gone, maybe just... standing a little farther back, inside his own head, than the surface.

"Okay. Okay, that's fine. No talking, that's fine. Are you okay, baby?" Laken keeps their voice just above a whisper and lays their hand on the wood trim that frames this shitty excuse for a closet, the floor creaking under them. "You... kind of vanished on me, there."

Chris's eyes flick to them and then away again. "Loud," He manages, and he sounds like he's forcing the word out between gritted teeth. Maybe he is. "Too, too, too... too loud. Too much, too... many."

"I guess Ben called it." Laken sighs, pulling out their phone and sending Ben a quick text that they found Chris and everything's fine. they get a thumbs-up in reply almost immediately. Ben must have been as anxious as they are, if he was just watching for their text to come in. "Do you want me to call Jake to come get you, or..."

"No!" He snaps it, and Laken tries not to wince. He's just struggling with the noise of the party, they tell themself, he's not actually angry. Chris almost never gets angry, and even then it's only at himself. Which... is worse, somehow. "No. Just... Quiet, it's... it's it's quiet."

"Right. Do you want me to stay with you? Be quiet with you?"

He shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else. His mouth moves, but no further sounds come out.

"Chris, did..." They want to ask, did someone say something to you? Sometimes people said things, referenced pets or something in a way that set him off. But even if someone had... he probably wouldn't tell them, at least not now, not when every word seemed to have to filter through layer after layer of self-protection in his mind. "Never mind. Is there anything I can do for you? Water, or..."

He shakes his head. "No. Just. Um. Quiet... quiet, now. Please?"

"Yeah." Laken leans over and presses a kiss to his hair. He tips his head against their lips and they exhale in relief. "I love you, Chris. Come back if you can, but if you can't, that's okay, too. Just don't hurt yourself, okay? Things should start winding down in a couple hours." They take the little plastic bat and push it against the hand that's still scratching at his shoulder, until he takes hold of it again, pressing it against his mouth and running it back and forth, back and forth.

Chris is quiet, but as they open the door to head back into the hallway, they hear a quiet, "Love, love you," from Chris, barely audible.

They smile as they close the door. Down the hall, the sounds of the party hit them like a brick, beckoning them back to the noise and the cheer and the awful fucking Christmas music still blaring at top volume. Someone yells something out and the whole damn crowd cheers, making Laken wince at it feels nearly deafening.

Maybe Chris has the right idea.

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump @burtlederp @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things

#whump #chris the strawberry blond romantic #recovery whump #recovering whumpee #overstimulation tw #autistic whumpee #referenced alcohol use #laken mamani #referenced dubcon #angst #fluff #comf #I guess this is the one that wins out first of the drafts?#we'll see if kauri or vince wins out next

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