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llamagoddessofficial · 11 months

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Thank you @robobbin for this adorable commission of Mafiafell Sans caring for their OC sick at home. You know I can't live without big scaryboys absolutely melting when their darling is unwell <3

---

“hey sweetcheeks.”

You looked up from your position nestled on the couch, a flash of hot confusion and embarrassment momentarily awakening you from your feverish stupor. That... wasn’t the voice you expected to hear, coming through your front door. You lifted your head up a few inches- movement in inches was all you could manage right now.

... It was Sans. Sans was in your house. He had a nice, pressed red shirt and black pants- your spare keys hooked onto a claw, two plastic bags over one of his big arms, and an unreadable lilt to his shark grin.

“... Sans?” You mumbled, eyes widening into saucers. You felt your cheeks immediately get even hotter.

Your fever hadn’t improved, as you’d hoped it would. In fact, it had only gotten worse as the hours wore on; moving and thinking had grown increasingly impossible. In a total mess, you’d called Papyrus, asking if he could bring over something for you to eat... though you didn’t actually recall what he’d said back to you, most of it just blurring together in your head.

... You’d been expecting Pap. Pap knew you, he'd already seen you weak and gross before. Pap had carried you home from the gym, once, after you made the mistake of trying to keep up with his workout.

You were not anticipating the arrival of his hot brother, whom you had a massive crush on.

Despite feverishly sweating, you pulled the blanket further up over you. You felt embarrassed to be seen like this.

“sorry, i know you were expectin’ boss.” He put both of the plastic bags down onto the coffee table, crouching beside the couch to be closer to your eye level. You twisted your hands in the blanket, his proximity making your heart thump. “he’s swamped with work, so i’m droppin off the emergency goods instead. though i’ll be sure to let him know you missed him.”

“... O-oh.” Your mind was fried. You stared- he looked great. It felt like the longer you knew each other, the better he dressed, it was amazing how his presence could simultaneously make you feel so much worse but also so much better. “N-no, it’s okay. I’m... fine. You’re fine.”

He chuckled, musically, eyelights warm. His voice felt good in your painful chest. “i’m fine?”

“N-not like... fine as in hot. Fine as in okay.” Your cheeks were just on fire at this point. The fever had removed any and all barriers between your head and your mouth, so words just waterfalled out. “Not that you’re not hot. You are. You’re very hot. You.. uh,”

... Shit. Again, that little edge to his smile. You wanted to sink between the couch cushions and die.

Rather than make fun of you, Sans just gently reached over you, placing a cold compress against your forehead. He was so close you could smell him.

“you’re burning up. and ya look terrible. i’m gonna stay over and watch you.”

"N-no-!!" You blurted, nearly sitting up. The guy you liked, staying and seeing you completely out of it, at your absolute worst? No???

He grinned. "sorry, pet. not gettin' rid of me until your fever goes down."

... You covered your face with both hands. This was mortifying. Were you glad he was here? Absolutely. You didn't want to be alone right now, and his insistence on staying despite your protests felt good. But you still wanted to die.

“pap really went nuts with the food when he found out you were unwell. y’know he’s got a list of all your allergies? let’s see...” You could hear him start unpacking the bags, placing things onto the table. “some funky soup. saltines, popsicles, iced coconut water. ginger candy... whole bunch of herbal teabags. you ever had sea tea?”

You kept one hand on your face, gesturing randomly with the other. “Soup. Soup please.”

“soup comin’ right up, gorgeous.”

You tried to say thank you, but just a weak grumble came out, the room was spinning again. You heard him move into the kitchen... so you just let yourself sink back into the couch, comforted by another person’s presence.

...

You didn’t know how much time passed, he eventually returned. You could smell something nice.

"hey. can ya sit up a lil, for me?'

... You didn’t really respond to his query. Curled in blankets like a feverish squirrel, you merely made a sound in the back of your throat to acknowledge him. The fever was getting worse.

... Big hands, on your body. There was movement... Sans shifted you, everything spun. You were vaguely aware of him sitting you up, supporting you with one big hand- you did your best to just watch his face, focus on his lovely red eyelights.

"c'mon. soup’s ready. here comes the airplane."

... Despite the state of you, that made you giggle. And judging by the smile that filled your wobbling vision... he liked the sound.

///---///

...

... He was probably enjoying himself a little too much.

Sans shifted his legs into a slightly comfier position from his spot in front of the couch. This definitely wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing today. He’d been planning on going out for a drink, maybe crossing some names off a list while his blood was up- the usual stupidity he filled his free time with.

... Then he got Pap’s call about you. And instantly, it had felt like nothing else in the world mattered.

Now, here he was; in his crush’s house, spoon-feeding her warm soup, trying to keep a nonchalant face while wrestling with an (emotional) noisy Soul.

... i haven’t felt like this in a long time.

You were so cute. His nasal ride wrinkled, and he pinched the soup spoon a bit tighter, restraining the urge to grab your cheek- he felt bad for not being able to stop thinking about how cute you looked, when you were so unwell. But he couldn’t help it. All snuggled up in blankets, hair frizzy and unkempt, glasses askew, flushed and warm... you had a twinkly, glazed look to your eyes, not too dissimilar from the look people got when they were drunk. He’d been fighting the urge to ruffle your hair this whole time.

...

Sans bit his tongue. This was mundane, compared to his normal life. Some might even consider it a chore. But... he hadn’t felt this nice in so long. He felt... useful. Wanted.

When was the last time someone had been openly, willingly, weak around him? When was the last time someone was in a state of fragility, and wanted him nearby?

Mushy feelings filled his chest. Soft. Overprotective. He was hyper-aware of how sick you were and he didn’t want to leave your side, not even for a second, not even to go home. Even just acknowledging those emotions made colour rise to his cheekbones... he hadn't felt anything like this level of protectiveness since Pap was just a babybones.

... But damn... it felt good to be needed.

...

Warm fingers curled around his hand.

He very nearly jumped out of his fucking seat at the sensation- he fumbled the soup spoon, mumbling out a little ‘shit’ as he broke out of his thoughts, turning to look at you.

... Your tiny hand was wrapped around two of his phalanges. Sparkly eyes peered up at him.

fuck. His Soul thudded in his throat. don’t look away from me.

"... h-hey. c'mon." His voice was shaky. "that ain't fair."

"Huh?" Came your bleary reply. so fucking cute. stop it.

"you've stolen my hand, doll."

... You looked to his captured hand, slowly. Like you only just realised you had it.

...

"... Mine now." You mumbled.

...

He tried to muster up a quick joke, like always. Tried to come up with a sharp-witted response. Something with swagger, something with a flirtatious edge, something with confidence that would show you how cool and collected he was.

...

Nothing came out of his mouth. It was like trying to start an empty car.

“... o-oh.”

...

"... You're great." You said, eyes fluttering closed.

"... huh?"

"Great guy. Handsome guy. Nice to me." It didn't sound like you intended those thoughts to be said out loud. He felt his eyelights flare- his Soul was thumping against his ribs.

Words banged at his tongue, but the only sound he managed to get out was a tiny shaking hum of affirmation.

You drew his hand up toward your face, he absolutely had the strength to stop you but he felt like he’d been flashbanged. All he could do was watch... as turned on your side to get cosy, pulled up his hand to your face... and happily nuzzled the back of it.

“My big guy.” You murmured.

...

Just like that, you were asleep.

...

Sans used his free hand to cover his face. His whole skull was carmine red, glowing like a campfire. It made him look almost as feverish as you.

...

i never want to leave.

#commissions #okay but MF SANS #can i get an amen up in here #only the most delightful bastards in this household

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ghostheartfelt · 10 months

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*:･｡☆ tags: damsel in distress!reader, reader will have a father daughter relationship with dutch, slowburn romance, no use of y/n, reader is nicknamed "Miracle" once she settles in with the gang. THIS IS SET BEFORE THE FLEE OF BLACKWATER.

*:･｡☆ warnings: mentions of kidnapping/attempts of kidnapping, blood and gore (mostly js people gettin shot n shit 🙏🏼 it's rdr afterall.) period typical undertones of sexism. canon typical violence. mentions of animal abuse/neglect

〔☆〕 desc: during a little break at the saloon, you're interrupted by an O'Driscoll who presses a gun to your back and forces you out of the saloon for a kidnapping. the Van Der Linde group comes to your rescue.

.. ☆ next part | masterlist (tbe)

—✩ A WOLF’S BANE P. ⅰ ✩—

word count — 2.3k

a/n: hey! this is part one of my arthur morgan x fem!reader slowburn series. i know it starts off a little funky, but i promise you’re in for a treat!! feedback/ideas are greatly appreciated! 🤭🪭 this part is mostly focused on the reader developing relationships with the other members of the gang. (p.s i promise reader isn’t a mary sue 😭 this is just for build up!)

Your hands stay busy loading and spinning the barrel of your duel Widowmakers. They were beautifully customized, and you just purchased a brand new cylinder from the gunsmith. There were elk carvings on the wood handle—your holsters having the same stitching as they rest on your waist under your coat—and freshly polished metals.

You were quietly listening in on the discussions that swarmed at every angle in the Saloon. You’d traveled from Strawberry to Valentine to receive your prescription from Doctor Calloway.

Smithfield has tried a fair amount to ask you out for a dinner, or a horseback ride to Saint Denis, and as much as you loved horseback riding, you declined kindly.

He mailed you a letter asking that you come to his office to obtain it. You caught a stagecoach and paid five dollars for the ride, then took yourself to the saloon first for a quick lamb heart stew, which was something you always made sure to grab upon visiting Valentine, making you a familiar customer with the owner, Mr. Smithfield.

As you stood and adjusted your skirt while stuffing your revolver into its holster that stayed hidden under your coat, a barrel of a gun pressed against your back. Your eyes shot open and you refused to turn your head to see who your threat was.

The man stunk of alcohol, cigarettes, and pure grime, and the scent only grew stronger as you felt his face press against your hair to whisper in your ear.

“Act natural, pretty thing.”

His body closed in against your back with his hip bones digging into your waist. He wasn’t very tall, nor muscular, perhaps about five foot six.

“Do you always greet a pretty woman like this?” You hiss quietly as he twists the gun into your back, guiding you out. He makes sure to snatche your purse from off the table you were seated at—which you didn’t mind too much since you were struggling financially with only about thirty dollars to your name—you didn’t even get to pay your tab off. You hoped Smithfield would understand.

“Shut up and move, girl.” He rejoined.

Undoubtedly, your heart raced in your chest as you both stepped out of the Saloon. There’s another stagecoach with a few other men seated, causing your eyes to widen. This is a kidnapping, not a robbery, you thought, and that was when sweat began to head down from your scalp.

“She’s a good one, Welts!” one snorted. He had crooked and several missing teeth, a lazy eye, and his brown hair was greasy, and he just looked downright disgusting.

“O’Driscoll will be real happy!”

That was when you froze in your place as you were turned around and patted down for any extra goods; the male in front of you had managed to find a pearl necklace from the depths of your dress pocket, and you scrambled to try and grab it from him.

“Please, don’t take that, take anything else.” You were surprised to find yourself pleading to this man. To an O’Driscoll.

Welt’s head tilted and he let out a loud laugh before he took his revolver, slamming the barrel and cylinder rough against your cheekbone, immediate pain and heat surged as it quickly began to swell, and your body twists, landing on the ground with your palms flat in the dirt below you.

You reach one of your hands—that had grains of tiny rocks stuck in your bleeding skin—up to touch your cheek, a quick feeling of regret causing you to yank your head away from the pain.

“You’re a scum!” you try to turn your head, yet he grabs a full fist of your hair and unsheathes his knife, cutting off a thick chunk of your locks. You gasped weakly.

The men above you bursted into laughter while instead tears stung your eyes. “Speak when spoken to, woman,” he grimaced. You feel for the hair he sliced, and your lip quivers. These were definitely Colm O’Driscoll’s men.

Welts gripped your upper arm, and pulled you onto your feet. Accidentally, you rip your dress from your feet getting caught in the fabric as you struggle to stand with the man swinging you around like a lasso.

You feel his revolver get pinned into your back once again as he taps the barrel against you, gesturing you to walk towards the coach. You hesitated, which he didn’t take kindly. You heard the hammer click, and that’s when you caught yourself walking.

“Hello, gentlemen!” an exuberant voice joins in, and you turn your head to look at the man. He was neatly shaven, besides just a bit of clean stubble along his chin. His hair seemed slicked back at the top, even with a black hat, and he was in a long-sleeved white and blue striped shirt, a black vest, and black slacks.

His boots were black with brown spurs. He had his hand on his belt, though not over his holsters that you think were home to dual revolvers. You were just about tired of seeing men with guns.

Guns. You thought. I’m as dumb as a rat—you shimmy your arm down to press against your waist, feeling for your Widowmakers. You felt the hardness with your wrist, playing it calm, and cool. Welts was just as dumb, if not more—he hasn’t even realized you were armed, not that you knew how to use them, anyway. Your hand drags away. Most likely, you wouldn’t be able to beat the man in a sharpshoot.

“Now, a little birdy told me you were being not so nice to this innocent woman, is that true?” The black-haired male, being passive aggressive, sends you kind eyes that leave you feeling skeptical.

You notice his friends.

One was in a low ponytail, and had a sombrero on his head, and the other had olive skin and a hat with a small feather in it’s band.

“She’s my wife, she’s drunk, and these men have offered to take us home. Go along with your business.” Welts snarled as he pushed your shins into the step of the stagecoach. Never in a million years would you even think to date or marry an O’Driscoll—especially not him.

His hair was greasy, and there was collected dirt behind his ears. With his gapped teeth, and his uncared for eyebrows. You wanted to murder the ratbag for laying his dirty fingers on you.

“You tellin’ me the little birdy is a liar?” the man asks, his tone lowering.

“Hell is your problem?” Welts’ eyebrows furrowed.

His gun against your back was starting to feel like it was forming a circular mark on your back from the muzzle.

“I surely don’t remember a time where I saw a loyal man pinning a gun to his wife’s back,” another one of the man’s friends appeared. He had darker skin, Native American features, and a braid running down his own back.

His arms were folded against his chest that was covered in a brown long-sleeved tunic.

“Do you know this man, miss?” His eyes drag to yours with a softer expression creasing his features.

Once you open your mouth to speak, you’re silenced with a quick shoulder shove forcing you into the coach.

“She does, now leave us be.” He sat himself down next to you. Your head turns to look at them as your face twists into fear.

There were five men; the black-haired one, the one with the braid, the male with the ponytail, the scarred Scottish man, and another male who was a bit taller and quieter. His hair was more brown, his face was scruffy, and he wore a black gamblers hat.

“Come on now, hold your horses, compadre!” The one with the ponytail waved his hand in the air, though the man standing in the front seat of the stagecoach flicked the reins against the hinds of both of the gray and black horses, causing them to squeal and chase out of Valentine.

Panic surged through you, raising your adrenaline. When you try to crane your head to see if the men decided to leave, your chest is pushed back against the seat by one of Welts’ companions. Suddenly, the one who’d exchanged you the soft look—which you now have come to believe was the leader—yelled out, and all the men followed his command. “Saddle up, boys, we got ourselves a couple’a maggots!”

You heard two, or three, or four, of them whistle a call to their horses and moments later, they were chasing down the stagecoach. You felt a tinge of hope, and trusted that these men would save you.

“Can these sons’a bitches go any faster?!” Welts hands gripped the seat the driver sat on with his head turned over his shoulder.

When the shooting began, you quickly ducked and let out a distressed noise. Bullets flew all around you, and you covered your ears. You looked up, and immediately the driver had a bullet pierce his skull. You screamed, some of the red paste splattering onto your face. The driver fell off the front of the coach, and you gasped as the wheels ran over the body, the lump making you wobble. You lift yourself up, and take a hold of the seats to stabilize yourself.

The horses stressed, unsure what to do, and you looked around frantically. Another one of the men attempted to cross over and take hold of the reins, but he received the same fate, instead his body leaned over yours, and you pushed it off the edge before it toppled on you.

“Girl!” One of the men yelled, catching your attention. “Do ya know how to drive that thing?!” His accent was thick, and his voice was deep with a slight rasp. You’d gotten a more clear look at his face now that it wasn’t half-covered with his hat. “I said, do ya know how to drive it?!” His horse sped up along the side of the coach, and you frantically nodded your head. You used to be a Stagecoach Taxi at fourteen. You just hoped you still had it in you.

You tore the fabric of the hem of your dress some more until the fabric stopped just above your knees, then hopped over before you’re pulled back by the neck; a man’s arm choking you and smashing both sides of your head as he squeezed his arm making you fall back onto the floor. “Stupid bitch,” the man huffed and grunted, shooting off a few rounds.

“Arthur, Arthur, no!” the leader yelled from behind. “You’ll risk shootin’ her! Put that gun down!”

He was right; the coach was teetering from side to side, and would be sure to tumble off the edge of a cliff if it were to get close enough.

They’d be sure to go off-road with the horses only knowing to go in one direction at the speed they were currently.

These horses were abused, whip welts covering both their hinds and backs, it was disgusting.

You sputtered out a few coughs as the man cut off your entire circulation, your fingers to pry at his arms and your nails scratch at his skin.

He drops you and you slump onto the floor. You hit your head on some metal, yet quickly recover. While the man is distracted, you throw your head at his pants and bite on his groin through the slacks, immediately, he lets out a yowl and accidentally pulls the trigger of his Litchfield Rifle as he falls off the carriage, which ricochets off a steel base, and strikes your shoulder.

A cry leaves your throat and you slap your hand over the wound. Blood seeps through the cloth of your ruffled top, but you swing yourself back over and take hold of the reins.

You feel your head pounding, but you pull back the reins and attempt to slow the horses down, though they don’t abide. The horses are panicked, unsure how to react.

“Don’t stop the coach!” the man with the feather in his hat, shooting over his shoulder.

”Well, what the hell do I do then?!” Your eyebrows furrow. “There’s more! They just keep comin’!” you turn your head at his words, and your eyes widen to see more O’Driscoll men trailing behind on coaches and horses.

“Jump on my horse!” The man with the striped shirt yells in your direction, and you look at him as if he’s crazy. “I’ll grab you, don’t worry about falling, but hurry it up!” His voice booms, going rasp.

“Now! Now!” He pulls back the reins of his horse, causing it to halt, and with a running start, you jump off the coach and onto his horse, his arm pulling you up as you almost fall off the horse’s hind to sit upright.

The horses to the coach attempt to stop at the edge of the cliff they ran too, though the coach pushes them over. You gasp, and turn your head as your hands grip the man’s jacket that was in front of you.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sweetheart,” he clears his throat, and turns his horse around. His friends caught up, and their horses skidded to a stop.

“Dutch! What the hell was that for?” The male, who had directed you to not stop the stagecoach, his face was twisted with fury.

“Do you trust me, or not, son?” The man, who now is identified as Dutch, questions him, then elbows you lightly. “John Marston, he’s the hothead if you couldn’t tell, ain’t that right, boys?” He let out a humorous laugh. “Damn straight.” The one with the sombrero howls.

You had to keep yourself from passing out, which failed miserably. “You alright back there, miss?” He nudged your body again. Your eyes began to shut on you, and you slumped against the man’s back, then began to slide off the horse and onto the ground.

“Shit, shit!” Dutch took quick notice of your wounds. “Ain’t any of you tell me she was shot!” He wheezed, rushing off his horse. Everything faded to black.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fanfiction #red dead fanfic #red dead redemption x reader #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan is sexy #ghostheartfelt #ghostheartfelt writing

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shoezuki · 13 days

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Theresbeen many a drunk headcanon and they be fun and funky but it got me thinking bout clumsiness outside of bein drunk.

Gepard seems very sure-footed. He's the captain of the guard, always leading, never showing hesitation lest it brings nerves upon his troops. I don't think he's some sorta balance god but I do think he's a steady guy that isn't really bumping into anything.

Sampo gives off cat vibes to me, I can imagine him scuttling up a wall jus to tiptoe across its top as if it was nothing. He's doin lil hops and skips just to show off a little. Whilst Geppie is strong in his stance and motion, Sampo is graceful but not really in a delicate way? He's got the smugness of a cat but his grace is more akin to an elk. It's got weight behind it but you can tell he's not fallin anytime soon.

But I like to think he's extremely used to having everything mapped out. He has places for everything and whilst it doesn't at all look neat, he knows exactly where everything is.

His coffee table is always crooked but he simply bends out of the way as he walks past, head in a stack of documents. There's stuff all over the floor but he's tiptoeing between them without hesitation. He has cabinets full of anything and everything, look in them and god knows what his file sorting system is but you ask for something specific and he makes a beeline for the bottom left drawer, stuffs his hand to the back and pulls it out instantly.

With Gep, he's also orderly. He knows where everything is but because it's neat. Even his pens are organised by colour and use. He's not a neat-freak, he's just grown up to always put things back where he found it when he's done and having shared sleepin spaces for so long with fellow soldiers, knows that keeping everything in its place makes things less stressful.

He knows better than to mess with Sampo's files or move any of his 'work' stuff but he's defo moving tidbits off the floor and pushing furniture back against the wall. Like, why is the sofa in the middle of the room??? How does someone do that in the first place???

So now Sampo, as aware and confident as he is, is now tripping over everything. He's knocked his shin on the coffee table 3 times in one day. He's stubbed his toe on the sofa and fully fallen to the ground, he's gone to grab something off the floor (where it usually is) only to realise it's no longer there and just stand in the middle of the room, looking lost, staring into space for 5 minutes.

He feels like he's been invaded. Never had to shrug off Natasha's questioning so often when she comments on a new bruise or scrape. He's not even getting them on the field!!!! That stool was perfectly fine in front of the cupboard. That's where he liked it.

But like hell is he gonna tell Gepard that. He's tried to some extent but it's only led to long circle talk. After all, it's unsurprisingly hard to explain that you like your furniture layout to look like someone's lost a fight in your home and having things not in the way is mildly disturbing.

This was meant to be about clumsiness. They're gettin away from me again XD

~ 🥃

YesyesyesYES SBGDV god they both have like. Theyre own sense of order. Like gepard's is the most blatant. Hes got a Schedule ok he has an order to how he does things and when he does things and where stuff goes.

But sampo seems Chaotic. Like his things seem to be a mess and all disjointed and over the place but To Him he has like. A System. He has no fucking clue what that system is and can Not explain it whatsoever but hes got it. Sure its a mess and no one knows how he can possible operate like this and especially concerning his bomb making its crazy he hasnt blown himself up yet but it Works.

Them living together is Hilarious cuz if this. Like gepard needs things where theyre 'supposed' to be, while sampo shifts his things n environment according to Him. Mfers in a silent war cuz they keep moving shit back to where They think its sposed to be. Like sampo keeps shifting the coffee table to the left and at a bit of an angle so that he can rest his feet on it from the sofa but gep keeps moving it back cuz its Supposed To Be Exactly 2 feet from the sofa and Right in the middle of the fucking rug, sampo. Every late night sampo moves the dishes around seemingly randomly so that his favourite bowls and mugs are easily reachable while he cooks and every morning gepard gets up and reorganizes the cupboards by size and type of dish while he makes coffee.

Theyre engaging in domestic psychological warfare

#fight FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT #does belobog have dishwashers. cuz if so they absolutely fight over how the dishwasher should be loaded #🥃#anon #sampard

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fazfacts · 4 months

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THINGS I HAVE SAID WHILE PLAYING HW2

a compilation of quotes from myself & my friends have said as i played fnaf hw2 for the first time. also some motions + gestures i keep doing in-game. feel free to change as needed!

QUOTES:

❝ I finally feel like I have a dad... ❞

❝ I am TRYING to hit a baby. ❞

❝ Y'all are like real customers. You're never fucking satisfied. ❞

❝ I swear to God I got [their] order right! ❞

❝ I LITERALLY JUST FINISHED YOUR MAKE-UP. ❞

❝ What do you WANT from me?? ❞

❝ OH GOD, I'M SO SORRY. ❞

❝ I thought their name was pronounced "[___]" until somebody called them "[___]." I'm still confused. ❞

❝ You go, queen. Get that pizza!!! ❞

❝ DON'T HAVE LOW SELF-ESTEEM, THAT MAKES ME SAD! ❞

❝ Look at this! This is so pretty! ❞

❝ I can see the lobby from here! ❞

❝ I SEE YOU, BITCH. ❞

❝ [THEIR] EYES ARE GORGEOUS... ❞

❝ I'M IN LOVE. ❞

❝ Do you want a widdle kissy for your boo-boos? ❞

❝ OH GOD, STOP SCREAMING. ❞

❝ SHHHHHH. Shhhhhhh. ❞

❝ Do you know how hard it is to focus for that long? ❞

❝ Are you proud of me, [father]? ❞

❝ What am I gonna do? My [dad] still doesn't believe in me! ❞

❝ YAAAAY! ❞

❝ WAS THAT A TRANSFORMERS REFERENCE? IN GOD'S YEAR OF 2023? ❞

❝ OH MY GOD, IT'S VOLTRON. ❞

❝ Ew. ❞

❝ Why is there MOLD on everything??? ❞

❝ I, like science, am a liar sometimes. ❞

❝ Why'd you do that? ❞

❝ I wanted to hear [them] gaslight gatekeep girlboss me... ❞

❝ Don't do that!!! ❞

❝ Oh God, WHY are they doing that??? ❞

❝ STOP STANDING SO CLOSE TO ME. ❞

❝ I wish I could give you a thumbs-up. ❞

❝ My [dad] is disappointed in me...just like in real life. ❞

❝ Can I high-five you? ❞

❝ My chakra is clouded and unfocused...yeah, that tracks.❞

❝ I like that those aren't even tarot cards. ❞

❝ OH MY GOD! THAT'S MY GORL! ❞

❝ I don't know what reality is anymore... ❞

❝ Look! I found lore! ❞

❝ This takes, like, two seconds. ❞

❝ Wanna see a secret? ❞

❝ Haha, don't say that ever again. ❞

❝ It's gettin' hot in here, so take off both your arms... ❞

❝ GO AWAY, I'M FIXING SHIT. ❞

❝ I hate [___]...but I love the way they move. ❞

❝ I'm so sorry, [___]. I have the memory of a goldfish. ❞

❝ YEEHAW! ❞

❝ I'M WORKIN' HERE. ❞

❝ I know you can't tell, but I'm fingergunning you. ❞

❝ Please don't "Bite of '87" me this time. ❞

❝ I feel like I'm playing a worse version of Wii Sports. ❞

❝ CRUSH THEM CRUSH THEM CRUSH THEM! ❞

❝ I swear I'm better at [___] in real life. ❞

❝ Oh yeah! I have TWO hands! ❞

❝ If only I could use my left hand... ❞

❝ I think my blind, aimless shooting just saved my life. ❞

❝ I suddenly feel like I have reflexes. ❞

❝ Is lime sour?? ❞

(singing) ❝ My parents don't love me... ❞

❝ No, THAT song goes like "ba bum bum-bum da-nah." ❞

❝ Oh. I guess they are the same song. ❞

❝ You eat GARBAGE. You have no right to be this picky. ❞

❝ They don't like my art... ❞

❝ NOOOO! WHAT'D YOU DO TO [THEM]!? ❞

ACTIONS:

send a corresponding number; reverse muses by adding something like "+ reverse." get funky with it.

for my muse to stare at their hands, existential crisis-style, in front of yours.

for my muse to recklessly shoot a firearm.

for my muse to ferociously shove a toy in their mouth.

for my muse to do a little dance.

for my muse to furiously wave "hi!" at yours.

for my muse to gently pet your muse's head.

#rp memes #rp prompts #sentence starters #fnaf hw2 #hw2 spoilers / kinda /

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powderblueblood · 2 months

Note

Gimme a classic Ronnie and Eddie mess around! Like, what is their greatest conquest to date, what pranks/hijinks have they pulled over on the beleaguered people of Hawkins?

it's the eve of, y'know, that.

the big departure.

the long goodbye.

ronnie and eddie have started referring to it as phillip marlowe-ing in order to, y'know, skirt around the issue of her leaving for new york because it's not as if either of them are wont to express their feelings here, jesus christ. well, except in the case of--

"alright, RJ, i got one for ya. top five hawkins fuck yous, let 'er rip."

ronnie prrrfftts out a breath and nearly keels over in her rusted, rickety, fold-up lawn chair that they've perched in front of the ecker trailer. it's a balmy summer night and ronnie's full of beer and eddie's merging onto nostalgia boulevard.

"where could i possibly begin, dude?"

a hawkins fuck you is another colloquialism shared between 'em. because when ronnie and eddie pull off a prank, it's not just a prank. okay? it's a statement. this is something that ronnie insists upon, something eddie blames on her 'punk rat leanings', but the personal is political, okay! and you know what else is political?

"number five, naturally, we gotta go small and loving-- shakin' up a can of soda before we give it to gareth. it's fresh, it's funky, it's harmless."

cigarette ember gesticulating in the dwindling light, eddie adds, "and it helps him remember his place."

"bingo. do not forget to keep that shit up when i'm in new york," ronnie says, pointedly pointing, "i don't wanna fuckin heaaar about you gettin' all soft on him and lettin' him run around without a face full of sody pop."

"it's what the munchkin deserves," her similarly be-banged brother agrees. "why does he keep falling for it, ya think?"

"because he loves us, you dumb-dumb," ronnie closes her eyes and sticks her hands behind her head, scratching under the band of her ball cap. "alright, number four... shit, kaminsky and the glue seat. it's gotta be, right? what a totally perfect maelstrom of humiliation."

"christ, and when he couldn't get up without tearing his fucking pants and then kelley comes in--"

"she had to think he was rodded up, dude! signed, sealed, delivered, pervert on school grounds!"

eddie guffaws, big and hearty in a way that makes ronnie join him. "i couldn't believe you dreamed that shit up on your own, you little do-gooder."

ronnie reaches for her beer and takes a pull, sobriety edging to the point where she's seeing twice as many fireflies as usual congregating around her porch light. her voice turns gravelly and serious.

"a c minus will do crazy things to a man."

"jesus, you sound like--"

"don't even say it."

slumping down in his squeaking seat, eddie scoffs. "number three, make with it."

ronnie's mouth twists, absently plucking at the label on her bottle. this is real now, this is crunch time. whenever they usually play top five (top five transformers, top five cheerleaders you'd mow down with a dirt bike, top five cheerleaders you'd save from getting mown down with a dirt bike if you knew they'd make out with you after), ronnie'd get a little overwhelmed once they broke the top three. that's a lot of pressure, y'know! three, magic number, all that shit!

but it's nostalgia boulevard. it's sentimental city. certain things stick out.

ronnie tosses a balled up piece of label at eddie. "foam party at the hawk."

her best friend's mouth perks up and he bats a big ol' bastard of a hand at her. "you're just sayin' that."

"i'm not! that was... i mean, that revolutionized the hawkins fuck you genre!"

"yeah, well, that's what they get for showing it's a wonderful life in july."

"you and your girlfriend dawn dishsoap gettin' freaky in the air vents."

"i could've gone to juvie for that one. if they caught me."

"this is what i'm sayin'!"

click, click. eddie lights another cigarette and ronnie nearly asks him for one, but knows she'll regret the taste of gross tobacco breath in the morning. "but it's still not number one, or number two," he points out.

"well, no, because number two is steve harrington's bald patch!"

a resounding SMACK! as both ronnie and eddie clap their hands together on cue, breaking into peals of soundless laughter, so much so that i'm gonna have to explain this fucking bit to ya, aren't i?

steve harrington's bald patch was a glorious era of time where ronnie was once caught attempting to see something through the arc de triomphe of steve harrington's hair. this prompted steve harrington to be like, what are you staring at, weirdo, or something to that effect which ronnie didn't appreciate. so she was all, dude, you might wanna... get that looked at... that... patch on the back of your head...

and somehow, by some grace of some satanic deity, it caught on.

every time ronnie or eddie were within staring distance of harrington, they zeroed in on the back of his head, exchanging looks of disgust, mild concern, but never amusement so he'd think it was real. and furthermore, they were worried for him. because who wouldn't be worried about steve 'the hair' harrington's hair? it was basically the hawkins high mascot.

and who had more school spirit than ecker and munson?

"ohhhh, shit!" ronnie yelps, wiping at her streaming eyes. "think he ever went and got that rogaine?"

"uuuggghhuhuh, who gives a shit!" eddie drums on the armrests excitedly, the both of them belly-sore from laughing. "number one, ecker! the big catch, c'mon! better be as good as what i'm thinkin' of because if not..."

ronnie lets the last dregs of their laughter peter off into the night air before she answers. the night air, the last night's air, the last night she'll sit out here with eddie talking shit, being teenagers, being go-nowhere do-nothing kids from the trailer park. her stomach twists, but she doesn't let that stop her.

"well, duh," she swallows, after a the last pull of beer suds from her bottle, "graduating."

it takes eddie a second. "you're an asshole."

ronnie's cheeks straight up ache.

"i know."

how the hell is she gonna survive new york without this?

"and i'm very proud of you, asshole."

ah, shit.

"i know."

#powder room talk #whatis-much #ronnie ecker vs the world #r. ecker by powder #e. munson by powder #oh of CUOuUurse i had to go and get a little angsty there at the end i'm a glutton i cant help myself #the disgusting brothers......#published by powder

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sparkedblaze · 11 months

Text

Hi here's all my favorite things about Livesies as I watch it

92sies

This is fsfs gonna be part 1 of 2 or 3

T/W violence, cursing, ets

The Overture. It plays all these semi-familiar tunes from 92sies with a little funky freshness to it and I love it sm

THE FUCKING PROJECTIONS AHAHHHHH

CRUTCHIE BEING THE ONLY OTHER NEWSIE (BESIDES ALBERT) WITH A BACKWARDS HAT

"I ain't been walkin' so good" 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

"Doyawannabustyaothalegtoo?!" "Uh.. no I wanna go down."

"Ya seein' stars alright."

Their accents and over acting are amazing

A big life in a small town SUCKS Jackson Kelly

Heh heh

*waves hand in front of Crutchie's eyes*

CRUTCHIE ACTUALLY CLOSING HIS EYES AND HIS LIL SMILE WHILE HE'S IMAGINING SANTA FE

DID I MENTION THE PROJECTIONS

yA RIDe it inStyLE FEACHA ME RIDIN IN STILE

"WORK THE LAND CHASE THE SUN SWIM THE W H O L E R I O G R A N D E JUST FOR FUUUUN"

"WATCH ME STAND😄 Watch me run 😀 🙁"

"hey HEY"

THE IDEA THAT THE PROLOGUE IS ACTUALLY A PROLOGUE I THINK IT'S @raggedy-albert 'S HC

RACETRACK MOTHERFUCKING HIGGINS

ALBERT FUCKING DASILVA

"A leg of lamb 🥰"

R A L B E R T

FINCH

BEN COOK SKY FLAHERTY IAIN YOUNG JOSH BURRAGE

MUSH'S HOP LOOKING FOR HIS HAT

MIKE AND IKE TRADING HATS

CRUTCHIE SHINING HIS CRUTCH

BUTTONS' HAND MOVEMENT ON 'FISHES'

JACK NUDGING SMALLS ON 'FISHES'

IAIN YOUNG'S LIL RAT BOY FACE

'Step aside Romeo nothin more concerns u here'

Poisonally

Kath's sass

Darcy pretending he's straight

"I'M CRUSHED"

"Gonna rain?" "Uuuuhhhhhh..... No rain oh-ho partlycloudyclearbyevenin"

"BLIND" "AND MUTE" "AND DEAD"

Jack taking Finch's slingshot

Flip

Tommy's lil hops

"I LIKES LIVIN CHANCEY"

ELMER AND BUTTONS TAKING OFF THEIR HATS WHEN THE NUNS SHOW UP

"I dunno Sister, but it's bound to rain soon'a o' lat'a!"😃

BEN COOK

ANTHONY ZAS

NICK MASSON

JOSH BURRAGE

SKY FLAHERTY

IAIN YOUNG

CHAZ WOLCOTT

AND ALL THE OTHERS WHO I DON'T REMEMBER THE NAMES OF THE ACTORS

Everyone hopping to give their cups back

"I DO TOOOOO SO IT MUST ME TRUUUUUE WHAT A SWITCH, SOON WE'LL ALL BE RICH DON'T KNOW A BETTER WAY TO MAKE A NEWSIES DAYYY"

Their entire lil dancey dance right here

Elmer offended at being whacked with hat

"GOTAFEELINBOUTAHEADLINEISMELLSMEAHEADLINEPAPESAREGONNASELLLIKEWEWASGIVINEMAWAYBETCHADINNERITSADOOZYBOUTAPISTOLPACKINFLOOZYDONTKNOWANYBETTERWAYTOMAKEANEWSIESDAYIWASSTAKINOUTTHECIRCUSANDTHENSOMEONESAIDTHATCONEYSREALLYHOTBUTWHENIGOTTHERETHEREWASSPOTWITHALLHISCRONIESYOIMGONNATAKEWHATLITTLEDOUGHIGOTANDPLAYTHEPONIESWEATLEASTDESERVESAHEADLINEFORTHEHOURSTHATTHEYWORKUSJEEZIBETIFIJUSTSTAYEDALITTLELONGERATTHECIRCUS"

Finch finger guns

Jack taking Finch's hat

Smalls diving under Finch's leg

Finch's face right before they say 'yeah!'

Whatever Al's face is doing ever

*disappointment*

Romeo waving like the little bean he is

"WATCH IT"

"It's honest woik"

"AINCHA FADDA ONE O THA STRIKAS"

Albert and Racer

Ralbert

Whack whack

The Delanceys running into each other

Morris hopping from steps

Everyone getting their bags

ALBERT PUT YOUR FUCKING HAT ON

Big smiles everyone, we just finished the first big number Race: :O

Davey trying to slow Les

"I'll call ya sweetheart if you spot me 50 papes"

"I'M NEW TOO"

Albert, to Jojo: Yo check this shit out. Watch what I'm about to do to this bitch "YOU HAVE A VERRRRY INTERESTING FACE. EVER THOUGHT ABOUT GETTIN' INTO MOVIN' PITCHAS?!"

"BUY A TICKET THEY LET ANYONE IN"

*Does not pay*

Everyone's face when they laugh at Jack making fun of Oscar

"The faymus Jack Kelly"

Ben Cook's dumbass socks

Jack's "holy fuck he can do math" face

Specs laughing at Jack's reaction to Les knowing math

"That's disgusting"

W i b b l e

Specs never using stairs properly

Albert riding in on Pulitzer's desk

FOOTBALL? *whack* VIOLENT? *whack*

"Guess what? He got elected." *runs*

Nunzio.

My roommate and I accidentally mashing cut and slit like twice and so now we say slut instead of either

"-like an army that's marching to war." I mean... He wasn't wrong

Has anyone noticed how similar Hannah and Kath look?

BIG STEP BIG STEP BIG STEP

"buy a pape from a poor orphan boy" *cough cough*

"BORN TO THE BREED"

"THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN SCHOOL" "This kid"

Racetrack hawkin in the background and bolting when Snyder comes

"Doesn't everyone?"

ALL THE CONTINUITY ERRORS IN MEDDA'S THEATER. THE BOYS GOING FROM NEWSIES TO FAKE MUSTACHE MEN AND BACK

LOVEY DOVEY BABY PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND

Jack saying pocket with the same intensity that Draco Malfoy says Potter

MEDDA FUCKING LARKIN

"The only thing I own is the mortgage"

"ARE YOU BLIND SHE GOT NO CLOTHES ON"

The look Jack and Davey share when Medda says she knows the governor

"YOU PICTURED THAT?!"

"Take it easy, it's a bunch of trees."

"Jeez! I never knew no one with a aptitude!"

"I AM?! HOW 'M I DOIN'?!"

'I'm better than you' the song

Jack's lil figure 8 dance with just his head

"And prayers from the Pope"

Devin Lewis as Jack for like two scenes.

"AND. MY. BANK."

Watching Jack recognize Katherine

"Why don't you go find out?" 👀

"You want I should lock the door"

"Doin what?"

It's hard to like a whole lot about the scenes where they're flirting bc Kath is so outwardly uncomfy with it

And also they're both simps for Jacobses

*two finger point*

"sOrry mIss mEddA"

Jack's hesitation before he starts singing

"Girls are nice, once or twice, til I find someone new" You bisexual pining bitch

Does anyone know who does the actual sketch?

T H E P R O J E C T I O N

"-and you lie like a rug!"

"What are you doing?!"

"Hey-hey quiet down there's a show goin' on!"

"Shhhhhhhhh"

"Everr"

HAT TIP AND SMIRK AS JACK IS CLIMBING DOWN

MIKE AND IKE GIVING OFF THE MAJOREST SIBLING EVERGY

"Sirens is like lullabies to me."

DELANCEY DEVASTATION AT "they've got a mother" THEY'RE SO TRASH AND HURT I LOVE THEM

"He traded her for a box o' cigars!" "HEY THEY WAS CORONAS"

"Ain't we the hoi polloi!"

"Ask me after they put up the headline"

"Is that news?" "ITISTOME"

Romeo. R O M E O

"I ain't payin' no sixty."

DEUS SPECS MACHINA

BAMBAM "C'mere fellas"

Henry's pose as he says "AIN'T WE GOT NO RIGHTS?!"

IK THAT EVERYONE SAYS TOMMY LOOKS DOWN BC HE'S CONFUSED WHEN JACK SAYS 'WOULD YOU KEEP YOUR SHIRT ON' BC HE'S WEARING A SHIRT YADDA YADDA BUT HE'S NOT THAT'S HIS UNDERSHIRT. SO HE'S CONFUSED BC HIS SHIRT IS ALREADY OFF. BACK IN THOSE TIMES BEING IN JUST YOUR UNDERSHIRT, YOU MAY AS WELL HAVE NO SHIRT. THX FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

LES SHOVING PEOPLE

Crutchie desperately trying to hop to keep up

Jojo and Elmer.

"Hey Jack you still thinkin?" "Sure he is. Can't ya smell smoke?"

(I'm out of character limits so this is part 1)

#my favorite things about newsies #my favorite livesies things #newsies #livesies

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mokeonn · 3 months

Note

Why don't you wanna play your other games cuz you can't turn them honor? What part of honor mode has enchanted you so?

I do enjoy my other games but I am having a TON of fun with honor mode, mainly coming down to the following reasons:

- No reloading.

This has been my blessing and my curse. On the one hand, it makes battles WAY more fun because if they go south, I can't just press the magic undo key. It's changed my battle strategy when I lose from "just reload to before the battle" to "have someone escape and prepare to pickpocket Withers at camp," which is a lot more fun imo. It's also why I had so many problems with the phase spider matriarch and why Poetry is technically continuing with dishonor because I kept running away and leaving camp right back to the fight. (Which was my fault, I forgot you can use waypoints in camp)

It also means I don't have to worry about saving often anymore. No more backtracking more than expected because I forgot to save before or after an event, because I simply can't backtrack!

However this also causes a nightmare, if you fuck up and end up wiping out an entire town or giving a character a bad end on accident, you're stuck with that. I have figured out how to turn the tide in my favor for a lot of events, but for others, I am simply out of luck if I mess it up. Like triggering the Isobel kidnapping scene and not winning the fight, or if something happens to a future companion in a battle where they're an ally. You're just stuck with the consequences, which sucks SO much.

- the difficulty is kinda fun and adds new features to fights that freshens it up

I normally go through the game in balanced mode, because that feels just right for me, but I can't help but admit that the new attacks and enemy features of honor mode freshen up the game a lot more. Take the intellect devourer fight at the very beginning of the game when you pick up Shadowheart, I've done that fight so many times it's more of a chore that gets you to level up than anything else. In tactician mode, it's the same fight, but they hit harder. In honor mode??? Those fuckers got laser beams! That's new! That adds something that freshens up an old experience! I like that a lot!

Many fights are like that where an old fight I've already done at least 5 times feels new. Getting the owlbear fight out of the way? Now there's 2 owlbears, bitch. Does the hag have new attacks? I wouldn't know! I just cheese the fight by arcane locking the stairs to the lair when she first reveals herself.

It really adds a breath of fresh air, and it gets me to think a lot more about equipment, spells, battle strategies, classes, feats, and so on. Rather than simply brute forcing my way through and reloading until I win.

-food system

I understand this is just a general tactician mode change, but instead of 40 camp supplies, you need 80.

I tend to pick up any edible substance I can see anyways, leading to me having over 1,000 camp supplies sometimes. I have to constantly distribute supplies to other party members lest my player character have 70% of their inventory and ability to carry things be taken up by food. I am constantly juggling to make sure I don't become encumbered.

So, having that set to 80 instantly helps me cut down on food and has even caused a little challenge. Due to the difficulty of honor mode, I have to long rest more, which means I now ACTUALLY have to worry about camp supplies. There will be times were the party needs to rest but I don't have enough supplies so I need to either find something, or buy something.

I find the food management aspect really fun actually and it's very interesting to want to long rest only to realize you only have 18 supplies and need to scramble to get 62 more.

-gettin' funky with it

I think the biggest part I like about honor mode as well is that there are areas where you can't simply run away to camp if things go south. So the game constantly requires me to think outside of the box and get funky with it.

Things like using enemies as weapons against other enemies, making a healing circle in combat and throwing a potion down in the middle of it, getting rid of an entire boss fight early by simply getting other enemies to fight them, blocking off doorways with boxes or arcane lock, finding out that darkness is your friend it is SUCH a good spell.

It's REALLY fun to figure out wild solutions to get things done without risking the run ending. A dumb example was in grymforge! I wanted to get all the duegar out of the way before fighting Nere, so I did this by going to the upper platform hanging above the entrance of the main room, and using a berserker Karlach to start throwing things down. Most of the duegar were melee fighters so they would end up dashing around and missing turns, and those that could hit far were taken out first. I had potions lined up the wazoo and made shadowheart throw them on karlach when she got low on health, Astarion was sneak attacking, and Poetry (my durge bardlock) was inspiring Karlach and eldrich blasting.

It got even better because some enemies had javelins they would throw up, which meant that Karlach now had more Javelins to throw down.

It was a dumb battle that ended with a solid 8 turns of everyone wailing on the scrying eye hoping to damage it, because we ran out of thunder spells that could hurt it and most of our damage was negated most turns. It cried for help every time, but no help came.

But I had a ton of fun with it! It was a memorable fight! It wasn't like my first fight in my first playthrough where I had to keep reloading, I just got to win by standing up really high and making Karlach throw every Javelin I had found and gave her throughout the game and then some.

-it justifies my bad habits that make gamers cry

To the joy of all my friends, I have stopped using my inventory system I made up. I used to pick up every backpack and pouch I could find and sort everything into 4 bags in the order of: spell scrolls, drinkables, throwables, and coatables.

This kept everything nice and clean as most things outside of these bags either got a special bag (i.e story items or dye bottles) or just got to be sold. It was a little tedious to grab things during battle, but I used the custom page to make things easier. So it was only really a pain getting things out of someone else's inventory.

I have since found out that an auto sort by type button exists, and I can just use that instead. And that a search bar exists. It took until a friend pointed it out for me to realize this. So I stopped doing the bag system since I could simply throw the story items you can't sell into a backpack and just auto sort everything else.

Plus I used to have a treasure pouch I would sell, which is not necessary! That's what the 'add to wares' button is for! Whoopsie!

So, thankfully, for everyone, I stopped doing the backpack system...

However

I had also developed another habit around the same time I developed the backpack system. I was doing a challenge run where I dared myself to use every object I picked up no matter how useless, and it caused me to develop a habit that makes everyone who plays with me cry:

I press take all no matter what.

That's just how I close containers.

There's nothing that makes a friend playing with you cry more than an inventory full of useless garbage, and you keep picking up more garbage off the ground to mess with them.

In honor mode, the shop prices are HIGH. A 80 gp ring of flinging in balanced mode is over 200gp in honor mode. The gloves of missile snaring that are about 200 gp normally? Over 600gp. If you aren't planning on pickpocketting (which admittedly I am clearly under utilizing and I need to plan on pickpocketting more), you need a LOT of money to buy items you need.

You know what gets you a lot of money? Selling a metric fuckton of armor, weapons, rotten food, bones, and whatever other garbage you pick up!

Hell, if you even give some of these to shop keepers for free, they'll like you more and lower the prices!

So next time your friend yells at you for picking up all of the severed body parts you see in on the risen road, consider that each of those parts net you about 3 gold, and you need that bottle of light blue dye Dammon is selling.

- I want the achievement and the gold dice

I've been getting into achievement hunting and I really like how all of bg3 achievements are achievable through story beats or small fun actions, so I want the achievement. I'm already working on the second hardest one which is busking 100 gold, so I need the hardest one. Boost my ego. Plus I wanna see if it gets the tactician achievement out of the way as well.

Also yeah I want those gold dice lmao

So that's why I have only been playing honor mode lately. I still love those regular balanced games, and I will need to revisit my main game soon since I haven't beaten the game yet and have no idea what act 3 encounters there are, but I am having the time of my life with honor mode. The furthest I have gotten so far is right before the Nightsong and the assault on Moonrise Towers. I would be able to tell you how well that went if I didn't proceed to let my hubris get the better of me and mess up the last light Inn.

Anyways, I highly recommend trying honor mode! It really forces you to get into out of the box thinking and try some spells, classes, and methods you might not have used. Whether that's disguising yourself as a drow to get past the goblin camps conflict free, pickpocketting every shopkeeper you can to save money, or saving every smokepowder barrel you can find; there's a lot of fun to be had in honor mode.

Of course, if you normally do explorer and never balanced or tactician, maybe reconsider idk. Also I am weird and absolutely have been trying new classes I never played before in this mode, I highly recommend playing a class you have played before if you're worried about the difficulty. For me? I got act 1 figured out, so by act 2 I'll be used to the class I picked it's no biggie :)

So far the only honor mode game going REALLY well for me is the one I'm doing with my friend, since he was unsure about honor mode and normally plays explorer. That one he is a druid half-wood elf (which is a fantastic pick as the wild shapes are grand for not dying and half-wood elves get an extra 3 meters to their speed) and I am a war cleric of Selune romancing Lae'zel (war clerics RULE for hitting hard, and I wanted to piss off Shadowheart as much as possible with my build.) So if you have a friend who likes playing tactician or honor mode, you can totally mooch off them. Having another player to control half of the team honestly helps a lot imo.

#simon says #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #thank you for letting me ramble #im having an AWFUL time at the moment and im dealing with a lot of pain so this was nice :)#also i decided what my next character is gonna be #gonna do a thief/monk build because that sounds VERY broken #also Karlach romance because idk I always find it funny when the over 6 foot tall barbarian with a heart of gold smooches a 3 foot halfling #also with a heart of gold #long post

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exsqueezememacaroni · 1 year

Text

So - let's say you wanted to go DEEP into Faith No More's live performances of Jizzlobber? And see all the ways Mike can fuck himself up on stage. Well, here you go - a compiled list of all the AD tour videos with this song (that I could find) and some lite commentary. gifs are from Warfield 1992

Edit: Hanover, Germany, Jun 3 1992 - (starts at 32:20) Mike what are you doing to that poor box?

Edit: Torino, Italy, Jun 26 1992 - (starts at 46:10) Ah! I found it, Mike screaming into the void (but I think the supercut shots are from Chinese Arithmetic)

Amsterdam, Holland, Jun 22 1992 - fairly reserved, Mike plays Puff's cymbals

Roskilde Festival, Denmark, Jun 25 1992 - (starts at 32:29) gas station Mike, fighting invisible people, and we're gettin' ~creepy~

Wasahallen Stadium, Sweden, Jul 3 1993 - (starts at 41:15) more invisible fighters, and a flip!

Edit: Milwaukee, WI, US, Jul 23 1992 - (starts 27:35) shit, how could i forget Modjeska!?! Roddy is definitely dead, Mike's spine is definitely crushed, Mike's slow build headbang is everything

The Warfield, CA, US, Aug 19 1992 - absolutely batshit crazy, and somehow Mike stays beautiful

Shippensburg, PA, US, Oct 16 1992 - (starts at 55:38) somehow Roddy is more nuts during this one, not much camera time on Mike

Saint Louis, MO, US, Sept 18 1992 - (starts at 48:22) "you wanna see me naked? it's ok, i love you too"

Edit: new link - Columbus, OH, US, Sept 23 1992 - song starts at 49:00, but link starts a little early bc that guy getting tackled is fucking hilarious) Mike flips over Roddy, Roddy flips into the crowd, Mike flips straight onto his back, absolute chaos

Philadelphia, PA, US, Oct 17 1992 - (starts at 45:07) the video quality is really strange on this one? otherwise only a normal amount of nuts

Gothenburg, Sweden, Oct 30 1992 - (starts at 52:20) that light is so fucking bright, good thing Mike's grunting increases, Reese's shirt!

Edit: Stockholm, Sweden, Oct 31 1992 - (starts at 50:40) Mike and the mic stand DO NOT get along, Mike jumps into the astral plane

Edit: Munich, Germany, Nov 11 1992 - (starts at 55:37) What's FNM's opinion on giraffes? "I'll fuck it"

Aschaffenburg, Germany, Nov 17 1992 - (starts at 57:25) "what does it SAY??" I am almost certain Mike kills someone when he flips into the audience...he jumps SO HIGH

Edit: Koblenz, Germany, Nov 19 1992 - (starts at 55:25) funky video edits on this one, but...is he humping the monitor?? jfc mike

Brixton Academy, England, Nov 26 1992 - (starts 57:24) that little 180 jump Mike does kinda kill me - otherwise not a lot of Mike time

Sheffield, England, Dec 5 1992 - (starts 57:55) almost didn't add this one - video is either dark, out of focus or wildly astray for most of it

Milan, Italy, Dec 17 1992 - (starts at 53:46) ok - I could write a whole dissertation on this - bc WHAT THE FUCK MIKE

The Warfield, CA, US, Jan 20 1993 - (starts at 54:20) the band chanting "fuck me" at the beginning is still good, not as bonkers as Warfield 1992 but his voice is deeper, darker, and does make me wanna fuck...wait...is he just slamming himself at the monitor??

Hollywood Palladium, CA, US, Jan 22 1993 - (starts 56:10) the camera angle switches partway through and we somehow end up behind them? and then it cuts to the end 😭, but Hawaiian shirt Mike

Wellington, New Zealand, May 13 1993 - (starts 1:05:56) god i love 1993 Mike's voice, but i do not know how his throat does not end up broken

Christchurch, New Zealand, May 16 1993 - (starts at 1:05:57) seeing Mike just frolic into Jim's frame is pretty great, that's a squat right there

Berlin, Germany, Jun 4 1993 - (starts at 54:44) red shirt mike barely keeps himself from landing head first into the drum riser, this one seems...angry?? and flips in 1993!

Lisbon, Portugal, Jun 26 1993 - oof the sound on this one is real bad, but Mike is in fine form - jacking off the water bottle, and he definitely lands face first

Phoenix Festival, England, Jul 17 1993 - Jim's last show, and Mike is appropriately unhinged™

Bonus: someone did a supercut of best bits

#mike patton #faith no more #jizzlobber #they did this song a few times in the kfad tour #and at brixton 2009 #but no videos exist of those i think?#anyways you're welcome #now choose your favorite and get back to me #i appreciate every videographer just zooms in on roddy for the end #and that mike always takes the guitar solo to take a big swig of water

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oswinunknown · 1 year

Note

narrator doing a little boogie to the elevator song

mans gettin funky with it

#ozzies 200 extravaganza #artswin #tsp narrator #the stanley parable #the stanley parable ultra deluxe #tsp

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bubblekidaesthetics · 1 year

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Clawdeen finally shows off her clawsome stylings💜

Long time no see huh?

I was a bit silent here 'cause I was preparing for a convention so a lot of ideas and very little time. I also had my thoughts running between work, friends, and other things which make me wanna blush and diary like a socially awkward 5th grader that lacks basic communication skills and fumbles with words🙈

(kinda cringe but we deal with it)

Still, Clawdeen was there in the back of my mind tapping me on the shoulder, going like, hey... Don't you wanna start on my design? And I did, I truly did. I just... Got distracted😅

So by the time, I got around to finally gettin' my ass into gear this gorgeous thing came into my life in the form of... A leak? IDK if it was revealed or leaked but the prom line pictures emerged and Clawdeen's design took my breath away💅

I mean just look at her!!!

My eyes are out of my eye sockets and rolling on the floor. It's giving generation 1 Monster High realness. I also love the 80s influences in her blazer design and the glittering tinsel in her hair. Very reminiscent of the Why do ghouls fall in Love Clawdeen. Almost an homage to it really💖

So with my design, I wanted to hit closer to her personality. She is quirky, nerdy, and above all, I feel a bit less into the extra girly frow frow stuff you'd expect from Draculaura and Lagoona.

I gave her the amazingly curly hair she sports in the show which the doll lacks much to my disappointment. As for the outfit, I thought of giving her an elegant vest tucked inside a fitted corset, paired with this gnarly green shirt with shoulder pads meant to be a nod to the crescent moon. No true dad shirt would be complete without a funky print, so lil crescent moons for the win. The shoes were really fun to come up with, pulling inspiration from the design style of one of my favorite shoewear brands "Irregular Choice".

A lot of effort went into this one but I loved every single minute of working on it. I am very proud of how she turned out, as this style better fits her personality, but man do I love the official look for this one!!!!

I am probably gonna snatch it the moment it comes out😏

I will go on holiday for a bit, so I might not be able to draw there, but until then, please don't get your bandages in a twist. She is one ghoul known to make people wait anyway😉

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wonderlandjester · 2 years

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Got so much goin' on at the moment that all yall be gettin' is WIP art. Anyways. Got these funky little boys in the works. : D

#Slasher #scream 1996 #Scream #ghostface #billy loomis #stu macher #comfort movie #Comfort character(s)#WIP art

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mable-stitchpunk · 10 months

Text

Going Home in a Box: Chapter 67 - Teaser

There was an eerie silence as Natalie walked Monty and Moon out of the West Arcade. Even though the two were spaced apart, she could somehow feel the tension between them like static rolling on her arms. She was probably the only thing keeping them from going off at each other again. Smitty and Buddy certainly weren’t, continuing to wheel beside and behind her innocently, unaware of that ominous pressure in the air.

They only got a few steps into the atrium when Monty suddenly turned towards Moon.

“Hey, hey-,” Natalie started to interject. She went completely ignored.

“Ah know what yer up to,” he hissed, interrupting the blond’s plea.

Moon’s red pupils rolled to Monty. His face as static as ever, but the motion giving off disrespect and disinterest.

“Ya know, ever since that kid showed up, weird stuff’s been going on. We’ve been gettin’ unexpected blackouts and funky issues with all the hardware, and accidents. A whole lotta serious accidents started happenin’ since that night that kid came up in here,” Monty said suspiciously. Though his gaze was locked firmly on Moon. Those red eyes staring right over the top of his shades and locking with Moon’s own.

Moon responded by turning to Monty and lazily planning his hands on his hips. “And what on earth could you be getting at, hmm?”

“I’m talkin’ about Chica,” the gator grumbled. He broke his gaze to look towards Natalie, to make it clear that he was telling her as well. “How’d Chica get in that trash compactor? She ain’t dumb enough to go crawling around in there where there was open trash and leftover pizza halfa room away. Then the compactor just up and turns on all of a sudden. Even though the button’s ‘bout, what, five feet away from the door? Behind her. No, we all know that ain’t what happened. That was no accident. I think someone pushed her in.”

“Tch! Are you suggesssting a child pushed Chica into the trash compactor?” Moon asked incredulously.

“Naw…” Monty stepped forward and jabbed a claw into his chest. “I’m suggestin’ you did!”

Moon flinched back in surprise, not expecting the accusation. Natalie’s eyes popped open at it, but her mouth stayed shut.

“Are you insane?” Moon threw back.

“It allll lines up. Chica’s been on that kid’s tail since he’s been in here, yer the one built to wrangle kids, and then one night somethin’ pushes Chica into that compactor and gets back fast enough to press the button before she gets out. That’s you. Yer that fast.”

“That is ridiculous!”

“And I know why ya did it too. Not because of that kid, but because of Freddy,” Monty growled. “Ya’ll hate how the Pizzaplex pushes those two together and ya couldn’t stand that she’s up on stage with him and yer stuck in some little daycare-.”

“That is insane!”

“And ya might have Freddy fooled, but here I noticed that ya didn’t seem shocked or all that concerned when Chica got broken up. But you were there, weren’t cha? ‘Course Freddy would be down there if our girl got crushed, but why were you?”

Moon was so infuriated, so offended by the mere suggestion that he lost his tongue and lost his mind and suddenly it all came out.

“Where’s Bonnie?!”

Monty recoiled at the question Moon shoved into his face, along with his own face as he bowed up on the gator. “Wha-?”

“You’re going to stand here and point fingers at me, then I’ll point them right back! Where’s Bonnie?!” Moon repeated. He smacked the gator’s already withdrawn hand aside and poked him roughly in the sternum. “We all know, we ALL KNOW, where Bonnie was when he went ‘missing’! In Gator Golf, hmm? How odd for him to wind up there. And odder still that YOU didn’t see him, as you said. And impossibly odd that you then REPLACED him so seamlessly!”

“That wasn’t my fault! They needed a bassist, and they chose me!” Monty defended. He shirked back from the jester in a way he hadn’t all throughout their fight and hid his wild eyes behind the safety of his sunglasses. Those sunglasses.

“You loved it! You LOVED sucking up all that limelight on stage, Monty! You LOVE filling in his role! And you LOVE wearing his shades!”

“Oh yeah?! Well, ya’ll ‘loved’ yer technician! Where the hell is he?!”

Moon shrunk at that. “What…?” His voice was impossibly quiet.

“You heard me! How funny izzit that this tech boy is all cuddly with the sun and you hate him and then he suddenly ups and disappears. Leaves- ya’ll know none of them employees who ‘leave’ really leave, so spill! Where’d ya hide the body?!”

“SHUT UP!”

Moon lunged at Monty and nearly had his hands on him when Natalie suddenly threw herself between them. Monty threw his hands down out of reflex while Moon clenched his own and leaned right back.

“That’s enough, you two! You’re just trying to rile each other up so you have another excuse to fight! Well, knock it off! Neither of you are going down to Parts and Service tonight! And if you are, so help me, I’m going to have Mr. Wight do the repairs!” she threatened. She looked between the two as though challenging them and somehow, unbelievably, she must’ve been scary enough that they decided not to risk it.

That or scared of Parts and Service. That could’ve worked too.

After a moment of silence, she took a deep breath. “Okay, now here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to personally walk both of you to wherever you’re going and you’re going to cool off. Then you can go do whatever, but if I catch you to pulling this again, I’m going to get Roxy out here and she’s going to help me figure out team building exercises. So, unless you two want to be spending a lot of time together, I suggest you stay away. Got it?”

Monty muttered an agreement and adjusted his glasses. Moon gave a ‘tch’ and turned away with his arms dropping to his sides.

“Okay then. Let’s go.”

#GHIAB #Home Series #fnaf #Fanfiction #Chapter 67 #Teaser #Natalie #Vanessa #Monty #Montgomery Gator #Moon

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