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astrobei · 1 year

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for @quinnick: kiss prompt #4 - lips barely touching

The car is out of gas. Will is about ten seconds away from maybe-dying (again). Mike Wheeler has been abnormally quiet today.

At least of late, one of those things is more abnormal than the others.

The car is always out of gas. Will doesn’t know when the last time they’d filled it up was, but he does know that it’s not his problem trying to figure it out. That’s Hopper’s deal. Or his mom’s, maybe. Or Nancy’s, or Jonathan’s, or–

Whatever! The point is that the car is out of gas, Mike and Will are stranded at the currently closed general store, and they’re probably about to die.

Again.

“Mike,” Will tries, for maybe the hundredth time. “It’s not your fault, okay, it could’ve happened to anyone–”

“Yeah,” Mike grumbles miserably, as they round the corner, from aisle four – cleaning supplies and household items – into aisle five – canned goods. Most of the shelves are empty, turned over. Mike picks up a can of pickled green beans, pulls a face, and puts it back on the shelf. “But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”

Will takes a long, deep breath in through his nose. God forbid Mike Wheeler ever let anything go. “You didn’t know,” he huffs anyway. “It’s not your fault.” The store is dark, which is great for being able to roll your eyes without Mike seeing. Will’s flashlight sputters, briefly, the bright circle of light flickering in and out of view. He smacks it against his palm once, twice, and it steadies. “Seriously,” Will adds, as Mike slows to a stop in front of him. “Stop beating yourself up. So we have to wait for a ride. Big deal.”

Mike turns around to face him. His expression is mostly unreadable in the dark, but Will’s flashlight catches the edge of it – worried, a little guilty. “Yeah,” Mike says softly. “Except there are things everywhere and waiting for a ride is just– we’re sitting ducks here, okay,” Mike frowns. “I don’t like it. It feels like tempting fate.”

“Well, the simple fact of my existence feels like tempting fate sometimes,” Will jokes. It works, for a split second – Mike’s furrowed brows smooth out into something halfway amused, and he makes a noise that might be a laugh.

“Not funny,” Mike says anyway. His lips twitch.

“You laughed!” Will insists, smiling. His voice carries down through the hallway in a vibrant echo. “I know you did!”

“Shut up,” Mike whispers, looking away. “Would it kill you to keep your voice down?”

It might. Somewhere in the back of Will’s mind, he’s vaguely aware that they’re not safe here, out in the open, and that the whole point of them coming inside instead of waiting in the parking lot was to hunker down until Jonathan and Nancy could get another car here to pick them up. And also, preferably, get some gas.

Somewhere significantly closer in Will’s mind, though, is the knowledge that this is the most Mike has said – and the closest he’s come to laughing – since the car had stalled on the way from the cabin to the general store ten minutes ago, and Mike had just barely had time to pull into the abandoned parking lot before it had stopped altogether. He knows Mike doesn’t like this – being caught off-guard, out in the open. Even minute changes in the plan – which you’d think they’d all be more prepared for, considering the way things have been going lately – get Mike a little keyed up.

And the sorry, borderline pathetic part is this: despite it all, despite the ever-present threat of danger, and the impending sense of doom that’s been hanging over their heads for what seems like forever, Will feels vaguely pleased with himself anyway, seeing Mike hold back a smile instead of forcing one on his face.

So yeah, it might kill him, if he kept his voice down. That’s okay. Will thinks it would be worth it, sometimes – the danger and the doom and everything else – to hear Mike laugh.

God, what’s wrong with him? That’s embarrassing. That’s so embarrassing.

He shakes the thought off. “Whatever,” Will says instead, praying the cover of darkness is hiding the blush that’s rapidly rising to his cheeks. He angles the flashlight away from them anyway, just in case, and Mike’s face falls back into silhouette. “You know I’m right. You’re doomed just by being here with me.”

Mike shakes his head. “You know I don’t think of you like that.”

Will frowns. “Like what?”

“Like– like a bad luck charm,” Mike waves his hands around. “Or whatever.”

“I didn’t say bad luck charm,” Will exclaims. “Ouch! Stop putting words into my mouth.”

Mike grins. “Would you rather have, uh,” he picks up the nearest can to him, something small and vaguely gray, “tinned sardines in your mouth? Tinned sardines in water? Oh, gross. Never mind, actually.”

“I would rather not,” Will decides, even though the shelves are so bare that they might have to suck it up and take home the tinned sardines in water after all. “Would you like some, uh. Tuna?”

“I guess we know why there’s so much fish,” Mike sighs, leaning heavily against an empty shelf. “Nobody wanted it.”

“You mean the ten people outside of our circle of friends that are still left in Hawkins? Yeah,” Will scoffs, then sets the can back down with a soft clink. “I guess not.”

Neither of them say anything for a moment. It’s quiet in the store, the room dark and lit faintly by Will’s flashlight and the display in the corner. It lights Mike up a faint blue, catches the edges of his jaw and where his hair is curling softly over the hood of his jacket.

Will’s flashlight sputters again.

When it comes back on this time, it’s more faint than it was before. It’s dark in here, Will realizes, a bit belatedly. Like, really dark.

He takes a deep breath and shuffles closer to Mike, just a little, like the shape of his body all leaned against the empty shelves is a grounding force. Mike gives him a look that Will can’t quite decipher in the dark.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Will breathes out. The proximity is helping, a little. “Just– waiting for our ride.”

Mike leans in a bit closer too, places an arm under Will’s elbow. It’s a light touch, nothing forceful, but the semblance of support is there. “You sure? You look a little pale.”

Sometimes, Will hates how well Mike knows him. He doesn’t get antsy in the same way Mike does in situations like these, but he’d be lying if he said they didn’t affect him at all. It should be expected by now, the automatic fight or flight.

For some cruel reason, it still isn’t. “You can’t even see me,” he says, but lets himself lean into the touch anyway.

“I can see enough,” Mike says easily. “Do you want to sit down?”

Will shakes his head. The only thing worse than waiting out in the open is sitting out in the open. At least when you’re standing, you can run. “No. I’m fine.”

Will can’t see Mike either, but he’d be willing to bet real money – that he doesn’t have – that he can tell exactly what Mike’s expression looks like. The pause grows, swells and swells and swells, until Will is sure Mike is going to say something–

There’s a clattering outside.

Instantly, Mike’s hand tightens its grip on Will’s elbow. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” Will hisses, twisting around to try and see through the windows. “Of course I heard that, Mike.”

“Do you think that’s–”

“No idea,” Will whispers. With no small amount of reluctance, he tugs his arm out of Mike’s grip. He misses the warmth of it almost instantaneously, and the tugging in his stomach is only amplified by the way Mike automatically leans in behind him, places a hand on his back to replace the absent touch, like it was never gone at all. Will swallows, and flicks the flashlight off. “Now be quiet.”

“The windows are boarded up,” Mike says, decidedly not being quiet. Will wonders where the Mike Wheeler of fifteen minutes ago went – the one that was sulking and fidgeting in silence the whole way down the first aid aisle. “They’re boarded up, so nothing can get in. Right?”

“We got in,” Will points out, which Mike seems to realize at approximately the same second he does. It’s getting a little hard to think, with Mike so close to him.

Will really wishes Mike would pull his hand away.

“Right,” Mike whispers, breath ghosting gently over the back of Will’s neck. “Okay. That’s fine. That’s fine.”

Fine, Will thinks. That’s one word for it.

Another clattering. It’s closer this time.

Will freezes.

Jonathan and Nancy are probably about ten minutes out. Twenty if they had to go back to the Wheelers’ for the other car. So they’d probably be fine if they stuck it out here, because the chance of something happening across them now, in the brief period of time where they’re stuck without a ride, in a building equipped with close to nothing that could help, is small.

Small, but not nonexistent.

Will isn’t really feeling inclined to take that chance. “Come on,” he says, then spins on his heel, grabbing Mike’s hand and tugging him in the opposite direction. “Come with me.”

Mike follows easily, stumbling slightly with the sudden movement. “Wh– where are we going?”

“Just come on,” Will says, then tugs Mike around to the back of the store. He yanks open a door, and shoves him inside. “Get in.”

“Whoa,” Mike says, as Will tumbles in behind him. “Will, what–”

“Would it kill you to be quiet?”

“Sorry,” Mike says, then does, at last, fall silent.

Immediately, Will wishes he hadn’t said that. It’s dark in here – even darker than out in the front of the store – and the only noise is the faint hum of a generator, somewhere behind the walls. It’s grating and stilted. Will wonders when the last time it had been repaired was.

Plus, it’s really–

It’s really fucking dark in here.

Will lets out a long, slow exhale, and reaches out to feel for the wall beside him. His palm comes into contact with chipped paint and he follows the shape of it down, lowering himself onto the ground.

“Will?” Mike says, and Will is in half a mind to say that thing about being quiet again, but–

It’s dark. It’s really dark.

“Yeah,” he says, barely audible even to himself over the faint hum of the generator, and the louder hum – demanding, prominent, persistent – of his blood rushing through his ears. “I just– sitting. I’m sitting.”

There had at least been some light out in the front, but this storage closet might as well be a void. It smells vaguely of dust, something stale and unknown and probably untouched for who-knows-how-long. Will takes another deep breath in.

“Where?” Mike asks. “I don’t want to step on you.”

Will cracks a smile. “Here,” he says, and holds a hand up in the air. “Right here.”

There’s a quiet shuffling sound as Mike moves closer, and then Will feels fingertips brushing against his. Mike latches on immediately, gripping tighter onto his hand and sits down in front of him.

Will still can’t see anything – he can’t see anything – but he can feel Mike’s presence like it’s a tangible thing.

Mike could let go of Will’s hand now. Now that he’s found him.

He doesn’t, though.

“Hey,” Mike says, then there’s another faint shuffling noise. “Where are we?”

“Storage closet.”

“Huh. How did you know it was here?”

Will cracks another smile, despite himself. “My mom worked here, remember? For, like, years.”

“Right,” Mike laughs, and then he’s moving closer, knees bumping against knees in the dark. “I forgot. It doesn’t feel like the same place.”

“Tell me about it,” Will sighs. He’s probably breathing in dust and debris and soot and all sorts of gross stuff, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He presses his knees against Mike’s a little harder, just because he can.

“I remember,” Mike starts, readjusting his grip on Will’s hand – fingers interlocked, a firmer grip – “she’d give me free candy from the front counter. Whenever I came in with my parents, I mean. My mom was so confused about why I kept asking to tag along to Melvald’s with her.”

“That’s not fair,” Will laughs. “She never let me have any candy.”

“You were a menace all hopped up on sugar,” Mike points out. “I knew how to behave myself.”

That’s a damn lie, and they both know it. “Liar,” Will says quietly, leaning his head back against the wall. “You’re such a liar.”

“Maybe so,” Mike hums. “But I’m still the one who got free candy, so–”

“Mike!” Will shoves lightly at his knee, and Mike’s answering laugh fills the small space instantaneously. It’s loud – too loud, because they’re supposed to be hiding, goddamnit – but the nagging little voice at the back of Will’s head is vanquished almost as quickly as it came. “Shut up.”

Mike, as always, ignores him. “Why don’t we turn on a light?”

“The fuse is probably blown,” Will responds. “If there’s even a light in this stupid closet.”

“I mean this, idiot,” Mike says, and then clicks the flashlight back on. The batteries must be dying, because it flickers to life weakly, steadying out into a dim yellow-white. “Obviously.”

“Don’t waste the batteries,” Will says at once, trying to grab for it. “Come on, Mike–”

“Jonathan and Nancy will be here any minute and then we can go put in new batteries,” Mike says, holding it easily out of reach. “No point sitting in the dark, right?”

“Mike,” Will tries to protest, but it’s useless. Mike’s made up his mind.

Slowly, and a little far away, Will realizes what Mike is trying to do. He’s not being subtle about it, but subtlety has never been Mike Wheeler’s strong suit. He’s always been exuberant, quick and spontaneous with his actions, and this is no different. Sitting up close, closer than would be strictly necessary in any other situation. Turning the light on, despite the dying batteries. Telling Will about coming here as a kid, all those years ago. Making him laugh. Diffusing the tension.

Jesus, and he’s still holding Will’s hand.

A wave of affection washes over him, sudden and overwhelming enough for Will to feel borderline nauseous.

This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. Mike can’t just sit here and touch their knees together and hold Will’s hand, and–

“Look,” Mike is saying, and then he’s holding the flashlight under his chin and grinning. “Don’t I look freaky?”

In all honesty, Mike looks fucking hilarious. The direct light casts long shadows across the dips of his cheekbones, the shapes of his eyelashes distorting wildly as he blinks. “No,” Will snorts, rolling his eyes. “You look ridiculous.”

“Really?” Mike grins, in a way that means he knows just how ridiculous he looks. “Not even a little?” He waggles his eyebrows, and the resulting effect is so comical that Will can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, sharp and sudden and real.

“Mike,” he chides, for the millionth time. “You’re going to kill the battery.”

Mike looks way too pleased with himself. “Worth it,” he says anyway, as he sets the flashlight down. It evens out the sharp angles of his face, now that it’s farther away, lights his cheeks and nose and eyes up into something softer, more open.

Something about the steadiness of Mike’s expression is brighter than any source of light. Suddenly, it’s too much. Suddenly, it’s blinding.

God. He’s so screwed. “For what?”

“Getting you to laugh,” Mike says, simple and easy, like he’s reciting times tables instead of proceeding to turn Will’s entire world upside down on its pathetic little axis.

Will feels his lungs stutter on his next inhale. He looks away. “Don’t do that.”

The gleeful expression falters on Mike’s face. “Don’t do what?”

“Don’t,” Will says, “don’t– you’re being so– so–”

Mike looks caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “So what?”

“So,” Will tries again, and then Mike moves closer, and the difficulty of articulating a halfway decent sentence immediately increases tenfold. “So.”

“So,” Mike echoes, shifting so the side of his thigh is pressed up against the side of Will’s. He’s being slowly backed into the corner, but the thought isn’t terrifying like it might have been five minutes ago. Suddenly, Will is overwhelmed in a completely new way. “So what?”

“Nice to me,” Will gets out. “Stop being so nice to me.”

Mike pauses, then says, incredulously and half-laughing– “What? Why?”

Bad choice of words. “You heard me,” Will says anyway, because he’s nothing if not stubborn. “You’re being too nice.”

“I should hope so,” Mike says. “I mean, you’re my friend.”

Maybe Will is imagining it, but the sentence feels unfinished. Like there’s a second half to it that Mike is keeping for himself: You’re my friend – right?

The obvious answer here is that yes, Mike is his friend. But that answer feels unfinished too, like a lie by omission. Will tries to imagine it, doing these things with anyone else – what it would be like if Dustin was holding his hand, or if it were Lucas sitting next to him this close.

The conclusion he comes to, almost immediately, is that it would be weird.

It would be really fucking weird.

That feels like– something. An admission, maybe. Because the fact of the matter is that things with Mike have always been like this, and they’ve never been like this with anyone else, and Will doesn’t think they can be like this with anyone else without it being the most unsettling thing that’s ever happened to him.

The silence, he realizes, has gone on just a second too long.

“Yeah,” he blurts out at last. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Something settles over Mike’s face. “Will–”

“Forget I said anything,” Will backpedals, a little bit desperate. “Never mind. Be as nice to me as you want.”

Mike bites down on his lower lip. It looks like he’s holding back a smile. “As nice as I want?”

Oh, no.

“Sure,” Will tries. “Do your worst.”

Mike lets out a shaky exhale. He presses in further, leans in closer until their shoulders are almost touching. “How about this?”

“That’s not nice,” Will says weakly. “That’s just an invasion of personal space.”

“Seems pretty nice to me,” Mike mutters under his breath.

Will inhales sharply. “Mike.”

“What?”

“What are you– doing,” Will whispers, stumbling over his words, just slightly, as Mike places a hand on his arm.

Mike’s gaze does not waver. “Is this okay?”

Is it okay? Will thinks his brain might be halfway to leaking out through his ears. This is–

This is–

“Yeah,” he hears himself say. “Yeah. Great.”

“Okay,” Mike whispers. He’s so close now that Will could count all the freckles spattered across his nose, if he wanted to. He could, and the thought is dizzying, dizzying – suddenly, it’s not the claustrophobia that’s making him feel like this. It can’t be, because Mike is in front of him, and he’s so close that Will could just lean forward and–

He could just–

“Mike.” And maybe he’s a bit of a broken record, but he can’t come up with any words other than his name. He clutches at Mike’s knee and meets his gaze and prays – to whatever deity allowed him to get trapped in a storage closet with Mike Wheeler two inches away from his face – that Mike Wheeler will find the courage in him somewhere to close the fucking gap.

He doesn’t, though, which is a sign that the universe must be majorly fucking with him. Not yet, anyway. Not anywhere near as fast as Will needs it to be – if this is what he thinks it is, it’s nowhere near fast enough.

In actuality, what it is is excruciating – the way Will’s heart is beating so loud that he’s sure Mike can hear it, in the proximity. The slow circles Mike is tracing over his other hand – the hand that he’s still holding. He’s so close that Will can discern the warmth emanating off him, the familiar scent of soap, can feel Mike’s eyes trained steadily on his mouth, and yet–

Either Mike is actually moving at a speed of one nanosecond per minute, or time has slowed to a near-stop around them. Mike’s grip on his hand is agonizing, caustic in all the places where they’re touching, each slow circle of Mike’s thumb against his wrist driving him slowly and steadily out of his mind. Do it, Will thinks, like maybe if he thinks it loud enough, Mike will be able to hear him. Do it, do it, do it.

Mike’s lips touch his.

The world stops moving.

It must, anyway. Or maybe it’s just that Will doesn’t think he’s breathing anymore – he doesn’t know if he can find it in him to remember how. All he’s aware of is this: Mike’s hands on his arm, his wrist. Mike’s leg under his own palm, warm and steady and pressed up against him in a smooth, unyielding line. The pressure of the wall behind him, the strands of Mike’s hair brushing against his face, and Mike’s lips – gentle, gentle, gentle, and nowhere near enough.

It’s like Mike is waiting for something. Waiting for Will, maybe.

God, okay.

Fuck it, Will thinks, from somewhere far off in his own head. Fuck it. Fuck this.

“Will,” Mike whispers, pulling back a precious few millimeters, and that’s it. That’s all Will can take.

Will lifts his hand off Mike’s leg, raises it to his wrist and tugs. Mike topples into him with a small gasp, Will falls backwards into the wall, and then they’re kissing.

God. Okay.

Mike steadies himself quickly, braces a hand on the wall behind them and leans in, firm and enthusiastic. His hand, Will notices, faintly and with no small amount of affection, is shaking. Just slightly. Will’s trapped between them again – Mike and the wall – but this time he can’t find it in himself to care even the slightest bit. As if there’s anywhere he’d want to go that wasn’t here, as if he’d want to be somewhere without Mike’s hand carding through his hair, or without his lips moving softly against Will’s own, or the noise he makes when Will presses forward, too fast, too eager, too betrayed by his own fluttering pulse – something like a laugh, trapped deep in his chest.

Suddenly, it’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s–

“Mike? Will?”

Shit.

In a flash, Mike pulls away, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and breathing like he’s just run a marathon.

Shit.

“Yeah,” Mike calls, voice cracking just slightly on the syllable. “We’re in here!”

Shit.

“So,” Will says, aiming for nonchalance. He fails immediately. His voice cracks too. Great. “That–”

Don’t freak out, he thinks. Please don’t freak out.

Mike, to his credit, is not freaking out.

“Yeah,” Mike says, voice a little high-pitched but surprisingly even. He clears his throat. “Um. Yeah. You were–”

“Yeah,” Will finishes, rather lamely. He’s grinning like an idiot. He doesn’t even need to look at himself to tell. His expression is mirrored, perfectly, flawlessly, brilliantly, on Mike’s own face.

The closet door gets thrown open, and there’s a blinding, sudden light– “What the fuck,” Mike exclaims, squinting and throwing a hand up in front of his eyes. “Nancy?”

Jonathan peers around her shoulder. “What were you guys doing in here?”

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t–

Will can’t help it. He looks at Mike, and they immediately burst into laughter.

Shit.

#hiiii quin so sorry but tumblr ate ur og ask #i did immediately memorize it tho bc i read it and i was like Oh Yes #anyways ik u asked for maybe s5 too #and idk why this is where my mind went #there are a million other s5 scenarios that i could've written #but something about byler kissing in dark closets.... haha #yeah <3 #anyways i hope u like this !!#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #fun sized fics #also fun fact for anyone who reads my fics #this was rly close to my og concept for ive come home im so cold #like the third chapter #but that story got away from me so #this isn't the Same but its similar !! kind of.#ok bye

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ceruleanterrapin · 2 days

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Drawing request: mikey and leo hanging out!

Fun fact: Mikey and I are the main cooks of the house (Raph occasionally too)

I'm the more by the books cook, Mikey is... very experimental, and Raph is in the middle

Donnie....... Donnie isn't allowed in the kitchen anymore

#I had at least 3 different ideas sketched for this one #but ultimately decided to go with this #Donnie is essentially “Cooking is similar to science‚ this should be easy” and then drops the food on the floor #It's not that he can't cook‚ he just over thinks it so much he ends up making the mistakes he was trying to avoid #Leo talks #ask #drawing request #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #leo #leonardo #2012 leo #2012 leonardo #mikey #Michelangelo #2012 mikey #2012 Michelangelo

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basilpaste · 3 months

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oh i never shared this one, did i? more loop and isa interaction because writing the two of them is like candy to me. its so fun.

"Hey Loop?" You ask, "Question!"

"Answer!" They reply.

That's… something you've heard before! They seem to register what they just said — and their eyes widen just a fraction. Everything about their expression goes a little more fake. Oh. Uh! Recover, Isabeau!! C'mon!

"… You call me Fighter, mostly."

"I do, yes!"

You take a breath, "But… not always."

"Right again!" They sing-song, "My, how clever you are, Fighter!~"

"So. Um. When you don't call me Fighter… you call me Sunlight," you trail off, a little bit flustered, "and I don't mind! I-I just — I guess I was wondering why?"

They look away from you, eyes snapping shut in that familiar fake smile of theirs.

"Hm! Why Sunlight or… why something other than Fighter?"

"Oh! Um…" You hadn't really thought about that second question at all! "Either, I guess? Both?"

"Well you only get one!" They laugh, dramatic and strained.

And then they sober, some. Their hand falls in place just below their shoulder, squeezing.

"… I suppose I hadn't thought much of the why. Perhaps it's just that… you're hard to look at. And harder to look away from."

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. Oh. Oh.

"Because you just won't get out of my hair, teehee!" They add abruptly. There's something just shy of desperation in their voice.

…

You'll play along this time.

You gasp in mock-offense, holding a hand to your chest. "Hey!"

#basil writes #in stars and time #isat #isat fanfic #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #is this. spoilers? i mean. kinda so.#loop isat #isabeau isat #of stitches in sequence #i feel like it goes without saying but this is a mirror of when sif asks why loop calls them stardust.#i wanted to dig for a similar gut punch to their answer there </3

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karokawwo · 1 month

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question: what's you guys' speculation on the touchstarved endings?

i don't just mean making a bad choice and getting killed, i mean the "all your choices have led you here" endings. what are your thoughts.

#i have like 3 on ais but i'd like to see what everyone else thinks #i think someone asked this before?? i don't really remember but there was a similar post floating around #touchstarved game #touchstarved

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art--harridan · 2 years

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[Image one: The first page of a digital comic about TommyInnit. It begins with a panel of Wilbur’s hand placing a card on the table, and then one of Tommy with his head in his arms, drenched in blood. He asks "what're you up to now?", to which Wilbur replies "seven of hearts. it's a card game... obviously." After this, Tommy says "hilarious. how do you play?". This is followed by an image of Wilbur sitting at the table, blood leaking from his smiling mouth. He's holding a card in one hand, and resting his chin on the other. He casts a shadow on the table, which has "it's like a game of life:" written in it, followed by three hearts. Below the shadow, he explains "you start with 500 points and 7 cards and whatever cards you have at the end... well, you lose accordingly."

Image two: The second page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. Tommy lifts his head up and squints his eyes, asking "accordingly?? you sure you won't just make it up big dubs?". Underneath, there's a panel of Wilbur, grinning while he shrugs nonchalantly. He says "I'm a man of morals Tommy! And there's a precedent for these things:". Smoke billows behind this panel. Below this, Wilbur continues with "the 7 and ace of hearts subtract 150,", which is accompanied by two card-shaped panels depicting Dream and Tommy. They're both devoid of emotion. Next, Wilbur says "jacks take 50,", followed by the Cat disc and the Your Tubbo compass. Then, he says "8s and 2s deduct 25,", followed by a bloody diamond sword and a lit TNT stick. He continues "aces get 15,", which is next to a L'manberg flag, Tommy's red tie, and the tent from Logsteadshire. Finally, he says "the kings, queens and 10s take 10, and the leftovers are 5; nothing really (unless you're on death's door)." Above this, there's Mexican Dream's mask, Jack's melted glasses, and some of Ghostbur's blue.

Image three: The third page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. Tommy says "Great - now I know how to lose. How exactly do I win?". The first line is above a panel showing a bloody prison wall, while the second is above a panel of Tommy carrying a L'manberg flag past some pine trees. Drawn on top of this is Tommy, annoyed. Wilbur tells him "you get rid of your hand before anyone else." Near this is a panel of Wilbur dirty hand holding a lit TNT stick, an explosion behind the panel. Next, Tommy questions "how exactly?", his face falling flat while Wilbur explains. He says "there's a card in the middle, and you take turns adding one.". There's a single card next to this. Finally, he adds "you can only put down the same suit or number as the previous number".

Image four: The fourth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. "Jacks change the suit." it begins, followed by "They can be the crux of your play, and ruin another's.". There's 4 card-shaped panels in the middle, positioned in a diagonal line. They each show Tommy in different stages of his life. The first shows him in Business Bay, his suit, tie, and sunglasses on. He's got a big grin and his arms stretched wide. Next, he's wearing his L'manberg uniform, with a slightly smaller smile. After is him in Pogtopia, smile turning to a grimace. Finally, there's him while living with Techno, mouth fully closed and barely a smile. He looks nervous. The panels are framed by two arrows. One is descending, a L'manberg coloured arrow that looks worse for wear. It has a green ribbon tied around it. The other one shares a colour palette with Dream, and has a bloody tip.

Image six: The sixth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. The first sentence is "twos force the person after to pick up 2". Then, there's Wilbur’s hands with four cards between them, seemingly in the midst of dropping them to his bottom palm. The first card has an explosion flying out of it, background the colour of fire. Next, there's a card which has an obsidian/blackstone wall, a bloody diamond sword laying on top of it. The third card shows a bloody arrow floating in water, while the fourth is simply a rectangle of fire. Then, there's a panel of Tommy weeping hard at the bottom, with the sentence "you can stack them until some unlucky bastard picks up 8 cards" accompanying it.

Image eight: The eighth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. "but why is it called seven of hearts?" Tommy asks, arms crossed. Wilbur puts a finger near his chin and replies "It's simple really... if someone plays the seven of hearts, the round stops.". Furthere down, there's a panel showing Tommy reaching towards Wilbur back. The next panel is similar, but it only shows a diamond sword in the place of Wilbur, and Tommy's hand is pulling back. These are accompanied by the sentences "there's no negotiation, no getting out of that one. it just stops.". Finally, there's two panels showing the pair's reactions. Tommy looks withdrawn while Wil is smiling, shrugging nonchalantly. "that's bullshit." Tommy says, while Wilbur retorts "that's how you win...". This is followed by a lit TNT stick, and Wilbur continuing "(or not).".

Image nine: The ninth page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. There's a split panel of them, Tommy bored and resting his chin on his fist, while Wil looks giddy, leaning to the side. Tommy questions "lovely - any more stupid rules I need to know?", with Wilbur responding "yeah, but they'll make more sense during play. I'll teach you them as we go.". Underneath this, he continues "c'mon then - let's play:". There's panel of Wilbur and Tommy both sitting at a long table in a dark void, cards set out. You can't see either of their faces. Further down, Wilbur turns over a card while saying "first you turn over the card in the middle". The final panel shows that this card is the seven of hearts.

Image ten: The final page of a digital comic about TommyInnit and Wilbur Soot in limbo. There's a closeup of Wilbur’s mouth while he dejectedly tells Tommy "oh. game over.". Below this, there's a panel of a panicking Tommy who's just abruptly stood up from his seat, shoulders bunched up and expression shocked. "no, no, that doesn't make sense." he says. "that isn't fair! this isn't fair!" he continues, near two panels showing his death. One depicts Dream's bloody fist, while the other his bloody corpse. Next to this, he further continues "I didn't even get to play!". Finally, there's a long panel at the bottom. Tommy stands alone in the darkness of limbo, bright with blood and face expressionless. He repeats "I didnt even get to play...", and the comic ends.]

seven of hearts

#☆#tommyinnit #wilbur soot #dream smp #tommyinnit fanart #wilbur soot fanart #dream smp fanart #digital art #tommys prison arc #exile arc #blood #gore #abuse #death #suicide #corpse #a sequel of sorts to my b brag comic :3 #ive always wanted to do more limbo card games comic since i did that one but i never got around to it lol #seven of hearts is my fave card game tho!!! love it sm <3 (b brag is a close second...)#b4 anyone asks this game is similar to crazy jacks which is the game that inspired uno #anyway if this flops im gonna rb it sm so be prepared for that :')#block my rb tag if u dont wanna see the same comic a billion times a week lol 👍#oh yeah some clarity for the sake of my brain #this isnt glorifying wilburs suicide attempt as a 'way to win' since the whole explanation is done thru wils lens #ergo it reflects his feelings on it but not mine 👍#also the vibe for this and the b brag comic were basically like #wilbur is estatic to see his bro and honestly just another person so he tries to teach him card games for fun #and also partakes in brotherely ribbing because they always used to do that #meanwhile tommy literally just died and his brains are falling out of his skull (tho this is somewhere a month or two later)#btw if anyone wants clarification on the rules (also to know what the ones he doesnt mention are) feel free to ask! inbox or messages :)

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protosymphonette · 6 days

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Your ‘hate wins’ Butch and lone survivor art eclipses my thoughts often, I love seeing ur fallout oc’s please talk more about John whenever you have the chance, his positive swag and earnest whimsy have me enraptured. hoping you have a good day 🙏🏼

hello anon sorry for leavin this in my inbox for so long, for some reason i have been PHYSICALLY UNABLE to draw my ocs for the past couple of weeks- i think i got over it though. here are some johns and also a little of my other fo ocs... just 4 u.

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stealingpotatoes · 6 months

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you are like hella fucking cool. yea sure your faces might follow the same blueprint at times but the way you execute other people asks into art and yet draw your own stuff with that unique charm is just admirable. absolutely gorgeous. i hope you do well in any endeavor you might partake. also that potato you have as ur icon is fucking cute. the colour palettes slap, they are cute and light and fit ur vibe perfectly. anyway keep doing ur thing ur good at it.

AHH omg thank you so much!!!!!!!!! this is so sweet I need to lie down on the floor for a bit I'M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY STUFF,,, i don't even rlly know what to say back this is so specific and lovely!!! here have this 3d version of Little Potato Bastard Man i did a few months ago

#face diversity in my comic style is smthn i ought to work on lolll #its ok u dont have to sugar coat it with at times. i KNOW i forget to change ppl's face shape a solid 85% of the time <3 #its not same face syndrome bc that implies i'm actively trying to make the faces look different LOL #im mainly focusing on the expression and defining design features so everyone's face gets pretty similar pretty quick #anyway i feel like my best reply is 'i am being Perceived and very flattered by it'#thanks for the ask!#⋆

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aro-culture-is · 6 months

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aro culture is getting so fucking tired of people using the fact that there's a queer romance in something as a reason you should watch it. like haven't allos had enough of romance? queer or otherwise? I'm not saying queer representation is bad, of course, I'm just fed up with asking what a book is about and in response all I get is "oh it has queer people in it" cool! what is it about? having queer representation is not the be all end all of media can we please have ONE thing without romance in it. please.

#electroniccollectiondonut #aro culture is #aro #aromantic #actually aro #actually aromantic #ask #mod phoenix #yeah... it's like. this is a bad metaphor but it's all i got right now:#i'm vegetarian. it's not uncommon that if an event is hosted 'with food' that every single main dish contains a fair amount of meat #and most of the side dishes too #maybe the salad has chicken. the soup is a meat broth soup. the main course is steak. i literally cannot tell you how often this happens.#and if you're lucky there's like... bread rolls and butter. sometimes there's the Cheap Salad that's just tossed lettuce #and i promise you from experience: if i ask beforehand i am always told there will be something for me to eat #but like. believe it or not 1) that's not filling 2) it's usually the two poorest quality items on the line 3) i prefer salads as SIDES #i see similar stuff on the occasion i'm told there's any sort of 'rep' for aro folks #it's like... okay but the vast majority of the media is still very romance focused and the elements that aren't are usually... hm #not comparably interesting in how they're executed?#or it's like. kids media. which can be good - but i'd like to be allowed to have content that can be both for an adult audience #and NOT romance

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share-the-damn-bed · 1 year

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JONATHAN & MIKE || then and now

#jonathan byers #mike wheeler #stranger things #if this just doesn't make you cry #like look at them. THEY WERE BABIES #but uhg. that trust has always been there #my last jonathan and mike set for a while #unless anyone has specific requests (send an ask)#i'm finally free of whatever brain rot they had over me #my argument stands: 1 jonathan cares about mike. 2 they respect one another and work well together/have similar habits.#and 3 they have always had respect for one another and i think trust one another #especially mike #cw: flashing lights

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comradekatara · 6 months

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Here's a completely random ask for you: what holiday (halloween, valentine's day, national ice cream day, etc.) would each member of the Gaang feel unreasonably strongly about? Can be positive or negative feelings.

oh this is a good question! (i hate so many american commercial holidays so this is a great avenue for me to project my frustrations with us capitalism onto these little guys. and to be clear im just doing us holidays bc otherwise there would simply be too many options and i’d be stuck here forever)

aang: he’s not enough of a hater to dislike any holidays. he’s a big fan of april fool’s day, valentine’s day, and halloween, because he appreciates fun and joy and love and merriment duh

katara: every thanksgiving she goes on an impassioned rant about the historical revisionism of the us empire deployed as a propaganda tool as it continues its genocidal imperialist project and the absolutely sick and twisted audacity of americans to celebrate a known lie in a mockery of the atrocities committed from the past into the present (this one may or may not just have been me, yesterday). every november-december she goes on an impassioned rant about the commercialism of christmas, and how it’s largely a fake holiday devised by capitalists to glorify the sanctity of the nuclear family, and how the supposed “secularization” of christmas is in fact a product of christian hegemony, it’s propaganda and you’re all falling for it because you crave hollow comforts in your cold and dismal life, and instead of attempting to look beyond the scraps you are given under capitalism you all just force yourselves to enjoy a facade of happiness and nostalgia because you refuse to admit that you’re fundamentally uncomfortable in your society!!!!!!!! (this is what i think but wisely refrain from saying because it’s not worth it. katara, however...) also she likes valentine’s day sometimes (depending on whether or not she has a boyfriend). she also has a lot to say on columbus day and the fourth of july of course, but this bullet point is already far too long.

sokka: his favorite holiday is pi day. he does not care for any other us holiday (but he has been known to enjoy a halloween here and there), but he specifically hates april fools because aang insists on pranking him every time, for some godforsaken reason. (he’s just so prankable!)

toph: her least favorite holiday is valentine’s day because it promotes m*rriage, one of her most hated institutions (it’s a long list). her favorite day is taco tuesday

zuko: he insists on celebrating shakespeare’s birth/deathday as if it is a real holiday that anyone actually cares about. and he gets offended when no one else cares. his least favorite holiday is the fourth of july, but not for any political reasons, it just has really bad vibes.

suki: she loves halloween because it has everything you could ever ask for in a single day: dressing in elaborate costume, eating so much candy, and getting really drunk. she’s also one of those people who gets really obnoxious on 4/20, at which point mai is like “you know it’s hitler’s birthday, right?” and immediately kills the vibe. just because she can :)

mai: she has a love/hate relationship with halloween, because theoretically it’s a celebration of the gothic, the liminal, the macabre, the ghostly. but in practice it’s just an excuse for everyone around her to get wasted. she hates christmas more though. santa freaks her out and cloying, forced cheer and merriment is unnerving and infuriating, actually.

ty lee: she dreads valentine’s day every year because she simply has too many suitors and it is very stressful. she likes april fool’s day because it gives her the opportunity to exercise her more devious inclinations. she can prank people so well they don’t even know they’re being pranked; on april first the world is her playground.

azula: she has no real opinion on any specific holidays. they’re petty distractions for mindless drones who require a modicum of frivolity here and there to spice up their otherwise dull, worthless lives. however, she quite likes tax day.

#bonus: yue’s favorite holiday is mid autumn festival <3 #lawful-chaos #asks #the gaang and #modern au #sorry for the katara rant in the middle of this post. it was thanksgiving yesterday. im hearing xmas music in stores. i couldn’t help myself #i should make a holiday tag #since a lot of these points are references to other similar posts ive made #okay:#holidays #if u go thru this tag you can find prev posts #instead of having to add bulky links to the post itself lmfao

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puppetmaster13u · 6 months

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@f4nd0m-fun here (I hope they allow us to ask with secondary blogs soon)

Just how wild do you like your Batfam cryptids? I've got ideas for days.

One is a wing fic where all the bats essentially end up half demon. Thomas and Martha make a deal with Alfred to help fix the city and clean up the curses and everything, and. Alfred asks for 'the souls of your descendants' at the point, not caring much for humanity but hoping to get ahead of those pesky demons in his soul collection (so and so said he has Constantine's soul but that's only a piece! What about a bunch of souls that have been tainted by the spirit of a city that has never had reason to hope? Now those are some rare and dark souls).

The Waynes were hoping he'd take their souls instead but he refuses (maybe they're too full of hope or something) but, over time, he grows attached and ends up giving Bruce a shard of his power, allowing him to transform into a demonic winged form based on an animal for his protection after his parents die. When he's young the form is a snowy owl, but once he come back and became Batman his wings have changed. Each of the babies is the same way. As Robin, they gain their baby wings, but, once they move to a new name, their wings evolve.

'The Demon's Head' isn't just a fancy title, the Al'ghul's are demon descended, so Damien is at least a quarter demon even at the beginning, but Alfred's power can't be passed genetically like they thought, so he was born grounded. In this, he shows up sooner, Talkia asking Jason to take Damien with him to his father since she knows her father will kill him for being wingless.

Tim, poor baby. He couldn't fly as Robin because his wings were a shattered mimicry of Jason's Robin wings. He felt like he was in the shadow of the previous Robin, making the 'replacement' nickname sting even more, but, eventually, he grows into the wings of a cardinal and learns to fly.

I'm not sure if Alfred marks Barbara as his person, but if not, maybe he regrets not doing so, thinking that she might not have ended up paralyzed if he'd given her power. But also she's not really considered a 'Wayne descendant' life the kids Bruce adopted, so he'd have to directly make the deal with her. Maybe he does this with Stephanie when she comes along, still thinking about how Barbara might've been better off with a deal. Also, he keeps trying to hold off on gathering their souls because he's grown attached. I figure he'd probably end up wanting to turn them into proper demons too tho when they eventually die but, for now, until the city has been restored (if it ever will be), the Batfam is essentially immortal, and Alfred might be pulling some strings so no one realizes the Waynes are as well. As a side note, I debated Alfred x Lady Gotham for this story.

Then I had a dpxdc version of this where the wings were still demonic in origin but basically Scarecrow and Bruce are many many family lines removed cousins from an ancestor who was siblings with Jack Nightingale. On top of that, Danny had wings but they got charred when he was electrocuted. This one also has Clock x Pariah and they have wings due to something to do with ghosts, Danny gets a cloak made out of their feathers while his ghost side slowly grows its own wings (but he'll never have wings as a living again).

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Sorry for the long send, I got a bit carried away, but if you want I can dig up my AU again and share what I have for the wings at least, not sure what else I've got written down.

#colony of bats AU

Honestly I love both of these ideas, but what if they were say, combined.

Alfred gifts Bruce a shard of his power- everyone knows the Waynes have wings, even if in most cases too small to fly. But the wings are feathered, usually bright and flashy for the men who inherit the trait.

Which means they're very identifiable. But like you said, Alfred gets (ugh) attached to this little mortal. He's practically raised him and honestly thinks it's adorable watching him manipulate the other richfolk at galas into thinking he's such a "polite young man." Bruce is practically his baby!

So he gifts him a bit of his blood (which we know via Constantine can extend ones lifespan including giving them a bit of healing) and an itty bitty piece of his own power. Just enough for Bruce to be able to willingly call upon it. Just enough for him to disappear into shadows. Just enough for his eyes to gain a hint of an unholy glow. Just enough for a hint of claws. Just enough for feathered wings to shift into jagged mimicries of his own.

You know what could be an interesting thing? The wings are Realms in origin. We know the FentonNightingales separated into the Fentons and Nightingales some time after Jack, so whose to say that the Nightingales didn't get into magic. Perhaps they were given a gift to thank them after a bit of protection or assistance. And the infinite realms are well, infinite. It attaches to all worlds, including say the more demonic ones. But whose to say none of the Fentons made a deal or three in the generations following. They were witch hunters after all, perhaps they need something to keep up with the "traitors" of their bloodline.

Perhaps a deal which resulted in those matching wings.

Now, how could they find out their relation with the Fentons? While there could be the adoption route, what if instead it was right after Danny's accident.

He died screaming, visibly got electrocuted, his wings are torched, there's no way they're not taking him to the hospital. Which means things like blood tests, maybe even a donated organ or two because someone doesn't get blasted with that much electricity without consequences.

Which, it's the batfamily, they definitely have alarms set up for any sort of family pings for both themselves and their rogues. Just in case.

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Also had no idea where to put it but if this includes demons and ghosts feeding on fear, or emotions in general, then Scarecrow could be instinctively attempting to feed and grow his wings. Also he deserves raven or rook wings. Maybe a jay's if you wanna go for color.

Oh my gosh, even if Alfred and Gotham don't get together, they definitely have tea together and spar. They're definitely co-parenting either platonically or romantically, it doesn't matter this is their specialist lil boy. Who then brings even more of the specialist lil ones ever!

God I love the implications of Clockwork and Pariah creating a cloak of wings for a ghostling for them to use as their feathers slowly grow back. Love what that implies for the culture of the ghost zone. Love the idea of it maybe having an influence on Danny's wings in ghost form since a ghost's appearance is influenced by their image about themself.

#ask answered #batman au #batman #dc #dcu #dcxdp #dpxdc #cryptid batman #cryptid batfam #normally I don't really like demon aus #but this is honestly really interesting in implications #I am honestly here for this and am very interested #Would the batfam also get wings (that is feathered ones)#What is Constantine's reaction to Batman #Does it ping similar to a half-demon or something else #Does he just think it's a Gotham thing since like 3+ portals to hell have been opened there #I honestly don't think Alfred would let Jason die #Like demon blood is actually kinda OP in the DC world #We've seen Constantine stabbed through the center (like practically split in half hotdog style) and heal pretty freakin easy #Okay but wings #like wing ideas #Jack has condor wings (very big & also death implications)#Danny deserves lil dove wings as bby before they're scorched #They deserve to be similar to galaxy when grown back #White flecks from Clockwork & the darker bits from Pariah with hints of his own colors swirling together #Jazz has either a finch's wings or cockatoos #OH #Bruce has nicobar pigeon wings #Closest living relative of the dodo #And it is Gorgeous

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