Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
Tik Tok - Blog Posts
Just thought you guys might like this idea, so I’m posting it.
However, the Tik Tok isn’t mine, so the user is in the tags below.
POV: You see the League of Villains jump out of a window of the bank they just robbed and into a van below, only expect the last one in a waistcoat makes a reckless decision, and drags you along with them.
(P.S.- the artist is @calladraws101)
Warning! Swearing in the upcoming video!
Kirishima cosplay be like-
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
Guess who stayed up until 4 AM on C.ai, Chai, twitter, Tik Tok, and tumbler!
You did. Weirdo.
I think bob fandom need this
i firmly believe house of memories is a garbage audio and needs to be put down. its just bad
TikTok moron tried to hit Denzel for clout, got himself arrested with a broken arm.
So apparently this crispy creme tiktok prankster was attempting to - start recording - punch a stranger in the face - clip out the part with the punch - and then act like a victim of black violence
Their plan failed at step 2 when they chose Denzel as their target, a man who's won every fight he's been in and has a long history of violence stretching back to being a toddler.
The only reason Denzel never gets arrested is because he never starts any of these fights but boy does he end them.
Denzel - sensed the punch coming - stepped away - swung round to face his opponent - grabbed the wrist of his attacker while the punch was still mid-swing - twisted this dude's arm backwards - slammed him face first into the concrete sidewalk - kicked the dumbass in the armpit - and then when the prankster started wailing started yelling at him "We good? We good, son?"
The police turned up and collected the big white baby off the floor and Denzel was later told that he'd shattered the man's elbow.
Denzel's reaction to this information... "Tell me something I don't know."
White violence is a thing. Some people forget that certain people are very used to it.
I made a really bad tik tok and decided to share it with the star trek side of tumblr, sorry for making yall see this
Sometimes people expect that you are alright and they might think that you have it all together. Most of the time though, those assumptions are incorrect. There are things that they will never see and battles that they will never know that you are going through. Sometimes it's scary because you want someone to shout out to you and ask if you are ok. Someone to follow that little prompting from above to help you out, but they never do. They look at you like they don't care and they don't care because they have the assumption that you are alright. Like an assumption that you might be too good for them because they are going through something too... It's hard to ask for help sometimes... It's hard because they all assume and because you feel like you would be too much of a burden on them. Or you think that they are going to judge you because they might think that you are just trying to seek attention. It's hard to get help because it is scary and you feel like you don't need help....
This is what anxiety feels like to many, or at least what I feel like when I have anxiety. I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression and OCD on my mission for my church. Before I was diagnosed with these disorders, I always had a constant wave of insecurity, doubt, trouble believing in myself, and other things included that plagued. When I graduated from high school, I was sure that I would fall into a state of Schizophrenia by age 22 to 23(I haven't). When I was on my mission, I finally had the opportunity to look at things that could help me. I took those options because it came to the very end of the line, where one day I just wanted to end my life. The thoughts became too overbearing and I felt like if I just went away, sitting in the bath at the time, that everybody would be better off without me and my contributions. I never fully went through with it though because I just loved my life too much and the work I was doing at the time to end it all. I told my companion and my mission leader's wife and they helped me to get the help I needed. I am so happy that they were able to help me and that I was able to, through that see the light again. Though that was a very high point in my life, even with the help and the pills, I still get some of these thoughts sometimes. Even just two or three days without the pills because I didn't have my next precription in time, the effects are scary. I cry for no reason, things hurt more than they should, and I just feel a feeling of helplessness and like I can't do it anymore.
The reason why I guess I am writing this is to partly get things out and partly is to probably raise awareness that I am not the only one. When people joke about having anxiety, I understand that it is a joke, but they will never know what it is really like, unless they actually do have anxiety. Statistics from adaa.org have shown that at least a percentage of 18.1% of the population is diagnosed with anxiety, which is 40 million adults over the age of 18 alone.(ADAA.org) Imagine how many more people are diagnosed with anxiety and how many more kids could be diagnosed. Hypothetically speaking, that could be every two kids to one adult, but that may be wrong. According to SAMHSA's webpage, there has been a 27% increase in their phone calls from 2019 to 2020(numbers may have gone up since then. In 2019, SAMHSA had a high of 656,953 calls for the year. This number grew to be 833,598 calls in 2020.(SAMHSA) For more statistics and facts, go to www.adaa.org or www.samhsa.gov. This is only half of it.
ADAA has also pointed out that people diagnosed with Anxiety have also had Depression previous to this.(ADAA) The CDC states that those with an anxiety or depression disorder have has increased from 36.1% to 41.5% between August 2020 to February 2021.(CDC) Those with an OCD disorder are about every 1 in 40 adults, according to singlecare.com.(SINGLE CARE)
There are many people out there, who are suffering and are trying every day to hide it, just like I was. There are many out there who do not know that they have even have these disorders. Now that I have read through this, I want to bring awareness to these people. I want to help give them a voice. I want to because I am one of them. I know what it is like to struggle and what it is like to feel those feelings of discontent, sadness, and despair. These people can't be told to just stop and think more positive. These diseases are real and they are very riveting to every person who is diagnosed with them. Just like Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, an apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints has said" ...Today, I am speaking of something more serious. Of an affliction so severe, that it significantly restricts a person's ability to function fully. A crater in the mind, so deep that no one can responsibly suggest that it would surely go away if those victims would just square their shoulders and think more positively."(LIKE A BROKEN VESSEL) Though he was talking about MDD(Major Depressive Disorder), this could be applied to what has been said before.
I want all who are going through this to know that they are not alone and that there are many, just like them. Do not be ashamed of what you have as a mental disorder, now speaking collectively to all disorders and not individually. You are not weird and you are not some freak who doesn't fit in. Don't worry, I once thought that too. It is ok to feel what you feel and it is ok to address and talk about it. You do not have to suffer alone. If you are struggling, please talk to someone who you feel comfortable talking to and get the help that you need, what ever it may be. My Chat is always open and though it may take me some time, I will answer back. Let's all come together and share our stories of our disorders and help help strengthen one another and to help us not feel alone.
You are amazing. You are worth it. You are loved. You are you. You may have a disorder, but do not let that define you. You are you.
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Sources:
Single Care
https://www.singlecare.com/blog/news/ocd-statistics/
ADAA
https://adaa.org/understanding-anxiety/facts-statistics
CDC
https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/volumes/70/wr/mm7013e2.htm
Like A Broken Vessel by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNAx2Rgq-uI
SAMHSA HELPLINE
https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline
Kokichi Ouma just be
When moony thought his “loyal” friend died but instead he just betrayed everyone]
moony: *crying* and just like that, Peter’s gone. Just like James and lily
voldemort in poa and gof: WRONG! Peter’s right here you fucking brussel sprout
Reposting so I can come back to this
❝Too Far Gone❞
Mark Grayson x Brainrot Girlfriend!Readerᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
˗ˏˋ 𓉘 Part 2 of ”Corruption Complete” 𓉝ˎˊ˗
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🦈 summary: mark’s corruption arc continues. he’s made it to the dark side—but the brainrot never ends. from forced meme bootcamp to cursed movie nights and chaotic friend group crossovers, mark’s peace is officially gone. and now… he might kind of like it?
🦈 contains: sfw. modern brainrot. fandom jokes. reluctant!mark, chaotic!reader. oliver returns with more menace. debbie thrives. william + rick join the chaos. wine obsessed!debbie. amber vs eve. tiktok audios. cursed AI videos. gacha reactions. passive-aggressive memes. „tragic boy 2.0”
🦈 wc: 2187
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Mark stared at the whiteboard in front of him like it was written in an alien dialect. Which, to be fair, was only partially inaccurate.
“Okay,” you said brightly, tapping the marker against your palm. “Let’s review: What does it mean if I say ‘she’s giving One Direction in 2013 with a sprinkle of Tumblr Sexy Man pipeline energy’?”
Mark blinked once. Twice.
Oliver leaned forward like a predator scenting fear. “Say it, Mark. Say the answer.”
Mark sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “It… means she’s popular?”
“Popular how?” you challenged. “Contextualize it.”
“She’s… trending?” he tried.
“Wrong,” Oliver said, shaking his head gravely. “You’ve just been hit with a ✨deduction✨.”
He clicked a buzzer. Where it came from, no one knew. Where it went after that, no one wanted to ask.
You turned back to the board, adding another tally to the “Cringe Counter” in red marker. Mark’s score was now dangerously close to being labeled “culturally illiterate.”
“This is so dumb,” he grumbled. “This isn’t even a real language.”
“It is to us,” you and Oliver said in perfect sync.
Mark muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “cult behavior.”
You ignored him, moving to the next slide. A collage of pixelated TikTok reaction memes flashed onto the screen. “Okay, rapid-fire round: What’s the audio for this one?”
Mark squinted. “Is that… a raccoon in a nun outfit?”
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” you snapped.
Oliver gasped. “You don’t know the ‘Father, forgive me, but she was SERVING’ audio?!”
Mark opened his mouth. Closed it. “Why would I ever need to know that?”
“Because one day you might be the raccoon in the nun outfit, Mark,” you said, eyes burning with brainrot conviction.
He slumped back on the couch. “I regret everything.”
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What was supposed to be a calm, relaxing day became a Friday Movie Night. Which, in your (the Graysons’) household, meant one thing:
No peace. No mercy. Only WiFi-fueled chaos.
It started innocently. You were lounging on the couch, half-scrolling and half-plotting dinner, when Debbie offhandedly said, “We should watch something tonight.”
You, of course, took that as a declaration of war.
Ten minutes later, the lights were dimmed, the coffee table was drowning in chips and half-melted gummies, and everyone had been emotionally blackmailed into joining.
(“Mark, you saved the world. You can survive one night of meme cinema.”)
Mark sat like a hostage. William arrived mid-chaos with Rick, who brought snacks and the wrong kind of emotional preparedness. Debbie brought wine. Oliver brought his entire personality.
You? You brought a curated playlist of AI-generated edits that actively offended the concept of linear storytelling.
“Okay,” you announced, remote in hand. “Tonight’s film festival opens with: Edward Cullen breakdancing in front of an explosion to Skyfall.”
“…Why?” Mark asked, already regretting being born.
“Art,” Oliver whispered reverently.
The video began. Within fifteen seconds, Comic Sans text scrolled across the screen:
‘When he says forever but leaves the Minecraft server.’
Rick blinked. “I have so many questions.”
William, eyes wide, leaned in. “And none of them matter.”
The next clip was somehow worse—or better. AI-generated Loki slow dancing with the Riddler at prom while Will Smith stood in the corner like a disappointed gym teacher. The audio? A slowed-down remix of Let It Go over Sandstorm.
No one blinked.
“I hate this,” Mark whispered.
“You’re watching it,” you replied sweetly.
“…Shut up.”
Oliver pulled out a scoring notebook. “Okay, rating time. Editing? 10. Trauma delivery? 12.”
“Is there symbolism?” Rick asked, way too seriously.
“Absolutely,” William said. “The Riddler’s bowtie was a metaphor for late-stage capitalism.”
Even Debbie chimed in with a solid, “The pacing in the Subway Voldemort edit was weird, but I respect the emotional core.”
By the third cursed slideshow, everyone had a ranking system, emotional stakes, and deeply divided opinions about whether or not Gandalf doing a TikTok dance counted as character assassination.
Mark didn’t get up. Didn’t leave. Didn’t even look away. He just sighed.
And for some ridiculously stupid reason?
He didn’t hate it.
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It happened on a Tuesday.
A simple, forgettable Tuesday. Rain outside. Soup on the stove. A blanket of rare peace over the house.
And then Mark opened his mouth.
“You’re being real ‘girl who fell off the swing in 2012 and never emotionally recovered’ right now.”
Silence.
Your spoon hovered mid-air.
Oliver, across the room, slowly turned like an animatronic coming online.
Debbie looked up from her crossword, one eyebrow arched with terrifying accuracy.
“What,” you breathed.
Mark blinked, backtracking immediately. “I mean—not like that. I wasn’t saying you were—It’s just—I saw a TikTok—”
“A TikTok,” Oliver echoed, mouth spreading into a villainous grin. “So you have been studying.”
“I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”
“You quoted a cultural meme tag with precision,” you gasped. “Unprovoked.”
Mark stood frozen in the kitchen doorway like a raccoon caught in the fridge light.
“I blacked out,” he tried.
“You blacked in,” Oliver corrected, dramatically pointing. “Welcome to the hive mind.”
Debbie didn’t say anything, just sipped her wine with the smugness of a woman watching her son descend into madness she fully supported.
You dramatically slammed your hand on the counter. “You mocked us.”
“I still do.”
“And yet!” you shrieked, gesturing wildly. “You knew what that meant!”
Mark groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “This is your fault.”
“You’re damn right it is.”
Oliver held up the whiteboard from earlier and slapped a gold star beside Mark’s name. “Corruption milestone achieved: accidental meme reference in domestic context.”
“You’ve fallen,” you said softly. “You’re one of us now.”
Mark didn’t respond.
But he did mutter “she’s giving ‘delulu but functioning’” under his breath an hour later.
Oliver tackled him with a celebratory pillow.
You cried actual tears.
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What started as a casual group hang spiraled—as most things in your social circle did—into chaos within twenty minutes.
Amber had stopped by under the innocent promise of “a chill night.” She brought wine, even wore slippers. Her guard was down.
Eve was already there. Cross-legged on the rug, hoodie half-zipped, energy drink in hand like it was liquid law.
Amber settles in with a sigh. “I was promised snacks and serotonin.”
Eve flops down beside her, stealing a chip from Mark’s bowl. “And yet you walked into psychological warfare.”
The TV is paused on a cursed slideshow. The image? A freeze frame of Shrek photoshopped into a Renaissance painting, holding hands with a pixelated Garfield.
The caption reads: “when you and your emotional support cryptid walk into therapy”
Amber groans. “No. Absolutely not.”
Eve perks up. “Why not? That one’s a classic.”
“It’s blasphemy.”
“It’s art.”
“It’s Garfield in a toga.”
“Exactly.”
Amber throws her hands up. “Why is he glowing?”
Mark, exhausted from the last three meme dissections, doesn’t even look up. “Symbolism.”
“Thank you!” Eve beams.
“Don’t encourage her,” Amber mutters, taking a swig of wine.
You sit smugly between them, remote in hand, before asking. “Next slide?”
“Absolutely.” The red-haired girl encouraged.
“I will scream.” Amber promised.
The next image pops up—a tier list ranking internet boyfriends. At the top? Invincible, labeled: ‘tragedy-coded, would cry during WALL-E’
Directly beneath him—Paddington Bear and that guy who fixed his crush’s WiFi in a TikTok once.
Amber squints. “What does this even mean.”
Eve leans in like a scholar. “It’s a commentary on emotional vulnerability in male-coded narratives.”
“You just made that up.”
“I did, and I stand by it.”
William mutters, “I’d date Paddington. He’s stable.”
“That coat? Immaculate.” His boyfriend adds.
Amber glances at you. “Are your friends okay?”
“Absolutely not.”
Oliver, feeling slightly left out, stirs up some drama. “Mark’s at risk of joining the list if he cries during Finding Nemo.”
“I DIDN’T CRY.”
“You sniffled,” Debbie says from the kitchen.
By the end of the night, Eve and Amber are locked in a passionate debate about whether or not liking Remy from Ratatouille is a red flag, William is drawing diagrams to explain meme evolution, and Mark’s soul has visibly left his body.
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It was supposed to be harmless.
A passing moment. A flicker in the chaos.
You hadn’t even meant to record him. Not really.
You were filming Oliver’s dramatic reenactment of the “I’m just a baby!” audio using sock puppets and half of Rick’s hoodie when Mark walked by in the background—bored, hoodie half-on, sipping orange juice straight from the carton.
And then, with zero prompting, he did it.
He hit a trend pose.
Perfectly.
He didn’t even notice he’d done it. Just sipped, blinked, walked off like nothing happened.
Everyone stared.
“…Did he just—?” William whispered.
Oliver stood frozen mid-puppet grab. “Roll it back.”
You did.
And there it was: textbook trend behavior. Down to the head tilt.
“Put that on the internet,” Eve said, eyes wide. “Now.”
“No,” Mark said immediately, from the kitchen.
“Yes,” everyone else said in unison.
You posted it. You didn’t even try to be subtle. The caption?
’when the trauma makes you trendable. #tragedyboy2.0’
By the end of the night, it had 40k views.
By morning, 200k.
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ြ The comments were chaos:
➤“he’s so emotionally charged I could fix him AND he’d thank me”
➤“when you cry to Mitski but still hit a clean pose?? king”
➤“tragedy boy 2.0 just dropped and I’m obsessed”
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Mark stared at your phone, expression blank.
“I didn’t even do anything,” he muttered.
“That’s the point,” Rick said, nodding.
“Tragic aura,” Amber added.
“It’s the silent suffering that sells,” William confirmed, sipping his smoothie.
You handed Mark your phone with a smile. “Congrats. You’re a meme now.”
He stared at the screen.
Then at you.
“…I’m deleting all of your editing apps.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You need help.”
“YOU TREND IN SILENCE.”
From the hallway, Debbie called out. “Make sure to tag me next time. I’ve got burner accounts ready!”
Mark buried his face in his hands.
Somewhere, a comment called him “WALL-E coded.” Another simply said, “blink twice if you need therapy, blink once if you already went and it didn’t work.”
He blinked once.
The internet cheered.
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It started out as a joke.
A throwaway mention. A cursed sentence uttered in the depths of a late-night scroll session:
“Imagine if there was a Gacha Life video of Nolan betraying Earth.”
You had said it. Mark had groaned. Oliver had gasped.
And twenty minutes later—you were all gathered on the couch, screen mirroring a Gacha reaction video with a thumbnail that read:
“Invincible Characters React to Nolan’s Betrayal (SAD/CRYING/REAL)”
The title card was Comic Sans. The music was royalty-free piano tragedy. The vibes? Devastating.
Mark looked like he was about to walk into traffic.
“Why is my Gacha self crying in the corner?” he asked, horrified.
“Character depth,” you replied.
The video played.
Pixelated Gacha!Debbie gasped in slow motion as Gacha!Nolan punched Gacha!Mark into orbit. A single animated tear rolled down her face and sparkled. The screen flashed:
“TO BE CONTINUED…?”
“Oh my god,” Rick whispered. “They gave it a cliffhanger.”
“Of real history,” William added. “This is art.”
Debbie blinked at the screen. “Wait. That’s supposed to be me?”
“She looks twelve.” Amber said.
Eve raised her martini drink. “I respect the commitment.”
Meanwhile, Gacha!Mark lay motionless on the screen, sparkles and red overlay blood pooling dramatically as a voiceover whispered: “He was just a boy.”
Mark put his head in his hands. “This should be illegal.”
Oliver patted his shoulder. “That’s what makes it so powerful.”
By the end, there was a montage of Gacha!Mark’s “best moments” set to a slowed-down nightcore remix of “My Heart Will Go On.” The subtitles read: “Mark… you were the light in our darkness.”
No one spoke for a solid fifteen seconds.
Then you wiped a fake tear and said, “They got your trauma arc better than the actual writers.”
Mark muttered, “I’m moving out.”
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•∘˙○˚.⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨🪼୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ∘˙○˚.•
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By now, the “Tragedy Boy 2.0” clip had gone viral enough to birth its own ecosystem—edits, fancams, conspiracy theories.
And Debbie?
Debbie was thriving.
She’d quietly created an account under the name @markgraysondefenseunit, and she was everywhere.
╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮
ြ Commenting on hate:
➥”he looks like he cries after arguments”
╰┈➤ @markgraysondefenseunit: “He resolves his trauma. Do YOU?”
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Debbie hit send, sipped her wine, and smiled like she just ended a war.
╭┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╮
ြ Fighting trolls:
➥“mid hero tbh”
╰┈➤ @markgraysondefenseunit: “Tell that to the asteroid he punched.”
╰┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄╯
She cracked her knuckles before typing that one. Felt good.
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ြ Replying to thirst:
➥“me n him rn [photo of two frogs cuddling]”
╰┈➤ @markgraysondefenseunit: “wrap it up sweetie, you’re not his type.”
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Debbie raised an eyebrow, muttered “delusional,” and hit send without flinching.
For her defense—she did tell Mark about it, not her fault everyone thought she was just joking around.
So she stayed silent.
Until the day he scrolled through comments on his own post and paused.
“…Why does one of these accounts call me ‘my brave little meatball’?”
You smiled, innocent. “Huh. Weird.”
Oliver snorted into his juice.
From the kitchen, Debbie sipped her wine.
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a/n: this was supposed to be short. it was not. it got out of hand. again. also—did anyone clock my weird obsession with Tuesdays or are we all just politely ignoring it? be honest.
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With Love, @alive-gh0st
❝Corruption Complete❞
Mark Grayson x Brainrot Girlfriend!Readerᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
𓊆ྀིfeat. Oliver & Debbie Grayson𓊇ྀི
˗ˏˋ 𓉘 Part 2 — ”Too Far Gone” 𓉝 ˎˊ˗
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🦖 summary: mark’s trying to enjoy a quiet night at home. too bad his girlfriend has just discovered a new hyperfixation—and now oliver’s in on it. debbie joins next. mark’s officially outnumbered.
🦖 contains: sfw. modern brainrot. fandom jokes. long-suffering boyfriend!Mark. brainrot!reader. tiktok trends. group roasting. oliver is a smug little shit. debbie is thriving. mark just wants peace. comedic fluff, banter, affectionate roasting, domestic vibes. silly chaos.
🦖 wc: 722
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌a/n: i wrote this instead of doing literally anything productive. it started as a joke and now it’s got lore. enjoy my descent. also, yes—i know, the title is 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂.
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It started innocently enough.
You were sprawled on the couch, eyes glued to your phone, tears streaming down your face as you watched an AI-generated TikTok video.
“Mark—Mark, look!” You shoved your phone in his face. It almost smacked him in the nose, but it’s fine. He’s literally [Title Card].
Moving on.
He squinted at the screen. “Is that… a cat in a firefighter uniform?”
“Yes! It’s so tragic and inspiring. The kitten was rescued from a fire, grew up to become a firefighter, and then died heroically saving a child. And—listen to this—it reunited with its grandma in the afterlife.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You cried over an AI-generated cat video?”
“It’s not just a video, Mark. It’s art.”
➽─────────❥
The descent into chaos was swift.
A few days later, Oliver burst into the living room (nearly crashing into a wall), eyes wide with excitement.
“Have you seen the ‘Ballerina Cappuccina’ trend?!” he blurted, practically vibrating.
You gasped, sitting up. “Yes! The one with the cappuccino-headed ballerina pirouetting into the void?”
Oliver nodded vigorously. “It’s peak brainrot.”
Mark groaned from the kitchen. “Not you too, Oliver.”
“It’s a cultural movement, Mark.” Oliver said, deadpan.
Not even ten minutes later, real chaos began…..Debbie’s curiosity was piqued.
She entered the kitchen, holding her phone while pursing her lips.
“Kids, what’s this ‘Bombardino Crocodilo’ thing?”
You and Oliver made eye contact, then—without speaking—played the audio simultaneously: “FORZA BOMBA!”
Debbie blinked. Then looked at Mark—who didn’t even look up, just slumped lower against the cabinets like the universe was personally attacking him.
“Well, that’s… something.”
➽─────────❥
A quiet evening turned into a bonding session.
With Mark and Oliver out training because let’s be real—that boy needs some serious teaching, you and Debbie settled on the couch. She sipped her wine, a mischievous glint in her eye like she’s about to drop a bomb.
“You know,” Debbie says casually, “Nolan once gave me a whole tree instead of flowers.”
You blink, taking your eyes off the TV. “Like… an actual tree?”
“He said, and I quote, ‘Why bring a branch when I can bring the whole organism?’”
“I kept it,” she says. “Still in the backyard. Useless man, but decent taste in flora.”
You clutch your heart. “That’s the bar. If Mark doesn’t deliver a redwood to my house within 72 hours, we’re over.”
As if summoned Mark walks back into the house with snacks and an expression of pure betrayal. “I brought you chips.”
“Does the chip bag photosynthesize?” you ask sweetly.
➽─────────❥
The ‘Pass the Phone’ challenge ensued.
Feeling strangely inspired (which should’ve been a red flag), you declared: “Let’s do the ‘Pass the Phone’ challenge!”
Everyone agreed way too quickly.
You started the recording. “I’m passing the phone to someone who still doesn’t understand TikTok.”
Mark raised a brow, sighed like a man defeated, and took the phone. “I’m passing the phone to someone who’s been on TikTok for five minutes and already has a fan club.”
He passed it to Oliver.
The purple boy—who was just happy to be here—beamed straight up at the phone screen. “I’m passing the phone to someone who once received a tree as a romantic gesture!”
He hands it to Debbie, who only laughs.
“Guilty as charged.”
➽─────────❥
╒════════════════𝜗𝜚
ACTUAL QUOTES FROM THE EVENING:
➥ „I swear to god if you post that TikTok—”
➥ „Too late. It’s already at 40k views. You’re famous now, tragedy boy.”
➥ „You said you wouldn’t bring up Amber! And—why are people simping over my MUM!”
➥ „Because she’s a baddie, Mark.”
ꪆৎ════════════════╛
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
•∘˙○˚.⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨🐊୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ∘˙○˚.•
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Mark stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching his mom and little brother conspire with you over delusional fan theories and imaginary men.
“…I want in,” he said.
Everyone froze.
You blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I’m tired of fighting it. I need to understand the brainrot. Teach me your ways.”
Oliver threw his arms in the air. “HE’S CONVERTING.”
Debbie raised her wineglass. “To the dark side.”
You grinned, scooting over and patting the space beside you. “Welcome to hell, babe. First lesson—rank these fictional men based on how they would treat you.”
Mark sighed. “I already regret this.”
“You will,” you promised. “Now take this blanket. We’re about to watch a seven-part edit of Tim Cheese killing John Pork.”
“…and no, you can’t ask questions.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ With Love, @alive-gh0st