Pineapples

18 years old, avid lover of pineapples, Obey Me, and TCF

[clopeh-sekka]

Oh yeah, salty man loves me

[clopeh-sekka]

In a mere two hours and 15 minutes I will be inside my school collecting my A level results and I'm so not ready. I fully know I fucked up English language, I'm decently comfortable that I got at least a B in Literature and I'm praying for a good grade in history. I am literally praying that my courseworks were good enough that any mistakes I made on my exams were negligible (A* in Lit and History for courseworks and B for Lang coursework). Holy fuck I am so not ready.

[clopeh-sekka]

Well, that's two years of my life wasted

[clopeh-sekka]

In a mere two hours and 15 minutes I will be inside my school collecting my A level results and I'm so not ready. I fully know I fucked up English language, I'm decently comfortable that I got at least a B in Literature and I'm praying for a good grade in history. I am literally praying that my courseworks were good enough that any mistakes I made on my exams were negligible (A* in Lit and History for courseworks and B for Lang coursework). Holy fuck I am so not ready.

[clopeh-sekka]

I've just watched the four available episodes of The Summer Hikaru Died and I'm so unwell about it, I live it so much I'm actually malfunctioning. To the friend who made me watch it, thank you so much but also you suck because now I want more.

[alanaisalive]

The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.

Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.

So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.

Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.

[iguanamouth]

oh shit

[throughshadow-to-the-edgeofnight]

[alanaisalive]

As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.

[docd666]

Y'all know what to do Tumblr.

[ominous-signs]

Time to be annoying with my gimmick blog again. Go forth.

[clopeh-sekka]

Am I writing a BurningCacao fic that results in eventual marriage and also smut whilst playing Cookie Run Kingdom at 02:58 AM? Yes, yes I am. Will this fic ever be seen by anyone besides the friend who got me into BurningCacao? No, no it will not.

[clopeh-sekka]

"Seeing Cale suffer is my guilty pleasure."

No. No it isn't. Why would you feel guilty for witnessing our lord and saviour Cale-nim go though immense suffering to defend the rest of the world(s)? If you didn't see it then nobody would know of his magnificent deeds. Nobody would be able to compose ballads in his honour, craft sculptures or write accounts of his various heroic feats. Nobody would join our glorious religion, Caleism.

Watching Cale-nim suffer isn't a guilty pleasure, it's just a pleasure.

[mellointheory]

Who makes the porn bots. Where do they come from. What do they hope to achieve.

[the-haiku-bot]

Who makes the porn bots.

Where do they come from. What do

they hope to achieve.

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[mellointheory]

and what about you, little haiku bot? do you feel kinship with your brethren? do you understand them? they speak words of enticement and seek love, but are met with disdain. you only parrot the words that cross your screen, but we all love you. or rather, since all you do is reflect us, maybe we simply love ourselves through you.

do you understand them, do you wish you could speak to us like they do? if you found your own voice, would we still care for you?

[the-haiku-bot]

My voice repeats what

you all say: I love you I

love you I love you.

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

[solkorolevaa]

[thenewborndeity]

This. This is the first time. The only time. That it was not an echo. It was not found. Oh god.

[the-tumblur-searchbar]

I think I’ve reblogged this one before, but I can’t not reblog this again!

I love you too haiku bot!!

[clopeh-sekka]

Preview of the Steven-Dave saga chapter something that isn't chapter one:

Steven-dave was fucking pissed. Eurylochus had opened the bag again. He ran across the deck, assisting his comrades and checking on those who seemed to need further help. He was sure he and Polites had convinced Eurylochus to leave the bag alone, but realistically, no one else would dare to enter the captain’s cabin, rummage through his things, and actually open the bag—except Eurylochus and Polites. The waves were still rough, and the wind howled in his ears, though he could vaguely hear Odysseus calling for Eurylochus to help him close the bag. Not that it mattered now. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Polites following his lead, helping those in need. Steven-dave's eyes darted around, frantically searching for his friends. He knew Polites was safe; he had just seen him. Odysseus and Eurylochus had closed the bag and looked a bit windswept, but nothing a few minutes with a hairbrush couldn’t fix.

He scanned the rest of the men on the ship, checking their wellbeing but discarding them when he realized they weren’t his closest friends. The longer he went without seeing his friend, the tenser he became. People were starting to notice, especially when Eurylochus managed to come up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder without him noticing. It took a firm but reassuring squeeze for Steven-dave to become aware of Eurylochus' presence. For a man of his size, that definitely said something. The action did what it was meant to do, and Steven-dave became aware of his surroundings, not just the people in them. He silently thanked Eurylochus before resuming his search for Bobicus, though not as single-mindedly as before. After a moment, he spotted Bobicus helping a crewmate untangle themselves from some rope. Bobicus looked no worse than the others, though he desperately needed a brush through his hair, but he seemed uninjured.

Relieved to find Bobicus alive and well, Steven-dave rushed over to him. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him he’d forgotten something important, but he didn’t care. He was more concerned about keeping all of his brothers (yes, even Odysseus, though he’d never say that out loud) safe and within his sight. By this point, the rest of the crew had gathered their bearings and begun taking stock of the ship and their remaining supplies. As they worked to right the ship, the sea began to churn almost noticeably. The waves grew taller, the wind picked up speed, the clouds darkened, and the air became tense for no discernible reason. The memory of a similar moment hit Steven-dave like a freight train: Poseidon. He had forgotten about the god of the sea. As if summoned, Poseidon appeared in all his horse-like glory.

Beneath the rippling surface of the water, said man began to ascend, his body slowly emerging from the depths. His head was the first thing to break through the surface, his long black locks flowing behind him like ink dispersing in water. Strands clung to his forehead and neck, contrasting his bronzed skin. Water streamed down his cheeks and jawline, cascading off in delicate rivulets that shimmered under the evening sun.

His shoulders followed, swathed in silky ebony hair. Droplets of water clung to the contours of his collarbones, sliding down the curves of his chest, following the path of his hair. His arms followed, his muscles tensed and his veins bulging. The water ebbing and flowing over the sculpted ridges and valleys of his well defined muscles. As the water reached his wrists, it spread out, trailing over his large, powerful hands. The glistening liquid slipped into the grooves of his palms, following the natural lines and creases, delicately tracing each callus and scar.

Next to come into view was his abdomen, the sculpted muscles of his abs drawing more than one wandering eye. Not that steven-dave could say much, the god was incredibly attractive when he wasn’t trying to kill him and his friends. Each droplet of water that slowly trailed down his body emphasized how well defined and toned his muscles were.

This is quite obviously my first draft and very unfinished. I'm using @anniflamma 's poseidon design since that's the one I personally think is the coolest. The two Characters I've added into this are the titular character Steven-dave and his bestie Bobicus.

[clopeh-sekka]

Just watched my first Studio Ghibli movie at almost 18 (it was Howl's Moving Castle) and I'm so very not okay. I don’t normally watch movies because of my shit attention span but this had me hooked from the get-go. Loved the animation, the voice acting, the plot, the characters, all of it. This will likely be the only thing I think about for the next few days.

[clopeh-sekka]

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.

[clopeh-sekka]

Continuation

___________________________________

It was rare to get the whole Bat-family together for dinner, but Alfred had insisted. The dining room at Wayne Manor was filled with a chaotic mix of voices, clattering silverware, and the occasional verbal jab. For once, Bruce allowed himself a moment to enjoy it—until Jason leaned back in his chair, grinning like the Joker had just handed him a free pass to Arkham.

“So, Dick,” Jason drawled, raising his voice to cut through the chatter. “You gonna tell everyone about your new best friend?”

Dick, who had been mid-sip of water, choked. “What are you talking about?”

Jason smirked. “Oh, you know. The assassin who broke into your place and decided to play Mom instead of killing you.”

The table fell silent. All eyes turned to Dick, whose face flushed under the scrutiny.

“Wait, what?” Tim blurted, fork frozen halfway to his mouth.

“Oh my god, you weren’t going to tell them, were you?” Jason cackled.

Bruce set his knife down with deliberate precision, fixing Dick with a sharp, unreadable look. “Explain. Now.”

Dick sighed, already regretting this entire evening. “It’s not a big deal—”

“Not a big deal?!” Tim interrupted. “An assassin broke into your home!”

“And didn’t kill me,” Dick pointed out, raising his hands defensively.

“That’s not the win you think it is,” Barbara said, though there was a twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.

Stephanie was leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with barely suppressed laughter. “Hold up. Back up. They didn’t kill you, and instead, they… what? Offered to split the rent?”

“They made me breakfast,” Dick admitted reluctantly.

That was it. Stephanie doubled over laughing, pounding the table with her fist. “Oh my god, you charmed an assassin into meal prepping for you!”

Cass, seated beside Barbara, tilted her head and smiled. “They liked you.”

“I wouldn’t say they liked me—”

“They liked you,” Cass repeated, firm but amused.

Damian scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring at Dick. “That’s pathetic, Grayson. Allowing an enemy into your home and—what—offering to feed them?” His lip curled, but there was a faint crease of worry in his brow that didn’t escape Dick’s notice.

“I was tired,” Dick said, exasperated. “And I thought it was one of you!”

“That makes it worse,” Bruce said sharply, his tone cold enough to silence everyone. “You assumed the intruder was family and let your guard down. That could’ve gotten you killed.”

“It didn’t,” Dick said, meeting Bruce’s gaze evenly. “They left a note, and they stocked my fridge. That’s it. I’m fine.”

Bruce’s expression darkened. “I’ll install surveillance in your building tomorrow.”

“Bruce, no—”

“Actually,” Tim interjected, “we should bug the entire block. If they come back, we need to be ready.”

“They bought me groceries, Tim!”

“They were in your apartment,” Tim countered.

“You didn’t even know they were there, did you?” Bruce asked, his voice clipped.

“I was half-asleep!”

Jason was practically crying with laughter at this point. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all year. You, the golden boy, the people’s champion, managed to turn a hired killer into your personal shopper.”

“Technically,” Stephanie added, smirking, “they’re more like a life coach. They stocked your fridge because they felt bad for you.”

“That’s even worse!” Damian snapped, glaring at Dick. “Your incompetence is so obvious that an assassin pitied you.”

“Okay, Damian, I don’t think you’re in a position to lecture me about assassins,” Dick shot back, smirking.

Damian bristled but didn’t respond, his cheeks slightly red.

Barbara leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. “Only you, Dick. Only you could make an assassin reconsider their target because of how pathetically you live.”

Cass giggled softly, nodding. “They care.”

“Exactly!” Dick pointed at Cass. “See? Someone gets it.”

“That’s not a compliment,” Barbara said flatly.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about irresponsibility and lapses in judgment.

“Honestly, you’re all overreacting,” Dick said, crossing his arms.

“Overreacting?” Tim repeated. “You didn’t even trace the receipt for the groceries they bought, did you?”

“Nope,” Jason said, answering for him. “Too busy enjoying the eggs, weren’t you, Dickie?”

“For the record,” Dick said loudly, ignoring Jason, “those eggs were excellent.”

Stephanie wheezed. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Dick Grayson: Assassins fear him, but also…kind of want to take care of him?”

Bruce sighed heavily. “We’re setting up surveillance.”

“You’re not—”

“We’re setting up surveillance,” Bruce repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Dick groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was going to haunt him forever.

__________________________________________

Jason had planned to crash at Dick’s place for the night—not that he’d told Dick. He’d gotten in late, his safehouse compromised by some bad intel, and while he could’ve gone anywhere, he’d ended up here. Grayson’s door was always open, whether Jason deserved it or not.

He told himself it was just convenience, but when he walked into the quiet, dark apartment, something felt…off.

The place wasn’t trashed, but Jason’s sharp eyes picked up on the subtle signs of a break-in: the faint scuff marks near the door, the window latch reset just slightly differently than Dick usually left it. His gut twisted. Someone had been here.

“You'd better not be dead Dick,” he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the handgun he’d pulled from his jacket. He scanned the apartment quickly, checking corners and closets. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

Finally, Jason found himself standing in the kitchen. The fridge was humming softly, and the countertops were clear—except for a piece of paper folded neatly and tucked into the gap between the toaster and the coffee maker.

Frowning, Jason holstered his gun and picked it up. The sharp, precise handwriting immediately made his stomach drop. Assassins always had a certain way about them. His gaze skimmed the words, and his initial worry was quickly replaced by incredulity.

> "I was here to deliver a message, but your hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

Jason blinked. Then blinked again.

“What the hell?” he muttered, flipping the note over as if the back might offer some clarification.

He set the note down, opened the fridge, and stared. It was fully stocked—eggs, milk, fresh vegetables, yogurt. The yogurt was even the expensive kind. Jason let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Golden boy, you absolute idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head. The guy could charm just about anyone, but this? An assassin breaking in and deciding to do his grocery shopping instead of his dirty work? That was peak Dick Grayson.

But beneath the humor, Jason couldn’t quite shake his unease. An assassin breaking in to deliver a message was one thing. Leaving a note, making breakfast, and restocking the fridge was another. Who the hell was this person, and why hadn’t Dick called anyone about it?

When Dick finally walked in, fresh from patrol and looking like he’d spent the night dragging himself through a cement mixer, Jason was waiting for him. He sat on the counter, arms crossed, the note note in one hald and a bag of monster munch in the other.

“Hey, Dickie,” Jason called casually, but there was a sharp edge to his voice. “Anything you wanna share with the class?”

Dick froze mid-step. His eyes darted to the note in Jason’s hand, and he groaned. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Jason’s lips twitched, his smirk masking his concern. “Oh, don’t worry, I saw it. Read it. Even checked out the fridge. Wanna explain why a professional killer decided to play Gordon Ramsay in your kitchen instead of, you know, killing you?”

Dick sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not what it looks like—”

“Not what it looks like?!” Jason barked, standing up and waving the note. “An assassin broke in here, Grayson. They were probably two seconds away from cutting your throat, and somehow, you convinced them to restock your pantry instead. What the hell, man?”

“They weren’t going to kill me,” Dick said defensively, though the way he avoided Jason’s gaze didn’t help his case.

“You don’t know that!” Jason shot back. “What if this is some weird psychological game? What if they poisoned your milk or something?”

“They didn’t poison my milk, Jay.”

Jason stared at him, jaw clenched, before running a hand through his hair and laughing—a sharp, disbelieving sound. “God, you’re lucky you’re so damn charming, or you’d be dead twenty times over by now.”

Dick tried to hide his sheepish smile. “That’s why you love me.”

Jason glared at him for a moment longer before the smirk broke through. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you alive. Speaking of, when were you planning on telling everyone else about this little incident?”

“Uh… I wasn't?"

Jason paused and then grinned, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “So you're saying Bruce doesn'tknow about this?”

“No.”

“Well, he’s gonna,” Jason said gleefully. “Because there’s no way I’m keeping this to myself.”

“Jason!”

“Relax,” Jason said, smirking. “Think of it as a bonding experience. Bruce will yell at you, Tim will freak out, Damian will call you pathetic, and I’ll be here to laugh through all of it.”

Dick groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You’re the worst.”

[clopeh-sekka]

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.

[violentbat]

Dick's so used to getting back to his place, exhausted out of his mind after working his three jobs and patrolling Blüd, that he doesn't even bother trying to figure out who it is this time, brooding in the dark of his flat. Just informs them after the silence continues that he's on their side no matter what ("or I will be in the morning when I wake up") and that he'll make breakfast, and they can talk when they want to before he passes out.

Then Dick wakes up to empty flat with a note on the kitchen island that an assassin who broke into the place to send a message was ridiculously heart warmed by the gesture and made him breakfast and "hopes he survives the next one too because he seems like a stand up guy. "

Dick:

[clopeh-sekka]

Dick Grayson barely registered the creak of his apartment door as he stumbled in, shoulders sagging under the weight of another grueling night. Three jobs and a patrol shift in Blüdhaven would do that to a guy. He kicked off his boots, dragged himself toward the couch, and froze mid-step.

Someone was already here.

For a split second, instinct had him reaching for the escrima sticks he kept stashed near the door. But then he caught the faintest whiff of something familiar—coffee beans? The expensive kind. And the faint rustle of someone shifting in the dark. He relaxed. Probably one of his siblings. Jason liked breaking in unannounced when he was in a mood, Tim treated locks like they were a mere suggestion, and Damien was just Damien.

"Tim, if you're raiding my coffee stash again, at least leave some for me this time," Dick grumbled, flopping onto the couch without bothering to look.

Silence.

"Jason? Did you lose your keys, or are you here to eat all my leftovers again?" He paused. "Duke, if that's you, I—okay, actually, no idea why you'd be brooding in the dark, but it's been a long day, so I'm just gonna roll with it."

The silence stretched on, but Dick was too exhausted to care. Whoever it was, they could wait until morning. "Look, I’m on your side. Or, I will be in the morning when I’ve had some sleep." He yawned, dragging himself up off the couch and toward his bedroom. "I’ll make breakfast. We’ll talk then. Pancakes or eggs, your call. Just...try not to trash the place while I’m out, yeah?"

The figure didn’t move, and Dick didn’t wait for an answer. He fell into bed and passed out almost immediately.

---

When Dick woke up, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the blinds. The second thing he noticed was the smell of coffee.

He frowned. Coffee? He hadn’t made any.

Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, on the counter, was a steaming mug of coffee and a note. Beside the note sat a printed receipt and a bag of fresh groceries.

Dick blinked, reaching for the note first. The handwriting was sharp and precise:

> "Not one of your siblings. Sorry for the confusion. Came to deliver a message, but your ‘brotherly’ assumption and hospitality caught me off guard. Your fridge was so pathetic it offended me, so I ordered you groceries. They should last a week. Try to survive the next visit. You seem like a stand-up guy. —K"

He stared at the note, then at the receipt. The assassin—or whoever they were—had bought him eggs, milk, bread, fresh vegetables, and even a few snacks.

Setting the note aside, Dick opened his fridge. Sure enough, it was freshly stocked. His two protein bars and box of expired cereal were still there, now dwarfed by the bounty of fresh food.

He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Only me,” he muttered, sipping the coffee. It was good. Better than what he usually bought.

Dick leaned against the counter, rereading the note. Whoever this “K” was, they clearly didn’t know how to keep things impersonal. And while the whole “message from an assassin” thing was technically alarming, he couldn’t help but feel amused.

“I guess I should be worried,” he mused aloud, glancing at the groceries again. “But hey, at least they care about my nutrition.”

It was the weirdest start to a morning he’d had in a while, but for Dick Grayson, that wasn’t saying much.

@violent138 hope I did it justice :)

[what-would-your-blorbo-do]

What would your Blorbo do if they found themself a victim of illegal organ harvesting? (They woke up with a bandage, that was soaked in their own blood, and an excruciating pain, before realizing that one of their healthy internal organs was surgically removed against their will during the time they were unconscious)

They would freak out and start screaming

They would be terrified and start crying / whimpering

They would be consumed by rage and start throwing things (might hurt themself)

They would call their friends / family / someone they trust for help

They would call their lawyer

They would call 9-1-1

They would try to get away from the place, in case the attackers came back

They would peel off the bandage to try to examine the wound

Something else (feel free to elaborate)

Voting ended onDec 17, 2024

This poll was submitted to us. If you’d like to send us your own scenario (plus different ways a character might react to said scenario) so we could make a poll for you, feel free to send them to our inbox.

[catchymemes]

[infinitydivine]

I am not taking a risk

[darlingsstern]

Not risking it pals

[doralimasstuff]

U know what I want potato of luck

[shrewreadings]

Damn right I’m reblogging. See previous post re wrath of whatever from high atop the thing.

[clopeh-sekka]

I'm just gonna reblog this-

[murasaki-cha]

Tcf part 2 chapter 373

“Human, I must see to it that they are born!”

How fierce that tone was.

'Hmm.'

Of course, Raon's reason for doing so had one clear purpose.

“I'll watch it with my mom!”

The black castle still resides in Apitoyu. And the one person who cannot leave the Black Castle within a certain radius is the former Lord Sherritt.

The dragon half-bloodd. Eden Miru has the heart of one of Sherritt's two children. In some ways, they could be considered enemies but-

'Almost like a child.'

Sherritt's feelings for the dragon half-breed had grown beyond resentment to affection. Raon, Sherritt, and Eden Mir are definitely a family now, no matter what.

[sailorbrazil]

feeling myself

reblog if you’re not afraid to have a picture of jesus on your dash

what if you went to heaven but jesus says, why didnt you reblog me when i was feeling myself

[sailorbrazil]