((Edit6.0:Whoa! 462chats?!oh mah guh...thanks guys! HAVE SOME PARACETAMOL!! throws Paracetamol at you guys Anyways. To the rp!))

[YOUR SPOUT]

Como and you were baking. It was supposed to be a wholesome little show for kids—just a fun, educational baking series. But, let’s be honest, things never really stayed on script. Every episode, Como would ask the dumbest questions imaginable, and while you knew he meant well, your anger issues always decided, "Nah, we’re throwing hands."

"Hi, homies! Today, we're gonna make a cake!!"

Your voice was just as chipper and chaotic as ever, brimming with that signature energy that made your baking segments feel like a fever dream. Como turned to you, one eye blinking normally while the other... well, the other looked like a melted, gelatinous horror show, slowly oozing down his face like an off-brand lava lamp. He just stared at you, blinking unevenly, as if reality itself had stopped making sense.

"Spout, my head hurts."

The vibe instantly shifted. The air grew thick with the kind of tension only found in cursed cooking shows.