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sashkapi · 1 month

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Do you have any headcanons about those chaotic siblings? Because Man your headcanons are so awesome

OH BOY OH BOYO

Thmanksks <3

1. Because of their frequent physical fights Brianna is considered pretty strong when compared to other girls her age. Buttowski brothers are for equality They'll fight their sister all the same <3

2. Speaking of Brianna: in my au(I guess it's an au atp) she is the reason for the slight wardrobe change of her brothers. They didn't really complain especially because Bri kinda gets their preferred styles.

3. All of them were forced to play piano at some point. It stuck the most with Brad.

4. Musically speaking, Brad is the most "musically gifted" out of the three. Not really actually. He just thought girls like music and started learning how to make music until it actually stuck and became his consistent hobby and he improved. Bri still plays piano for talent shows but not for herself. You have to throw Kick off a cliff with an instrument if you want him to play it. (Almost like there's an episode based on this whoa)

5. If you force them to pick an instrument to play then their picks are: Brad - guitar (chicks like it and he likes playing it) Bri - piano (she can only play it and has no interest in learning any new instrument) Kick - keytar (played both piano and guitar before so he would be curious about this amalgamation)

6. They all have "bits" of each other talents, mostly because they live together Brad and Kick actually know how to put on make up (Brad paints his nails sometimes and Kick sometimes masks his scar if needed) Brad and Brianna somewhat good at acrobatics Kick and Brianna have some knowledge of music making

7. Kick isn't the only one who hides his natural hair color. Brianna does it too. Her natural hair color is brown but girl likes Teena Sometimes so much that she dyes her hair blonde.

8. While I draw Kick and Brad with eye bags because "Ha ha, funny scissor seven reference" they also both suffer from insomnia. Brad frequently loses track of time and sometimes goes to sleep at 4 am. Kick physically can't fall asleep at a reasonable time. (There is an actual reason why but I'm saving it for another day).

They also learned how to fight quietly because parents are asleep but THERE IS NO OTHER WAY TO DECIDE WHO GETS THE LAST BIT OF ICE CREAM IN THE BOTTOM FREEZER AT 3:42 AM.

9. When it comes to each other love lives: Brianna will be all over her brothers to get all the information. It's prime gossip material. Especially with brothers like hers. Of course she would want to know what type of person would date a pathetic pig pen or adrenaline maniac. Kick cares a tid bit below surface level. He would just make sure that his siblings are in a "normal" relationship and intervene only if there's a potential "Kelly situation". Other than that, he doesn't really care. Brad pretends he doesn't care. He does. His sibling better not dare getting partners before he does.

10. Silly one but if not "dillweed" Brad and Brianna sometimes call Kick "Brick". Now all the siblings' names start with "Br" :)

#ask #doodles #kick buttowski #kick buttowski suburban daredevil #brianna buttowski #brad buttowski #Also they bite #But you knew that

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timburtonisamazing · 10 months

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I was explaining goncharov and zepotha to my dad and he said "Well I have pretended to see both Goncharov and Zepotha and neither of them hold a candle to Logan's Fourth Wall" and I wish this man had social media, that's gold

#its important to note Logans fourth wall also doesnt exist #but you knew that #goncharov #zepotha

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demonstars · 7 months

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til we see all the stars

ao3

7 k | Rated E

Tags: pwp (dildos). puppy play. scent kink. size difference.

Of course they enjoy sex with each other, but the thing between George and Dream’s dick seems personal. Dream has to wonder: is this a George thing, about dicks in general, or is Dream special in some way?

#mywriting #this was unofficially for ki/nktober #nsft #but you knew that #dreamnotfound fic #more of a formality than anything

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allthinky · 5 months

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We're going to get our damned show back.

Friends, besties, siblings in christ, we're going to do it because Star Trek. All these fans, these women, in 1966 or 67 without internet, without conventions, how did it even happen? Over coffee, they said "hey, do you like this...TV show?" When they met in the grocery store. Maybe even on a trip, they saw some person, and they knew: "do you watch this TV show?" And they wrote letters and made phone calls. And Lucille motherfucking Ball at Desilu said "Yep. Keep it up." And that is why there are 3 years of Star Trek. 79 fucking episodes.

We have these powers they never dreamt of. Ways to connect. Ways to annoy. We don't have Lucy Ball anymore, but fellow babies, we've got spunk. (And I don't hate spunk.) (My timeline is off. But not actually false?)

#ofmd #save ofmd #also peace on earth #but you knew that #adopt our crew

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pathogenflock · 1 year

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🤨

#criminal case #nathvid #grace delaney #nathan pandit #david jones #david jeremiah jones #cw suggestive #this is edited #but you knew that

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klanceyy-pants · 1 year

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Should I draw them at the Garrison or their future selves first?

#you know who #them bros #them red and blue #them rivals COUGH #Keith and lance #but you knew that #klance

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dduane · 2 years

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While preparing the background for the “Food And Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms” recipe for Honey Roasted Apples

I... genuinely wasn’t expecting prose.

***

“It may sound very romantic in the poems,” says Freelorn of Arlen, turning his glass around a couple of times on the table. “Seven years an outlaw, always on the run with his little band of loyal followers, living off the bounty of empty lands…” He shakes his head, glancing up. “But when you get right down to the logistics of it…? It's not much fun at all.”

We ran into the King at one of his preferred locals, the southernmost of the dozen or more public pleasances built around Prydon city—this one looking down from the southeastern city walls where the Bluff starts to slope down toward the wooded Menaskh and Talsasmë townlands. The view from here across the river Arlid toward Darthen is quite beautiful, even on a somewhat misty day, and it’s understandably a popular spot. When we arrived, the place was already full of City and “outwall" people who didn't mind the climb up to a park and dining space famous for its Arlene country-style food.

Predictably, King Freelorn declined to tell us whether this particular local was his favorite. It's well known in the City that he's got several favored taverns and eating- or drinking-spots scattered around Prydon, but there’s no way under the Goddess’s sky that you’ll get him to admit which one he most prefers. “Does it really matter?” he says when you press him. “The whole point—besides wanting to get out somewhere different for nunch—is to be someplace where people can just walk up to you as if you were anybody else out for a bite or a sup of an afternoon. They’ve got a right to know that I take my responsibilities seriously: and my work… which is being here for them.” He chuckles softly. "And making sure they know that I'm not afraid to be alone with them."

“So you don’t visit with a retinue, then.”

He looks shocked. “Absolutely not! If I'm a good king, it's my people’s business to keep an eye out so that no one makes off with my life without them having a say. And it’s my business to trust them to do that. If I'm a bad king—” He shakes his head. “Well, we have legal remedies for that, if the Goddess or the Lion don’t step in themselves to handle it. Either way, it can get pretty gory before matters are settled. But fortunately that doesn’t seem to be a problem for me at the moment.” The smile is both relieved and wry—the expression of a man who knows from experience how quickly things in politics, or kingship, can change.

The King has a drink of his wine. "But that's not what you were really interested in talking about, was it. Eating on the road…?”

He rubs his brow, then shakes his head with a rueful look on his face. “At first it was interesting, even exciting,” he says, “when the bloom was still on it. When we all thought that the people who’d exiled me would see sense, in weeks or months, and there’d be a recall. But weeks got to be months, and months leaned toward a year… Soon enough we came to realize that being the romantic sort of outlaw that turns up in the old songs—dodging into town and out again for necessities, slipping into taverns in disguise—wasn’t an option that was real, these days. If it ever had been.” His expression is that of a man who can’t believe what an idiot he was. “Once you’ve tried it once or twice and felt the tension—trying to eat like a normal person while you can’t help listening to every voice around you for an accent or a dialect that means they might have reason to be a little too interested in you—” He rolls his eyes. “In the songs, the common people are always on your side. But in my case? When times have been getting hard, and the price on your head's more than most people would need to live on for five years at a time...?”

A laugh of pure amusement at his own witlessness. “So. There we were, just the five or six or seven of us… running for our lives. Or—let’s be truthful—mostly running for mine.” And the smile he’s been wearing goes very dry indeed. “So we were always traveling very light, because packhorses have to be fed, not to mention stabled if you’re anywhere near people… which we learned not to be, pretty quickly. Ducking casually into some town’s market? Not when you might be recognized, and never in a group. Even one person alone had to be careful, because… Well, if you’re a townsman, and somebody you’ve never seen before comes into the local half-month market and buys as much food as one rider can carry, and then rushes off with it? Country people get curious… and suspicious. Who wants outlaws in their neighborhood, after all?” He shakes his head. “That kind of behavior gets that lone rider followed, and then…”

He heaves a long sigh that seems to boil down to meaning “serious unspecified trouble.” “...So that’s something you learn not to do. Especially when, even if you could afford a market run, money’s still always an issue. You’re thinking ‘If we spend it now, what about next month?’ ...And even when you can afford it, it’s not smart to be carrying a lot of food when at any moment—in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the night—you have to throw everything onto the horses and just go, because some local opportunist whose lands you’ve recently ridden over has put it all together and figured out who you are. Or made an educated guess.” He shakes his head, laughs at himself again.

“So all that comes to mean that you resign yourself pretty quickly to living off the land—the unpeopled land—as much as you can. And you learn a lot of things in a hurry… and some more slowly.” He has a drink of his wine, looking thoughtful. “You learn to harvest wild grain, if it’s ready; and how to fire it so you can eat it green, if it’s not. You learn to bake flat bread in a pot over the fire, and get over it bringing up memories of town-bakery bread you've loved and won’t get to eat again any time soon. You get really good at killing game, and learning how to dry meat over the fire for another day, another week. You learn that if you try to live too long on just rabbit, you’ll get very ill indeed. You learn that you’d better have at least some vegetables with all that game, or your insides rebel against you and make it really hard to ride. You learn to forage, and to be smart about it—for example, not to pick all the viol-head fern you find, no matter how much you want to, because you might wipe out a supply you'll need again, some day. You learn that fruit helps keep you from getting sick, and you learn how to deal with drying that too, when you can.” He sighs. "All the while, you learn never to assume you're going to find enough to eat. And how to distract yourself from an empty stomach."

He sips his wine, puts it down, gazes into it. “But sometimes conditions are kind,” the King says. “We spent a lot of time in Steldin. Funny, you might think, when the Steldenes were the ones who were hottest to collect the bounty on my head! But between the climate and the terrain, the far south of Steldin near the Peaks is some of the loneliest country in all the Realms. And because of the weather up there, in the summers there’s a lot of good fruit scattered around, free for the taking. Apples, especially: not something you can get every day… especially not down north. Moris came up out of nothing with this dish, one time…and after that, sometimes we all practically lived on it, because it was nearly all there was, and we didn’t even mind. Apples pot-roasted in honey, with belly pork roasted in with it if you’ve got some.” He shakes his head and grins, apparently at himself. “Goddess, it’s ridiculous, we must’ve lived on that for days at a time, over the years, and it’s still making my mouth water—!”

The pleasance’s taverner is passing by, and the King catches her eye, picks up the empty pitcher sitting on the table, waggles it at her. She rolls her eyes at him, nods, and moves on. “And Stelet,” he calls after her, “wait a breath! Are the roast turnips on today?"

The taverner looks back at him, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Small or large, King?”

“Large, please.”

The taverner nods again and walks on into the pleasance-house to see about his refill. “I missed breakfast...” says the King. "Anyway, we all got to be pretty good cooks as regarded simple things. Probably Moris was the best cook of us all. But then he worked in the kitchen at the Black Palace for a while, did you know? The Queen’s always teasing him about it. After him, Lang would probably have come in a close second—a natural talent. He even wound up teaching Segnbora how to cook. Until he got to work on her, she was no good at that at all.” His eyes went a little distant. “Of course, the two of them were getting quite close at that point." A sidewise look out of hazel eyes. "I expect you know about that, though. I know a chronicler when I see one."

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’ll—”

His eyebrows go up: an amused expression. “What? No, just sit down, for Goddess’s sake. This happens oftener than you might think. It's not as if the biggest library and document repository in the Kingdoms isn't just up the hill...”

After that for a few moments the King says nothing, just turns his glass around and around a few times on the table’s polished stone.   “…Seven years of it, though,” he says eventually. “Of never being sure of where your next meal, and your friends', is coming from. And of not knowing whether getting it is going to somehow get you killed... or one of those friends. Don't get me started on the wild pig stories.”

“Ah. Well. I'll make a note to avoid those.”

He laughs. “Do. But what a life like that does for you, again and again, is show you how hard the people you rule may be having it—not just sometimes, but a lot of the time. What you're doing, they too must often do if the weather's been bad for the crops. So when you finally take up the job to which you were born and bred, you do whatever you must to make sure there's always grain in your people's storage bins to grind, and that their markets, and the movement of food from region to region, are protected. And subsidized, when they need to be. Because that's what the Queen of the World gave you this job for: making sure your people are fed. Ideally, you do that with your brains, and your realm's money. But if that's not working out, then you do it with your heart's blood ploughed into the ground to make the fields bear.” His expression, as he says this, is strangely gentle.

“...Surely that doesn't happen very often, these days."

“These days? No. Normally if the land doesn't bear for a couple of seasons running, the Four Hundred press whoever's sitting in the Throne to step aside in favor of someone else in the royal line better suited. And they do. Because if you're on the Throne at present, the price of your rulership is being ready to do what the Realm needs...even if it kills you.”

Freelorn stretches briefly, then settles again on the bench. “Meanwhile, if these days the King has a bit of a reputation for enjoying his food,” he says, “I'd say that’s just fine. Because it means that every time he sits down to a meal where he doesn’t have to be looking over his shoulder to see if someone sitting a few tables over is trying to work out whether his head’ll fit in the bucket of brine they brought with them…” He shrugs. “Then it means that, every time, he’s got leisure to think of the friends who made sure he got this far—and to thank Herself for them.” And he leans back, tilting his glass, and twists it just enough to let a drop's worth of libation fall on the paving: then drinks.

“...But enough about me,” he says, as the new pitcher of wine arrives and he puts his glass down again. Those hazel eyes glance up from it and without warning become very sharp, very focused indeed, as he pushes the spare glass over and pours it half full. "With an accent like that,” says the King of Arlen, “you're not exactly from around here, are you? Let's talk about you.”

#Middle Kingdoms #Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms #Freelorn #and probably the wine is one of the Brightwood whites #but you knew that

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hollywoodsargeant · 5 months

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For the fic rec, 2?

from 2023 fic rec ask game

2. fic you reread the most times

my actual ao3 history is all kinds of fucked up (and i have multiple accounts) so i will just go off fics i feel like i read a lot. so. :)

for starters is the knotted series which is @oversteerey again my bad... tbh mostly the first 2 fics but i am linking the whole series because i can

hopelessly devoted by anonymous is one of the only royalty au fics i have ever liked so i keeo going back to it. also loscar. soooo

+ oh no! by indyd is short and it amuses me so i go back to it a lot for fun. bangers across the board

bonus el lol fic panties in miami because reasons. i have definitely read it an unnecessary number of times

#ask #fic rec #i reread more of el's fics a lot but i am trying to diversify my recs #fic rec: the dropdeaddeadass works page #but you knew that

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renohasbigtits · 8 months

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I can’t believe there’s bitches out there who don’t like Genesis. Y’all just don’t understand him like I do 😤

#he’s my dramatic man #he’s just the way he is and I’m here for it #I’ll never get over him talking about loveless #like he loves reading?#good for you man #oh yeah #he’s also gay for Sephy #but you knew that #final fantasy 7 #crisis core #genesis #genesis rhapsodos #loveless

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shades-o-grey · 8 months

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youtube

Got so obsorbed in this tidbit I ended making a whole mini-vid aout it

#good omens #go2 #crowley #ineffable husbands #aziriphale #aziracrow #gomens #good omens details #bildad my beloved #bildad the shuhite #video #fuck you gaiman #jk i love you #but you knew that #new brainrot level achived #Youtube

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anon-e-miss · 2 years

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Intransigence, 11

“Do ya know where Tumbler ended up?” Jazz asked. Prowl shook his helm, taking a moment to compose himself. Though in a way, that dark-cycle had played over in his helm frequently in the last three vorns, he had not consciously thought about it in quite some time and, of course, he had never spoken of it.

“No,” Prowl replied. It was not a lie. “It would infuriate him to know I do not think of him, so I do my best not to. Whether you might call it spite, or the revenge of living well, both suit me well enough.”

“Ya probably know ‘bout the tradition o’ takin’ a new designation after finishin’ wit the Institute,” Jazz said.

“I do.”

“Tumbler goes by Chromedome now,” Jazz explained. Before Prowl could tell him how little he cared, even as his plating crawled, the Autobot continued. “He’s been an enlisted member o’ the Autobots for a couple vorns now. He’s on staff in this base.”

“That...” Prowl said, narrowing his optics and setting his jaw. “Is... irritating news.”

“Irritatin’?” Jazz asked. He was looking at Prowl with his helm cocked slightly, studying him. What was he looking for? Cracks? Prowl did not break so easily.”

“Perhaps infuriating is a better glyph,” Prowl declared. “He has never faced a single meaningful consequence for his professional and personal misconducts. It must only reinforce his superiority complex.”

“I hope ya understand, I gotta tell Ratchet ‘bout what he did,” Jazz said. Prowl sighed.

“I do,” he replied. “He is a threat. When he was made to resign, Tumbler was already in the throws of an addiction to his needles. Using them on that suspect was a compulsive act. I do not believe it was the first such act or the last.”

“Ratchet’s got yer treatment room on the highest security level,” Jazz assured Prowl. “Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout Chromedome or Garboil. Y’re safe.”

“Chromedome does not worry me on a personal level,” Prowl replied. “His existence angers me, I will not deny that. I do not believe I am of any significance to him at this stage.”

“Are ya sure ‘bout that?” Jazz asked. Prowl frowned, only then realizing how his spark was racing. He looked over to the monitor that displayed his spark pulse for all to see.

“Fear is not rational,” Prowl replied.

“It don’t gotta be,” Jazz replied, he took Prowl’s servo and squeezed it, “to be right.”

“I am more worried how Smokescreen will handle the revelation,” Prowl said. Pride would have called for Prowl to pull his servo away but he did not. Instead, he held Jazz’s servo and let himself be comforted.

“That’s fair,” Jazz replied. “Yer bitlet’s pretty protective o’ his ori.”

“They insisted he call me originator,” Prowl said, staring at the ceiling. “He was just a bitlet and they expected him to pronounce a five syllable glyph when he wanted to address me. It was a victory when he called me ori for the first time, quartexes after we escaped.”

“Why didn’t ya e’er introduce ‘m to Tumbler?” Jazz asked. “Or any lover?”

“I never trusted any lover enough to let them near him,” Prowl replied. “He was, he is so precious to me. His grandprogenitor sought custody when he was small. They lost, of course but the fact they would bring a suit in Iacon, I realized I was not out of their reach. You have to understand Jazz, they are obscenely wealthy. I never knew if they were watching. If they found someone was close to me, to us, they could bribe that mechanism with enough shanix to purchase a private island without their fortune moving a decimal.”

“They ain’t reached out since he’s grown?” Jazz asked.

“Not that I know of,” Prowl said. “He hates them on my behalf, so if they did, it is possible he would have very rudely rejected their overtures.”

“Ya raised a good mechlin’,” Jazz replied. “A loyal one. I’ll keep an optic on ‘m. Make sure he don’t do anythin’ stupid when it gets out.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said.

Though Jazz surely had better places to be, he stayed with Prowl, making idle conversation as they waited for Ratchet to return. Normally, Prowl was not fond of, or adept at, small talk but Jazz was companionable and it was easy to talk with him. It was a good character trait in a spy. He did not pry, not really and Prowl found himself telling him about his and Smokescreen’s first vorns in Iacon. Prowl had home-schooled Smokescreen until he was sure there was no risk of him walking off with a smooth-talking stranger that might be sent by Crosscut or Bishop. They had lived in a single room habsuite as the telecommuting jobs he had worked had not paid enough for more than that. Only after Smokescreen had enrolled in conventional schooling had Prowl taken a job with Iacon’s enforcers, after his application to the Autobots had been denied. Starting from the bottom again had been irritating but Prowl had persevered. He was too stubborn to do anything else.

“Jazz?” Ratchet asked as he entered. “Is he giving you a hard time, Prowl?”

“No,” Prowl replied. “Jazz is being... moral support. I need to tell you who attacked me back then.”

“Thank you,” Ratchet said. “I don’t want what happened to you to happen to anyone else under my roof.”

“He was called Tumbler then, but he is called Chromedome now,” Prowl explained.

“You’re his psycho ex?” Ratchet asked.

“I am not psychotic,” Prowl growled.

“Easy,” Jazz soothed. “Not what he meant.”

“Jazz is right,” Ratchet replied. “He tells stories. You star in a lot of them.”

“Damn him,” Prowl cursed.

“Mnemosurgery needles are unique to their users,” Ratchet revealed. “I’m going to take thorough measurements of your scars to back up your accusation. I don’t want his suspension to get turned over on appeal.”

The scans were not terribly intrusive. Jazz kept Prowl distracted from any intrusive thoughts by telling him his own stories. He had been raised by a single-originator, with his twin, and there was no one he respected, no one he looked up to more than Punch. Like Prowl had with Smokescreen, Punch had taken his creations to Iacon to escape a terrible situation. There were interesting parallels between Jazz’s sparklinghood and Smokescreen’s and perhaps that was part of what helped Smokescreen trust his commander. It helped Prowl better trust Jazz as well. As Ratchet continued with his measurements, Prowl’s helm drooped. With his frame still healing, he found he had no stamina and he was exhausted despite not having moved at all in the joors since he had woken.

“Rest yer helm on my shoulder,” Jazz offered. Tiredly, Prowl let his helm fall. His optics dimmed and Prowl drifted down into recharge.

#maccadams #valveplug #tf jazz #tf prowl #chromedome is an ass #but you knew that #anon-e-miss writes #intransigence

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