FEAR IS A FOUR LETTER WORD

[ TANKMUSE ; ]

like ❤️ or reblog 🔁 to interact with steve from tankmen [ + occasional appearances from two npcs ]. features both canon and friday night funkin'/pico's school verses. very oc, crossover and duplicate friendly ! ! ! 18+ only blog

[ TANKMUSE ; ]

like ❤️ or reblog 🔁 to interact with steve from tankmen [ + occasional appearances from two npcs ]. features both canon and friday night funkin'/pico's school verses. very oc, crossover and duplicate friendly ! ! ! 18+ only blog

" A couple hundred— ? " He went silent, eyebrows slowly rising in realization, his torso and arms resting against the counter— " ...Have you considered retail, ma'am? " —as he replied with a straight face. Alas, just as quickly as she did, he cracked. He'd almost fallen for it. Almost. " Tho' I've heard they have a 'secrets fee'. Might not be worth it. " It wasn't like he could've taken on such an order on such a short notice. Store policy and all of that. He came up with those. One of the many advantages of running the place.

Good thing it was all water under the bridge. " I should be off your case from now on. " Otherwise— " I— I doubt they'll allow any civilians in after... that. " —he wouldn't have felt comfortable exchanging light-hearted quips like this.

With that, he took a step away from the counter to open the back of the glass display, taking a moment to consider any potential mailing options. " Well, I can't let you go with cupcakes anyways; they're too... frail. " He could picture it already: even with all the bubble wrap in the world, she'd be sending crumbs out. Cue a hum. " Something compact— something like... ah! " With an index finger, he points at the several rows of cookies on the right side of the case. " Good thing I baked a fresh batch this morning. Rosette mails these to her folks aaaall the time. " Sugar cookies, shortbread, butter cookies— " Never heard a peep from them! If that's— i-if that means anything. " —they're always well-prepared at the parlor. Lots of options.

Sadly, he didn't have any packaging supplies available. So, as he disappeared behind the counter once again— " This should... suffice... " —he popped back up with one of the boxes Tamora should now be so-familiarized with, and placed it by the cash registry. " Wanna pick and choose or have a bit of everything? "

her eyes scanned across the rows of cookies, taking in each type as he spoke. the guys would be fine with whatever she sent, but vanellope had a certain preference when it came to her sweets. all the confections before her were no doubt from recipes tuned to perfection and made with pride, love and whatever other positive feelings tamora had never felt during her own infuriating attempts at baking, but none were quite what she was searching for. for a moment, she wondered if she’d have to settle for ‘close enough’ and hope the kid would like it.

then, she saw it—icing slathered, brightly colored, and the essence of a sugar high given the form of a dessert. multicolor little sprinkles dotted the top, reminding her strongly of the dozen candy shaped clips always decorating vanellope’s hair. she could practically feel the overbearing sweetness stick to her teeth just looking at it and the kid would probably be all but bouncing off the walls after she had one. it was exactly what she was looking for. “i think i’ll take a dozen cookies—four of these and the rest assorted.” tamora was glad she wouldn’t be the one having to deal with said hyperactive girl once the package arrived. felix and ralph would be able to handle her just fine—they already dealt with the kid's natural rambunctiousness on a daily basis; a little extra energy just added some extra ‘fun’ to the day.

but with her secondary objective squared away, the other reason for her visit came back to the forefront—the whole point of going out of her way to visit pizelle’s instead of any other bakery nearby. just what was she going to get for herself? a question that was admittedly proving to be a bit harder to answer then she first thought it would be.

Despite   his   sharp   aim   &&   firearm   finesse   ,   distractions   were   still   inevitable   for   the   scatter-brained   chess   piece   .   He   felt   himself   having   to   be   forcibly   elbowed   out   of   the   tile   he   had   bolted   himself   to   .   The   sergeant   had   his   best   interest   in   mind   .   not   dying   .   He   thinks   little   of   it   ,   there's   only   a   slight   wobble   like   he   was   some   practise   dummy   before   he   shakes   himself   out   of   his   eyes   trained   on   the   grotesque   beast   lurched   forward   in   its   hump   of   recycled   parts   .   Oh   ,   right   .   It   was   getting   closer   .

Tamora's   assessment   was   well   cultivated   .   Their   target   appeared   to   drag   itself   haphazardly   on   mere   horizontal   movement   let   alone   VERTICAL   .   The   sorry   thing   was   always   on   the   cusp   of   ripping   apart   its   own   thinly   veiled   plasticine-skin   ,   it's   appendages   exposed    &&   barely   equipped   for   the   task   of   dragging   itself   around   as   it   has   been   doing   .

His   blues   now   focused   on   her   ,   Kinger   moves   back   ,   tailing   behind   in   search   of   a   way   up   to   higher   ground   .

Goodies   ?   She   needn't   ask   ,   he   was   partially-lucid   ,   at   least   enough   to   have   SOME   semblance   of   survival   operating   his   metaphysical   mind   if   only   in   regards   to   the   muscle   memory   of   militia   &&    less   actual   life-preservation   .   Dying   wasn't   something   he   had   to   consider   a   possibility   for   a   long   time   now   .   As   he   went   now   his   eyes   flitters   around   in   search   of   anywhere   an   explosive   may   have   manifested   ,   anything   that   appeared   to   be   a   spawn   spot   . 

⸺    ♔.    ❝    Over   there , Serg , ma'am   !   ❞      He   cast   his   hand   to   grab   for   a   lone   grenade   .   They   only   had   one   shot   at   this   .    Not   that   he   currently   had   the   clarity   to   comprehend   that   .  ཐིཋྀ   ₊

though her feet kept moving, her gaze snapped towards him as he called out. jer eyes zeroed in on the object he was reaching for, the green metal casing catching the dingy, fluorescent light. the same conclusion came to her and, unlike kinger, she had the lucidity to properly process it; one grenade. one shot. one chance for him to strike true or whiff it and make their life a hell of a lot harder. with the sentient chess piece already lunging to take the grenade, she had a split second window to consider her own course of action. the answer that came was cut and dry—though with its own small hint of reluctance that was quickly shoved aside with a practiced efficiency. he was the one throwing it—that much was already a foregone conclusion—and she was going to do her damndest to give him the best shot. in other words; be bait.

her shoes squeaked against the floor, in one fluid motion stopping in her tracks and turning to face the creature. the barrel of her rifle trained on it but did not fire—yet. it lumbered closer and closer, picking up speed towards the stationary target, talons pulling back to tear her to ribbons as it lurched forward and— bang! the bullet tore through its hand. the swipe that would’ve turned her into a smear of viscera on the surrounding architecture was sent off course, letting her dart out of its path with ease. “come on you overgrown piece of expired lunch meat, there’s more where that came from!” she sneered, already planning her next shot. it was a delicate balance she’d have to strike; keep close to keep it interested, but give herself enough room to skirt around its claws.

whether or not it could even understand the barb thrown it’s way didn’t change the fact it was now quite focused on her. it turned to continue its pursuit, revealing its back to kinger as it did.

send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse ---

Alternatively, send ‘ + ‘ after the symbol for the roles to be reversed where possible! Please specify the muse for multimuses!

✘ = hugging them.

Δ = playing with their hair.

❤ = kissing them.

₪ = asking them out for dinner.

☀ = giving them a gift of _ ( asker’s choice ) .

♘ = stabbing them.

♕ = bowing down before them.

♒ = lying to them.

✿ = buying them flowers.

☾ = being found shirtless.

♢ = reading them a story.

☂ = giving them their jumper to keep warm.

✎ = speaking in a different language.

✏ = teaching them a different language.

▄ = telling them a joke.

♬ = singing to them.

☹ = insulting a loved one.

ஐ = slapping them.

✂ = threatening them.

❃ = dancing with them.

▤ = falling asleep on them.

☮ = waking them up after a nightmare.

♣ = discovering them crying.

回 = patching a wound.

✮ = stargazing.

▓ = caught stealing their belongings.

☽ = wandering alone at night.

♡ = complimenting them.

≡ = offering a place to stay overnight.

☢ = falling over.

✦ = being well-dressed.

❂ = wiping blood off their face.

◎ = taking care of them while ill.

☁ = being caught in the middle of a storm with them.

⇕ = holding their hand.

↱ = being lost with them.

☠ = pushing them against a wall.

Accuse my Muse of a crime. They can only respond with either 'Guilty' or 'Not Guilty'.

Specify which muse for multimuse blogs.

and i’ve decided to live the life that I WANT TO LIVE .

SCRROWBLUE ; a headcanon based and mildly canon divergent portrayal of Benjamin Aaron Fairest from Friday Night Funkin’s Soft mod. beloved by Pico, 21+, he / him. oc, crossover and duplicate friendly. primarily based on the mod’s established canon, though inspiration is also taken from a variety of sources, including personal worldbuilding and interpretation.

18+ to interact, mature themes present, such as discussions and depictions of child abuse and it’s physical and mental effects, mental struggles such as C-PTSD, anxiety and depression, as well as occasional sexual content.

He knew it could've gone for much, much longer had he allowed it. " Is... that so? " He simply wasn't comfortable borrowing someone else's phone, or being on the phone in general, for that long. And, to him, any amount time on the phone felt like an eternity. Alas, the details were better left unsaid— " We— heh, w-we'd never get anything done if I... did, would we? " —or, rather, worded differently. The dry laughter dragged on for a biiiiiit longer. (I couldn't call her my 'missus'— we're not... married...) For a moment, his head sank behind the boxes he was carrying. (Oh Gosh, it was a comment— stop overthinking it!) He was... flustered, to say the least.

It was a good thing they were moving on; otherwise, smoke might've started coming out of his ears. No, he wasn't listening at the end there. Pizzelle reeeeeally needed to get his head in the game, even if he knew an even longer conversation awaited him back at the apartment. Not like he wasn't looking forward to it. Oh, whoops! He was doing that again— .

Aaaaand he almost tripped. On nothing. (She HEARD that?!) Sure, he was quick to collect himself (he could easily be carrying those boxes with one hand if he wanted to), but not without standing still for a moment. It was as if he had seen a ghost, the color having drained from his face. He was physically present but— (Of course she did!! You EMPHASIZED it— why wouldn't she?!) —just not... mentally.

" ...What? " Okay. That'd been a very, very delayed response. " No— no, th-that'd be ridiculous— ! That'd be... " A forced smile to boot. Not like it lasted, as he was quick to deflate, to concede. " Th-that'd mean he... likes what we make. " It WAS ridiculous and he knew it. The fact that it was an actual problem, something he had to deal with— " It's... complicated. " —and not a plot straight out a cheap action flick for children.

Finally, he started walking again. His pace faster than before. The sooner they could get this over with, the sooner he could leave. All he had to do was bite the bullet in the meantime. " He's just a guy with a looooot of free time... N-nothing to worry about. " Toooootally not.

fuck. fuck.

the regret was immediate and she winced as soon as she realized she’d gone and stuck her foot in her mouth—no, not even just stuck her foot in her mouth, but figuratively whacked pizzelle in the upswing of kicking herself in the teeth. the longer the dreadfully familiar ‘lights on, but no one’s home’ expression persisted, the more she began to worry. was this a regular ‘flashback’ or a flashback flashback? should she intervene? what the hell would she even do if she intervened? she was hardly any good at comforting herself when she got sucked into her own memories, what use was she going to be in trying to snap a stranger out of one? even then, that was all assuming it even was a flashback—he could very well just be floundering to try and find a way to politely tell her to buzz off after she went to stuck her nose in his business. then, he finally responded and she gave a mental sigh of relief. the heavy weight of worry dissipated from the pit of her stomach but a prickling disquiet was left in its stead. tamora recognized an uncomfortable amount of his reaction in herself.

the reflex was different—where she would’ve snapped and snarled, pizzelle deflected and curled in—but the root was the same. an old wound prodded at; a bad memory exhumed. way to go; barely crested the threshold to ‘friendly strangers’ and she’d already fumbled it. what the hell was she even meant to say? she should probably say something before things got worse—“sounds like a pain. sorry for bringing it up,” she muttered curtly. her eyes suddenly seemed to be looking at anything but him despite the emptiness of the mundane halls. her pace quickened in turn with his. her longer legs put a distance between them that, while nowhere near leaving him in the dust, was noticeable. she didn’t make any attempt to try to fill the quiet this time.

[ the peddler's crooked, customer service smile comes off more like a grimace, his answer laced with sarcasm ( a distaste for the military makes it hard to conceal. ) the sergeant IS intimidating, he'd fear what happens if he doesn't follow her orders -- but fears what happens if he leaves without his target even more. he's stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea; up shit creek without a paddle, et cetera ...

he very well may have a misunderstanding of what they do at this particular base. the truck was the best cover he could think of, how else was he supposed to do recon? ]

“ Very clear! Must've made a wrong turn. My eyes aren't what they used to be. I'm OLD, y'know, the -- the cataracts, and my hearing, I could've sworn this place was an Ikea! I will promptly reverse my chicken out of the wolf - house. But, BUT, quick, DESPERATE pot - shot for the sharks: what other business comes out to SERVE at the FRONT LINES of ... what is it you do over here? ”

half of what he was saying sounded like utter nonsense but she picked up what he was meaning. he certainly looked like he had one foot in the grave if the deathly paleness of his skin and jaundiced yellow eyes were any indicator—assuming it wasn’t all makeup and a pair of contacts—but it wasn’t from age. if he was older than her, it wasn’t by all that much.

her eye visibly twitched, glare sharpening from caustic to positively pissed. if looks could kill, hers would make his first death look like a joke. was that what this was? did he really risk getting shot to try and make the world’s dumbest sales pitch? she had heard tales of all kinds of different types of nutcases trying to sneak on base but this was a brand new breed of stupid. just her luck that she got stuck dealing with it. the bar was so low it was probably sitting in hell and yet it felt like he was still managing to beat her over the skull with it. “first off, no business comes to serve here because we don’t need them to. do you think the mess hall is just sitting there for decoration? if someone really wants to get their panties in a twist about us not having something, they can put on their big boy pants and drive into town to get it themselves." tamora crossed her arms, giving him a thin smile as brittle as it was bereft of any mirth. “secondly, what we’re doing is none of your business. but, if you want to make it your business, you’re more than welcome to enlist; the boys at the recruiting offices have plenty of avenues to help you do that. unfortunately, none of them are located here.”

she leaned in nice and close—after all, if he really was as deaf as he claimed, it was only polite that she made sure he could understand her clearly. “unless you want to spend the rest of your day sitting in a cell, you’re going to put your little arts and crafts project in reverse and leave. now.” if it weren’t for said truck he was sitting in, she might’ve already grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him off the property herself. the prospect of giving it a go regardless was becoming quite tempting.