#as my trademark quote says

[bl3ss3dbyt1amat]

misc bg3 companion hc

this is so much. i have no idea and im also sorry. all of the origin companions included under the cut

astarion:

i feel like he claps funny. like hes clapping but its that specific way thats meant to be like quieter? like clapping on the palm of his hand. this might be projection but i feel like hes also the type of person to do like a little clap or a spin or his trademark ridiculous giggle whenever hes happy.

i think that hes prone to dramatics like. like pretending to fall on the floor and die if you say hes actually not on your mind 24/7. oh whats that? you dont think im the prettiest princess in the entire world? well astarion has dramatically fallen to the floor

in the early game astarion most definitely practiced his lines loudly and publicly (in camp). he cant even see himself in the mirror but hes trying to look all suave and being like "shall i compare thee to a summers night" while lae'zel and shadowheart both shout "NO" from across the camp. (can be interpreted as bloodiedblade/wyllstarion but i think wyll would be amused and even finish the quote).

wyll:

this man is probably good with basic medicines and ill die on this hill. hes got aloe vera type shit on him at all times. sure, hes not a cleric or healer or even a bard, but he'll stay with you and try his damned best to cheer you up when youre hurt or sick.

on a related note i feel like wyll would be absolutely DELIGHTED by a bard tav. he would just be so amused and filled with whimsy. never gonna complain about playing, even if its like 2am. just occasionally putting in song requests. hes so incredibly enthusiastic like spinning tav around like "THAT WAS BRILLIANT!!!"

wyll probably keeps houseplants. (minor blazingblade but i feel like karlach would accidentally kill one of the plants and actually begin weeping. once she gets her engine fixed wyll tries to teach her how to garden. this goes weirdly) furthermore i think he like goes around his house like humming merrily and watering his plants and crap

gale:

i dont think hes coordinated at all. like this man is tripping down the stairs on a daily basis. he is dropping his tea, his book, his body, ect. to the point that hes got a habit of just hugging the railing for dear life every time he has to go down a staircase. this made traversing shit like the underdark actually literally horrible. every time he falls karlach is so overly concerned and probably offers to carry him. astarion, to everyones dismay, dies laughing each and every time

pretty sure wyll and shadowheart have a conversation about weird book porn. i am here to say that gale was holding back his power while that conversation happened. gale has read so much book porn and if you knew the real scale of it you would be concerned. tara is concerned at least.

shadowheart:

especially during early game, i feel like shadowheart was literally clenching so hard to avoid admitting cute things were cute. like "oh.. a stray mutt... charming I MEAN IN LIKE A GROSS WAY". she was trying to hard to be all scary and into shar and shit but she just really likes puppies and other animals and crap

if she were modern i feel like she would really like pixar movies (inside out comes to mind for reasons i cannot explain) and wear long jean skirts. i cant explain any of this but it is fact in my mind. even in the bg3 setting i do feel like she would wear very long boxy type skirts. sort of plays into her whole "dark priestess" sort of vibe

shadowheart was sitting in her tent with scissors fucking losing her shit with anxiety trying to cut her own bangs without a mirror. it is a literal miracle from selune that they dont look like complete and total shit. no wonder halsin was surprised. (minor silverheart/shadow'zel: when she first like actually properly noticed what shaodwheart did with her hair, since the initial joke is she cant tell what changed, i think lae'zel was very impressed. she even likened it to like a sort of war paint against shar. also we KNOW lae'zel likes silver)

(can be interpreted as bladeheart/,,, do wyll and shadowheart have a ship name yet? HM. well anyway i think that in conjunction with the previous headcanon about wyll gardening, he and shadowheart garden together and he specially grew her night orchids)

lae'zel:

ever since i looked at her stupid little mindflayer training dummie in camp ive had the image of her in my head very angrily and intensly carving up a turnip to look like a mindflayer. draws a little mean face on it like the worlds most violent six year old. every time she messes up on her little DIY project shes muttering curses in tir'su.

lae'zel will take any opportunity to infodump about githyanki culture. specifically red dragons. if she met a red dragonborn or even maybe a follower of tiamat or some shit she would be so hype. in her "i hate everyone SVAH" way ofc. but like. trying to casually slide trivia into battle conversation or party banter with all the subtlety of an owlbear. "yes... the battle preparations are proceeding as expected... as expected a red dragons hibernation cycle..." and everyone just has to turn their head and ask what the fuck shes talking abt

(can be thought of as silverweave: lae'zel and gale talk in draconic about dragon history and the celestial plane. hes so tickled to have a mutual interest with lae'zel)

no one hears lae'zel laugh but when they do its so weird. like its some weird like hissing sort of sound and everyone has to do a double take and make sure theyre understanding what the fuck is going on for a second. lae'zel is incredibly defensive when people notice it but theyre not trying to be mean

karlach:

before her engine gets fixed but like early on to where shes not used to it, karlach keeps trying to touch things and keeps breaking them. this fills her with genuine despair and she will start crying (everyone in camp has to go on a group effort to calm her down). she just thinks the world is so beautiful and is so sad she cant interact with it

she likes to dance but in like a boot stompin way. karlach is probably just an absolute party animal when she gets her freedom back because honestly in her situation who wouldnt be. SHE JUST GOT TO NOT BE ON FIRE LET THE GIRL PARTY

once shes been fixed to the point where she can touch people, she just never stops. manhandling everyone in the party constantly. oh whats that? tav is on low health? dont worry karlach is sprinting over to put tav on her shoulder. literally any problem can be solved by karlach hugs and i wont be taking feedback on this

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 wyll #wyll ravengard #bg3 gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart #bg3 lae'zel #lae'zel of k'liir #karlach bg3 #karlach cliffgate #bg3 companions #bg3 headcanons

[treysimp]

Would you ever do the staff for the bath headcannon ? I love the third years one btw 🥰

It's time babe! I hope you enjoy!

Taking A Bath With Them - GN!Adult Reader/NRC Staff (Crowley, Crewel, Vargas, Trein, Sam)

Rating: T (Lightly suggestive themes)

Tags: Reader's body not described nor are pronouns used, non-sexual domestic intimacy and fluff, elements of body worship, implied body insecurity from reader, established relationship, how do I make myself fall in love with each character I write for guys please explain to me.

Words: 3k

Silly author's notes: Not that I’ve been seeking it out but it feels like I never see anyone trying to put the moves Vargas (like I’m sure you exist, Vargas-fuckers where you at?) so since all of you are so fucking complicated I’m gonna do it! Fluffy domestic garbage for all!

Want more TWST? Here's my masterlist!

Dire Crowley:

‘Never judge a book by its cover, but tattered books don’t get picked off the shelf,’ is probably a quote Crowley heard in passing one time and then immediately tried to contribute to himself. Being the headmaster of a famous and prestigious school involves a lot of hard work, but you can never forget about appearances. Clothes make the man, and if the said man in those clothes doesn’t pull them off, what is even the point of wearing them? It feels like a lecture every time that you and Crowley bathe together, but you can’t say that you necessarily say that you disagree either. If anything, it was a trademark of NRC to be the flashy talented bad boy counterpart to the pure princes of Royal Sword Academy. Public perception seemed to ebb and flow as far as which one was the superior institution, but you would never tire of Crowley’s antics to show up Ambrose and improve NRC’s reputation. You may wonder, does Crowley remove his mask when bathing? And the answer is yes, but it is replaced with a gel pearl mask to ‘get rid of his horrendous eye-bags’ Crowley would say. You would wonder who would even see said eye bags, but you felt like you weren’t going to get a better explanation even if you asked.

Since Crowley loves to travel so much, one of the best parts of any vacation is being dragged to a beautiful outdoor hot spring when the ever-busy Headmaster is relaxed for once. He asks over and over ‘isn’t it beautiful here,' or, ‘are you happy with this,’ or even ‘this was nice of me right’? It’s the smallest hint of insecurity and worries that he will readily give. Crowley wants you to enjoy your time together, but a small part of his heart gnaws at him that maybe he missed something crucial and you were just too kind to say something. That you weren’t having a good time, that you didn’t truly think that he was kind, talented, and magnanimous and was just staying with him out of pity. 

He hated himself for those thoughts, he truly didn’t believe that you would think of him so, but the stream of questions ran across the back of his closed eyes like an unending scroll of his deepest fears shaped into written reality. Crowley would then hear you tell him how happy you were, gushing about the bath, the clarity of the night sky, and the lovely locale and he could feel his anxiety washing away just like splashes of water on the surrounding tile floors circle down a drain. 

He would pull you to his arms and talk about what he wished for the future, any particularly astounding stories from his past, and he would feel a genuine smile whisper across his lips. Maybe he wasn’t as great as he hoped, maybe he wasn’t as kind or as thoughtful, but you were still here in the soft warmth of his arms in this soothing water… and that was more than enough. Maybe he needed to think a little more in the short term, and all that came to mind was the fluttering heartbeat in his chest as your head leaned on his shoulder and his lips met your soft cheek.

Divus Crewel

Crewel is another one for spa treatments and taking great care of your body. He loves to take you into your bath and spoil you with scrubs, oils, and potions of his own making. He is ready to smooth, perfect and tighten every insecurity you have. More than anything, his favorite pastime is stealing you away for a weekend trip to somewhere beautiful where you both can be pampered. 

As the man is also more than a bit into a gorgeous classic car, imagine the most idealized movie setting, the two of you cruising down the coast in a cherry red convertible with fashionable headwear to keep both of your hair behaved while your oversized sunglasses gleam in the sunlight. The word glamor doesn't cover even half of it, but it's a good start.

Expect these trips to be for both business and pleasure: hunting for vintage clothing pieces and fabrics in beautiful locales, scrounging through markets for rare ingredients, and then wasting the rest of the days away at spas, drinking delectable wine and enjoying only the finest foods. You worry that you are too spoiled by him at times, and if you mention this to him, he will just laugh joyfully. 

‘If I ruin all other men for you forever, I can’t say I would complain,’ he would joke, smoothing mud from the bath you shared over his shoulders sensually. He already had ruined all other men for you, but you were sure he probably knew that anyway. That was part of what was so lovely between the two of you, there was so much left unsaid, but never unheard. 

You got ready in the morning together, passing products back and forth across the double sinks in a routine. You would get your dinners and pass pieces of the best bites back and forth so that you could both enjoy each taste together. Every task felt routine but oh so comfortable. You would try the same products and give your opinions on them, swapping purchases back and forth based on who’s skin might suit it more, whose hair would behave better with each ingredient, and so on. 

Students at NRC would try to distract Crewel during class by asking him when he was going to marry you, and most of the time he would throw back some sort of ‘maybe when you get an A on an essay one of these days,' if he was feeling snappy. It was hard to miss the way his eyes would crinkle any time you were mentioned and how his mood would be notably lifted for the rest of class. This isn’t to say that he was any less harsh on his students, but they did see him smile more, so the criticism would be just a bit softer as a result. You would know these days too, as he would pull you into a bath and massage your neck while he laughed heartily at the shenanigans of his classes. 

That was another thing you so loved about these quiet bathtimes, getting to see all of the faces and responses that he kept hidden just for you. 

You were so lucky.   

Happiness.

Ashton Vargas

Your meatheaded darling did mean well, but… he was just one of those people that thought that you could muscle through everything. Unfortunately, he had built enough muscle that he has been proved right so far. While Ashton was quite self-obsessed and would flinch in fear every time he imagined that he lost even a centimeter of calf muscle, he never would give you any grief about how your body looked in the slightest. He was very encouraging and would do everything he could to get you to (healthily) build up your stamina and strength, but there was never a time that he would get frustrated with a failure you had. If you’re a person who cries when they’re frustrated, he will wipe them away. If you are someone who yells or wants to throw things when they’re frustrated, he will give you a ball and let you go ham against a wall until you’re cooled off enough for a hug. Vargas wasn’t always book smart, but he was intuitive to others’ needs in a way that few people are. 

Ashton is very enthusiastic about bathing, which is good for you because you get a great view while soaping up. Since he’s such a show-off, Vargas will wait on you hand and foot to get a chance to flex a muscle, flip his thick hair over his shoulder or sparkle his perfect white teeth your way. 

He just wants to make sure that you feel just as beautiful as he knows he is. He wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know? You’re special, even when you might not agree with him. There was no arguing with him, if the peak physical specimen of himself thought you were worthy of bodily worship, how could you deny him? Are you saying that he isn’t gorgeous? His big blue eyes will sparkle in dramatic unshed crocodile tears at the thought. Oh? Did you say he is gorgeous? Well, then you are too. Beautiful people know how to spot beautiful things, and the only way you could argue that he was wrong was by saying that he wasn’t beautiful. 

His logic made you want to hit your head against a wall, but when a man with the body of a goddamn superhero tells you that he thinks you’re hot it’s pretty hard to disagree with him. If you still try to fight it, prepare for over-the-top compliments while he forcefully tries to make you relax and go along with his praise. We are talking scrubbing behind your ears and saying that you have ‘well-formed lobes’ kind of compliments. You like that he’s complimenting you, but you also don’t know how to respond either.  

More than anything, his hugs are to die for. During a bath, after a bath, once you are both snuggled in bed and comfortable? Heavenly, all of it. 

Vargas loves to talk you to sleep, both of your plans for the next day, going over when and where you are taking your next vacation, and giving suggestions for what muscle groups he thinks would most benefit you to build. Hell if you tell him that makes you uncomfortable or you aren’t able to follow through, he will immediately change his plans and make variations to be kinder to your back, your knees, neck, ankles, etc. Never underestimate a man who knows anatomy better than geography. This goes double when you grab a map and realize that one trip that he told you was a 'two-hour drive’ from Night Raven was actually a fifteen-hour one, even with the help of the mirrors. 

Oh well, his confidence was something you loved, no matter how correct he may or may not be.

Mozus Trein:

Trein was almost hilarious with how soft and tender he treated those he cared about versus the strict and stern History teacher exterior that he gave off. 

Something that drew you to him was seeing how tenderly he cared for his daughters. All three of them had all flown the nest at this point, but seeing him smile softly while he penned them letters as he scratches Lucius’ chin and murmured conversation to the cat was something that made your heart melt. 

You had been brushing up on your animal languages to better talk to Lucius too, and you could make out the gist of what he says now. As you suspected, he is not the most polite to others, but he is relatively quick to befriend those that bother to talk to him and offer treats that he likes. Due to these habits, you get along quite well. You try to ask for secrets about Mozus, but Lucius won’t always answer. The only consistency you can make out is that it seems like the cat will only answer you when he thinks it’s funny, but his sense of humor can be a bit difficult to work out.  

Trein is not one for much intimacy, he is more one to enjoy mutually comfortable silences. He has had a lot of time to work out every habit and isn’t overly open to doing things outside of them, but a soak with bath salts or some other kind of medicinal mixture suits him quite well. Trein humors your wants and needs and is more than willing to go along with any ‘couples’ treatments you might be interested in within reason. 

Surprisingly, he is open to doing things like acupuncture, fire cupping, and various types of experimental medicines, but if you ask him to get a facial his eyebrow will be stuck in a skeptical arch for the entirety of the experience. You were able to snap a picture of him making this face while wearing a green clay mask with cucumbers over his eyes. You treasure the photo, but you will never show it to him as you know he will be horrified at how undignified he looks. Part of his charm, you think.

Overall the greatest treat of all is seeing the relaxed smile that creeps onto his features when he is truly relaxing. It felt like something special just for you, sneaking a sleepy peek at him in the evening: relaxing in a silken robe, reading a novel, glasses perched on his strong nose, sipping at chamomile tea, and wearing the softest smile. It made your chest feel so warm that you got to see these small and simple moments. Everyday moments were the most special, you thought. Perhaps this simple comfort is what happiness truly is. 

He will see you staring at him, invite you over for a chat and then wrap his arm around you and bring you to bed. He tucks you in tightly, much like one would do a child. His eyes soften when he does it, you suppose there must be a lot of pleasant memories attached to the action. Once he is satisfied with the bedding, he climbs in next to you, giving you a pleasant peck on the forehead before turning off the light. You hear the pitter-patter of little fluffy feet walking in a circle, a huff, and then a perfectly elegant flop and a warmth near your right foot. You sleep soundly, waking up every so often to feel a hand fixing the blanket that you repeatedly kept throwing off of your shoulder and another kiss on your temple as soon as it was finished. 

Happiness.

Sam

As the youngest and least academically-focused staff member, Sam seemed always eager to prove himself. This was especially funny to you, considering how his ‘friends’ gave him such a leg up in almost every situation that you wondered why he ever felt less-than. 

Sam had worked his salesman voice to near perfection, had an in with almost every vendor of note, came from a famously powerful family, was strikingly handsome, stylish, and had a killer smile… 

Okay, you were wandering off topic here, but how could you help it? 

His magenta eyes would flick to yours in passing and you found yourself not being able to think of everything but him. You wanted to joke that his signature spell was how he took your breath away, but that one was all him. You weren’t even sure if he knew how breathtaking he was, moving through each room like a tap dancer one Maxi Ford away from a full routine. 

The theatricality that he brought to everything he did made you feel similar anticipation to being in a theater, hoping and praying that the handsome lead actor would look down at you specifically during a pivotal scene. For the sake of your heart, you were glad that somehow you had succeeded in catching his gaze the same way he had yours. 

When it came to bathing, he enjoyed it. As the local ‘literally-everything’ supplier, he always had something to surprise you with if you wanted a fun gimmick in the bath, but he had his own perfect set of potions to maintain his stylishly dyed hues. You weren’t entirely sure if his particular swirl of hair colors was natural or magicked into place, and the few times you thought to ask Sam, he would just put one finger in a ‘shush’ motion over his mouth with and wink. It was hard to deny that his cheeky mysteriousness wasn’t appealing though. 

If Sam was having a particularly good time, he might try to entice you in a cute little deal or ‘give you an offer you couldn’t possibly refuse’. 

It was a relatively silly game because the cost for all of these handshake deals was always ‘a kiss’ which you would gladly give him regardless of if he gave you something in return. You liked the goofy smile he would give you after you agreed, so you indulged him regardless. He sometimes would act shy and murmur something about ‘stealing his first kiss’ (he made this joke from your second kiss onwards) but would quickly give up the ghost to cover your face in playful smooches and thread his hands at the nape of your neck so you couldn't move away from his lovesick gaze. 

You’ve seen no true gentleman before in your life if you haven’t seen Sam at a proper ballroom soiree. Letting his relaxed slouch straighten into an elegant straight back and properly dressed to the nines, it seemed like he belonged under a spotlight. Sam was an amazing dancer, singer, card player, gambler, smooth talker, and pianist. He seemed to be accomplished in yet another hobby each time an acquaintance of his would say hello and jokingly admonish him for not showing off some hereto unknown skill of his. He would take the friendly jabs well, say ‘perhaps another time’, and then introduce his ‘charming companion’ (you) to them all in turn. Saying each word as fresh and new as the first time, though the words were practically a script for him at this point. 

The ultimate renaissance man, truly. 

Once you both were exhausted and came back to your home, you would bask in each other’s company. His voice raspy from overuse of the night, he whispered his thanks to you for accompanying him. You interrupt his soon-to-be soliloquy to say, ‘how could I possibly refuse an invitation from the most beautiful man I know?’. His eyes would crinkle with laughter from your response and he would pull you close, exhaling into your hair while the exhaustion of the night hits him like a well-anticipated crescendo. 

Sam idly thought that out of the two of you, the power you held over him was far stronger than any spell he knew. 

It was this time of night that you thought he looked his youngest, chortles losing all of their rehearsed and powerful baritones, words spilling out messily, sentences punctuated with ‘ah’s and ‘um’s. 

Sleepy magenta met your eyes and you would decide to finally drag Sam off to bed, tucking him under your fluffy comforter with care. He fell asleep on a dime, and when he was sleeping you felt like you could see the angelic face he must have had as a child. 

You couldn’t wait to see what you both did together tomorrow. Maybe you’d even tell him that you loved him. 

You weren’t going to be able to stop yourself from blurting it out sooner or later anyway.

So who was your fav? Dying to know. I ran away from the bath theme a bit but it was all from a place of love, I promise. Have I convinced you to simp for someone new? Let me know!

Love you, reader! 💋

Requested tags: @stygianoir (hope you liked it!) @yandere-kou, @daeda21, @buckketboy, @aikochan4859, @kumiko-desu, @prince-zukohere, @fragmentedstarlight, @sarahyumiko2, @sappyisyourpappy, @rebel-faes-writing, @witch-waycult, @dari-kun, @riddle-simp, @naniky, @the-mermaid-of-the-stars

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst reader insert #disney twst #twst #dire crowley #dire crowley x reader #crowley x reader #crowley twisted wonderland #divus crewel #crewel x reader #twst crewel #professor crewel #divius crewel x reader #mozus trein #professor trein #twisted wonderland trein #trein x reader #twst crowley #twst trein #twst vargas #twst wonderland #twst sam #twisted wonderland sam #twst staff #twisted wonderland fanfiction #reader insert #ashton vargas #vargas x reader

[marquezian]

Another thing re: Dovi that adds a little pizazz a little je ne sais quoi is that he has been a dad for really long. I don't think any other rider has children of the age that Dovi's daughter is, casey being the only exception but his daughters were raised after he was done with his career. Like Dovi was actively a father while also riding, and seems to be close to his daughter in a trademark dad to Teenage girl way. It's compelling to me that this is an active family man with a child at home that wasn't a baby and was still participating in scary death sport spectacle. I want to hear what you think about that.

YEAH.. became a dad at 23.. and separated from her mom shortly after her birth right. my thoughts on this are more along the lines of that specifically bc i find it fascinating that hes managed to stay involved with her despite that, like by all accounts its already hard to be an involved parent when you're that busy as an athlete and traveling so much. then you of course also have the gender disparity there, some current on grid dads are Not shy about talking about how proud they are to offload all the childcare to their partners LOL nasty asses. but it seems dovi had her with him so much and like you said was actively parenting as much as he could while riding which is bonkers!! he couldve just..not. like many others do. i love this quote its so dovi. immediately talking about the planning and logistical side of it all

yknow its funny bc ive Been in the dovi mines just by extension of trying to gobble up as much about marc and related to marc as possible. but he didnt Click for me until i watched him buy groceries and go for the stuff on sale and do the dishes and cook for himself and his friends and clean and tidy up lol i agree w u i think hes so compelling bc hes really the anti-thesis to the usual male athlete

#asks <3 #topnotchquark #the virgin marc who burnt his arm bc he had to make pizza during lockdown and didnt have his chef there vs dovi whipping up a meal #for 10 people on dingy camping equipment in front of his RV

[sgiandubh]

Whiskey, not whisky

Kentucky bourbon it is, for McTavish, as formally announced on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/reel/CvxuLwXBDgt/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA%3D%3D.

Website, here: https://mctavishspirits.com/. Very instructive: The Sassenach vs. The Warchief. How original.

With a hefty pricetag. Heh, and Mordor thought the Sassenach was a rip-off?

The similarities apparently also extend to the marketing pitch: young, struggling actor dreams big, goes to the States, finds relative critical success there, walks down memory lane. And shares with the world his real, real passion he's "been working on for a while".

Yes. I am selling it. I don't have to pay for it, but... you do. Ugh. I have no words, wow. Oh, the entitlement and the smugness. Completely expected.

Let's unpack:

This is by no means or stretch of imagination a whimsical, vanity project and is carefully differentiated from a white label, which would have meant that the guy was basically lending his beard and voice to the (generic) product, in the hopes it will sell well enough and for as long as possible. No: it is, to quote the leaflet, "meticulously hand selected". Oh.

This is also a long-shot, well prepared blow:

Sorry: the website thinks I am a robot, even if there's just one and only R2D2 in our universe, but you should be able to get more details by yourselves. It is an LLC (easy-peasy, no hassle), filed on July 27 2023.

For the moment, the SM reactions are rather glacial. Sam's crowd is not amused, and with good reason:

I saw it coming, now the elephant is on the couch in the middle of the parlor and I have to say I am still perplexed, in a way, even if I shouldn't.

Sam's project is not the only thing he copies, btw. Check this out:

Yes, it's a Scottish brand I know absolutely nothing about (all input welcome), but still (http://thespiritscompany.com/portfolio/sir-mactavish-scotch-whisky/?age-verified=4b7d1b53bb):

McTavish, Sir Mactavish... Potato, potahto. In Europe, and specifically the EU , it would go to court for trademark infringement in 4, 3, 2, 1, especially since it could cause confusion, deception, or mistake. For comparison, Sassenach's German lost legal battle was sparked by way less than that: a mere partial homophony with the (obscure?) Sasse distillery in Schoppingen, somewhere in Westphalia (https://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/entertainment/celebrity/sam-heughan-loses-legal-battle-25578518 - this is the link I found first). But McTavish is clever enough to clearly go for the US market first and foremost.

And as a reminder, in S's situation, the European Union Intellectual Property Office (EUIPO)'s position has been particularly, and might I add, gratuitously, aggressive. I am intrigued enough and might get back to this in a separate post: don't hold your breath, though.

I still need to digest that and the question asked a couple of evenings ago remains open: what prompted S's sudden change of schedule? McTavish Anon might have been onto something, perhaps.

Tu quoque, McTavish? MIK, my earasaid. Now you understand why the sudden, subtle change on S's Twitter bio? Not only related to the SAG-AFTRA strike, I bet whatever you want on it (there's only a limited number of times I can bet my farm, heh).

[Much later edit, November 2023: It turns out this is an unashamed white label project. My bad for not immediately seeing it.]

#BoozeWars

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Offer me the deathless death”

Andromache the Scythian x Female Reader

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

|･ω･) go wild, you said and go wild, i did. i included as much of the provided details as i could. hopefully, you’ll find it agreeable

cw : 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ // dubcon-ish // ✂️ ✂️😼 // overstimulation

casually quoting hozier for all my andromache fics. that fight scene on the plane and the way she grabbed nile by the jaw tho 😩 wanted to incorporate it in a fic ever since i saw it, and fucking finally did

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Hallucinations. A fever dream.

Anything but reality is what you tell yourself, and what a job you have been doing thus far! Fantastically foolish if nothing else. Cocooned in a bubble of lies that spill forth none other than your lips, and illusions that are carved by your very mind itself, you harbour not a droplet of doubt that the reality in front of your eyes is nothing but bona fide.

People after all are the most masterful at fooling themselves.

Ensnared in a web of deceit weaved by your fingers lie no hapless preys, but you, yourself, who revel in the sweet taste of false security as you do in the richness of the creamy warm chocolate drink that coats your tongue.

Even though business in your shop today is notably satisfactory if not the most profitable, it is not the digits that matter to you the most. Your little shop is borne purely out of your profound passion and desire; obligation is out of the picture. It is where you feel the most at home, doing what you love while bathed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and cocoa.

Amidst brewing a cup of americano as per the order of a customer with stylish sun-glasses and a striking jawline, your dress is accidentally soiled. Little do you know, the scatter of black and bitter constellations along the pristine white of your sleeve is merely the dawn of a darker, more bitter happening.

──────── ༻✿༺ ────────

Finding you has been relatively easy.

When the familiar dreams begin plaguing her usually dreamless nights, a telltale sign of a new immortal on the horizon, Andromache has half a mind to ignore them altogether. Had she not seen the places that stoke recognition amongst the wild tapestry of images, she certainly would have. But alas, her target, as it so happens, is no stranger to her. By no means does the Scythian know you. Nor you, the Scythian. New immortals bring together with them an assortment of risks, one of them being the exposure of their secret. It is with such knowledge in mind that Andromache feels obliged to set out for you despite her reluctance. You living in the neighbourhood of her temporary place of residence only makes the search all the more convenient.

Being a warrior for many a millennium has developed a vast array of tactical traits into personal trademarks. Those that once upon a time had had to be mindfully exercised, now occur as easily and effortlessly as breathing, involuntary more often than not. Beneath the dark shades of a spectacle perched on a well-defined slope of a nose lies a pair of sage green eyes, scanning the vicinity of wherever she goes like an eagle on a hunt. They have landed on it then, during her visit to a store, standing adjacent to it is a cafe in the name of “Trouvaille”. The Scythian is not one to be easily intrigued, but what a lie it would be to say that the charming building with its vintage air and curious name had not tickled her fancy. Or its owner whom she has noticed is all sweet smiles and dulcet eyes.

Eyes which she has only seen from afar then, now she stares directly into them. Protected by the shades, the intense greens study you with brazen openness, roaming all over your frame, from the tiny clips that decorate your cascading hair like colourful Christmas lights to the butterfly pendant that dangles from a simple silver chain, hovering directly above the dip of your throat, from the little flower prints on your dress, the skirt of which softly caresses your thighs, to occasional glimpse of seemingly soft flesh that teases the Scythian, left uncovered by a pair of white thigh-highs.

It is retrieving you that is the hard part.

Immediately upon arrival, Andromache has read your features for perhaps a trace of recognition. You paying the Scythian a visit in her dreams can only mean one thing after all: that she, too, must have appeared in yours. Yet, no widening of your eyes greet her, only a smile that does not waver.

“Hi, welcome to cafe Trouvaille. What can I get you?”

“Americano will do. Hot.”

Beside the fact that it is broad day light, a few people roam the place. As capable as Andromache is of manhandling you, it is not in her best interest to attract attention. The situation calls for patience. Rushing will spell only more trouble at best. Wait she must, and so, wait she does.

Leisurely, the Scythian sips her coffee, studying you periodically as she does so. It is after some minutes have ticked by, the cup of coffee sitting on the table, empty and cold, that she decides to fish a book, leather-bound and well-worn, out of her backpack. Thumbing through old pages, Andromache spends the better part of the wait indulging in literature, until one by one, people start trickling out of the shop.

In due time, it leaves only the Scythian and you.

The sky has taken on a deep orange hue by the time she stands to approach you. She eyes you surreptitiously, and upon confirming that she is not at the receiving end of your attention, the Scythian moves to lock the door. Ever the diligent wielder of caution, she does not forget to flip the little dangling plate. The letter “We’re closed.” that is carved into the wood will help ward off potential visitors.

Even as she walks towards the counter, you do not seem to notice her for you are kept occupied by the book in your lap, fingers busy scribbling onto paper. It is the tinkle of porcelain on marble as she drops the cup and saucer atop the counter that finally has your eyes zeroing in on her. She watches you watch her. Backdropped by the sunset with her shades finally tucked away into the pocket of her jacket, the sight of the Scythian brings about a subtle shift in your mien. Although fleeting, the furrow of your brows that must have been imperceptible to others, does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, again. I hope you’ve had a good time.”

The smile that you give her is sweet, if not the most genuine.

“Why don’t we save the pleasantries, hm?” The smile that touches her lips, in contrast, has a hint of sourness. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have.”

Your answer only brings about a twofold increase in the Scythian’s irritation. Judging by the slightest delay in your response, she knows that you are well aware that she has not meant it as a query, and so, she says as much.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The adamant denial from you has strong, slender digits tightening around the strap that is slung over one shoulder.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You died, and then you woke up, saw a bunch of people you had never seen before in your dream, including me.”

“But, that was- No. Surely it was-.”

“Look, kid-” Forming into a thin line are Andromache’s lips as she takes a moment to compose herself, slowly huffing out an exhale through flared nostrils. “-I know you’ve got questions but I need you to come with me first.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Leave, please. I need you to leave.”

Lips that slowly curl into a smirk and a chuckle that comes out dark and dangerous. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Battered boots that come to rest just shy of polished loafers.

“You know…your folly is, dare i say, commendable. Reality is not just something you can rewrite, and yet, you managed an impeccable job of tricking yourself into thinking what you believe to be the truth is the truth.”

One foreboding frame that looms like a predator and the one that cowers like a cornered prey.

“Alas, I almost feel bad for shattering your little illusion. But then again, I’ve done a great many questionable things in my life having lived as long as I have. What significance would it make to add another?”

“What I saw in my dream. They really happened.” It is a question albeit not being voiced like one. The Scythian does not find the need to answer. Why bother when the answer already lies in your hand?

At her silence, a look of horror dawns on your features. “You’re a murderer. You and your friends. I’ve seen them. I- I’m not- I can’t.”

“Oh darling, a rose without thorns is but a weed, easy to be plucked, to be trampled on. You’re one of us now. You will come with me whether you like it or not, and you will do so this instant.”

Every single step you hesitantly take back is met with an immediate footfall of boots as they fall right onto the place that your loafers have just vacated. It goes like this for a while, you actively ruining the close proximity, and Andromache rectifying it, until there is nowhere for you to flee, and your hips collide with the counter edge.

“Why me?” She parries your plea with a nonchalant shrug, face impassive. “Beats me.”

“Please, I-” Tears glisten in your eyes, murmuring beseechingly. “Let me go. I can’t kill. I know nothing about fighting.”

While her hands grip the counter on either side of your waist to cage you in strong arms, her lips lower to the shell of your ear, breath warm as she speaks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can kill. In fact, anyone can. You just have to listen to me.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want-” Yells dissolve into a yelp by way of digits seizing your jaw.

“I’ve gone out of my way to exercise great forbearance, but it is running terribly thin. It would do you well not to try it any further.” She husks threateningly, feeling the softness of your cheeks giving under the roughness of her battle-hardened fingers. Salty droplets drench her digits as tears start spilling in rivulets down your cheeks.

“Go on, bite me with those baby teeth. Scratch me with your little paws.” She taunts. “Why, would you look at that! All bark and no bite. How pathetic.”

It is as she says this that your teeth sink into the palm that is pressed tightly against your mouth. The unexpected retaliation has her stance faltering, and although you manage to break free from her bodily confines, the Scythian, being far more nimble and dexterous, hardly has to break sweat in recapturing you.

“You're a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Two can play that game, although don’t say I didn’t warn you. Breaking men, after all, is considered one of my fortes.”

Wrists locked behind your back in her iron grip, and body bent over the marble counter, Andromache revels in the quavering of your body beneath her own as one wicked hand, like a sneaky serpent, slowly slithers up your thigh.

“Are you-” A whimper flies past your lips when your arms are pulled taunt, shoulders craning uncomfortably. And then, she yanks, hard and unforgiving, until you are forced onto your feet, back colliding with her front. “Are you going to kill me?”

Andromache cannot help but laugh at your question, a rich throaty sound that brings about the erection of soft little hair on the nape of your neck.

Your wrists are released at the cost of your cheeks bearing the brunt of her ire as rough fingers dig into your flesh. They flee from their cage between the two of your bodies to take sanctuary on her forearm, soft fingers grasping the sleeve of her jacket. “Where’s the fun in killing you when I can just have my way with you, hm?” Her hold around one of your thighs remains unrelenting while the hand on your jaw coerces you into craning your neck. Your head rests on her chest with a grunt, and you drown, held spellbound by the intense green of her eyes. “I’d rather enjoy the view of you crumbling beneath me than watch you bleed out only to come alive again.”

Although it douses you in shame, you have to admit that you are not entirely immune to the woman. How can you when she oozes charisma, frighteningly beautiful even as she looms over you with all the grandeur of a great menacing panther.

And then, too many things happen all at once; fingers that crawl into a forest of hair to grab a fistful, with a yank to the side, a throat that is bared for the predator above to conveniently sink her teeth into, the frenzied little flutter of a pulse beneath the flat of a warm tongue, chocked sobs that dissolve into a strangled gasp as a cold hand journeys into the waistband of an underwear.

Previously, your hands have found home on her thighs, fingers grappling fabric, but upon feeling wandering digits inside your underwear, one of them flies towards the offending hand, locking around a wrist.

“N-no. You can’t.”

“You would do well to remember that I am in control here.”

The Scythian’s growl is not only heard, but also felt on your skin as teeth nibble, mouth suck, and lips soothe the stings that afterwards will linger on your body in the form of dark blues and bright reds.

Horror and humiliation dance a wild tango whereas fingers waltz delicately along your folds, a condescending tsk echoing off your nape when they come away wet. Betrayed and backstabbed by your own body, mortification colours your face as not one but two of her sizeable digits sink into your heat with little to no effort. Although sudden, it does not hurt, though it stings, leaves you breathless still. Dewdrops bloom on your lashes and they drop down your cheeks when fingers in your core bury knuckles deep, abuse your tightness. You feel them in the very depths of your body, filling you so deliciously that when they wiggle so much as a little, it is more than enough to sucker-punch a breath out of your lungs.

Between her hot mouth kissing your neck all rosy and sore, her fingers cleverly caressing your insides, and her hand toying with your breasts beneath your dress, it is no surprise that your undoing greets you with a tidal wave of pleasure.

It is, however, a surprise to find yourself being shoved back-first onto the table, legs being pulled wide by fingers twining round your thighs. You are still suffering through a series of aftershocks from your first orgasm when her mouth attaches itself to your quavering folds, that wicked tongue immediately slithering into your hole. It does a cruel little nudge and your fingers wind up entwined in her hair. Instead of a reproach, it is a hum of satisfaction that you earn as the Scythian grabs a handful of your buttocks and devour you like a starved man.

By the seventh one, you are well beyond exhausted, brain foggy courtesy of being fucked into oblivion, and body agonisingly sore, littered with deep hues and teeth marks. Somewhere between third and fourth, if you recall correctly, she has stripped you bare, bar your thigh-highs, and completely rid herself off clothes, magnificent muscles coming into display. You have ogled them with barely restrained awe until your attention is swayed elsewhere by her mouth leaving traces of herself all across the expanse of your body.

Now, once again, you marvel at them, entranced by the impressiveness of her muscles that ripple with every roll of her powerful hips.

You barely recognise the face that is staring right back at you, reflected in the surface of sea green eyes, or the sounds that are oozing out of your lips. Sweat clings to the forehead of the woman towering over you as it does to yours. One of your legs is slung over her shoulder, and the other lies limp and useless between her thighs, as she rubs herself into your core with wild abandon.

“I- I can’t. Too much. It’s too muc- ah!”

“Yes, you can.”

She has taken the hand that goes to rest on one of her hipbones only to weave her fingers with yours. Now, they hover in the air, tightly intertwined, suddenly made much tighter by the white knuckled grip of your hand.

“Slow- nghh please! Be gentle.”

“You do as I say. Not the other way round. Is that understood?”

The desperate nods of your head is met with a bite to the succulent inside of your thigh just above the brim of your sock.

“Answer me.”

“Yes!”

“My word shall be your command, and you will dance to my every desire, won’t you darling?”

“Yes! Yes, I will.”

“You are mine after all, aren’t you? Mine to do with what I please. Mine to use how I see fit. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m yours- ngh- all yours.”

“Good girl.” She moans, movements escalating from lazy strokes to untamed gyrations.

“Andy.” She rasps breathlessly. “I want to hear my name dripping down those pretty little lips when you fall apart.”

And hear she does. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Her name is all you can cry out as your juices mingle with one another’s, the combined essence soiling your thigh-highs as well as the couch beneath you.

Back curving, toes curling, you soar high, high into heaven, swimming amongst clouds, drowning in euphoria. And then, you plummet, down into the pit of hell, down into another one of those little deathless deaths. An intense blinding white replaced by an absolute dark.

When you awake, it is to the heart-melting sensation of lips softly caressing your forehead. You find yourself on the same couch that you have passed out, cocooned in toned arms, face tucked snugly into a warm, musky throat. Reflexively, you begin nosing the soft underside of her jaw before you are startled by fingers wandering down your very naked thigh.

“Look at me.” Obediently, you oblige, reluctantly leaving the pleasant warmth of her neck to do what she desires.

“What have I told you?” All too delicately, or as delicately as the callouses on her hand will allow, the pad of a thumb grazes the apple of your cheek.

Fighting against the urge to slip your eyes shut, you sigh dreamily instead. “That as long as I remain a good obedient girl, no harm will befall me.”

“That’s right. And are you?”

A nod as an answer prompts a pat of a forefinger on your cheek, and then, another. You know what she wants, so you give her just that.

“I’m a good girl.”

Not only do you see the smirk on her face, but you also feel it on your skin as she leans down to drag her lips across yours. “You forgot to mention whose, darling.”

“I’m a good girl, Andy. Your good girl.”

“And will my good girl obey my every command like she had promised?”

“Mmhm.”

A breath catches in your throat as her lips journey down down down, admiring the traces of none other than herself until that ravenous mouth adjourn to your hip, sucking the tender spot on your hipbone to make it all the more vibrant.

Although it has not been the main purpose of her doing what she has done, it is without doubt that Andromache gets a sick sort of pleasure out of seeing you covered in her marks. Every inch of your body and soul, all irrevocably hers.

You have said it so yourself, willingly given yourself up to her. That being said, it is purely her own greed that has her craving more and more and more of you. The scent of you that is sinfully sweet, heady and uniquely yours, makes her ache. The sight of you, like the dewy petals of an exquisite flower, pretty and pulsating, makes her mouth water.

It is with this insatiable hunger swelling inside of her that the Scythian sinks to her knees between your luxuriously smooth thighs.

“One more, darling. Give me one more before we leave.”

And you do, oh how you do even as one bleeds into two and two into three, because a good girl does what she is taught, does she not? And you are a good girl, Andy’s sweet little good girl to do with what she will.

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#andromache the scythian x reader #andromache of scythia x reader #andromache x reader #andromache x you #andy the old guard #andy andromache of scythia #andromache the scythian #andromache of scythia #character x reader #charlize theron x reader #charlize theron #the old guard #smut #gif #movie gifs

[hzrnvm]

I am actually curious, what IS your blog title refering to?

The Treachery of the Gerber Baby

This is the Gerber baby. Or, it is what is called "The Gerber Baby". It is the logo of the Gerber Products Company, known American baby supplies retailer and subsidiary of Nestle. As their logo, the sketch has appeared on most of Gerber's products since 1928, and has become a recognized symbol in America – enough that a survey from 70 years later, 1998, showed it to be associated with the highest consumer loyalty among the American public.

The Treachery of Images, also known as This Is Not a Pipe (a translation of its French text), is often regarded as one of Belgian surrealist René Magritte's best works. While it may seem absurd and confusing to some at first sight, the work is fundamentally pretty simple: it's making a statement on what it means to "be" an object, such as a pipe. Magritte himself is quoted as saying,

The famous pipe. How people reproached me for it! And yet, could you stuff my pipe? No, it's just a representation, is it not? So if I had written on my picture "This is a pipe", I'd have been lying!

Essentially, The Treachery of Images is claiming that what constitutes an object such as a pipe is not some immaterial hypothetical image of a pipe. Rather, a pipe consists of material substance that comes together to form an object that is a pipe. It can be stuffed, and it can be smoked. This painting is simply oil on a canvas, it is not a pipe! Oil on a canvas does not a pipe make.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back to The Gerber Baby. Now, you might be seeing a connection between the two topics I've brought up so far. You might even go so far at to claim "Hzrn, I've got it! I understand the meaning of your title now! You're alluding to The Treachery of Images to say that The Gerber Baby is, in fact, no such thing! It does not coo, it does not cry, it does not 'goo goo gaga'. You're implying that, to put it as Magritte would, 'Ceci n'est pas une bébé.'"

And to that I would respond "Yes, that is true! But do you really think that's all there is? I just allude to a well-known painting through a well-known logo, just to make the same point that the painting did?"

Now you're thinking. "Hmm..." you stare pensively and intently as you think to yourself. "I should have known she would have been smarter than that... Now what is so special about The Gerber Baby that she would choose it to make this allusion?"

And just like that, it comes to you.

The Gerber Baby is not just any old image of a baby. Its trademark owners flaunt it as "perhaps the most recognized baby face in the world". It's won the trust and loyalty of hundreds of millions of people. Everyone knows this baby – and through a mix of nostalgia and inborn biological systems motivating us to care for and about our own young, many, many people love this baby.

People are like this about many logos and mascots. People make references to them, as they are of course cultural figures. And people are not morally wrong in doing this. Mr. Clean. The green M&M. These are cultural figures, and they were manufactured to be so. It's the best free advertising. 3am in the Denny's parking lot. McDonald's sprite. The grimace shake.

You tell me your findings. "I've figured it out. The Gerber Baby, in your eyes, is the most ghoulish of the American advertising cultural figures. It directly preys on biological systems, it's effectively won at what it was trying to do — and every bit of the profit it made and continues to make from that success is going to Nestle, a corporation known to be especially evil."

You see me smile, and you know you're right as you continue. "Your title serves as not only a reminder of The Gerber Baby's nature, but a claim of what that means: Not only that Ceci n'est pas une bébé, but that it does not deserve your love."

[afreakingdork]

Crush Too Much - Part 4

RotTMNT Donatello x GN!Reader

Warnings: Light Angst, Fluff, Embarrassment, Overbearing Siblings, Aged-up Turtles

Synopsis:  So you met a customer three times at work and that made a pretty big impression on you? That’s nothing to necessarily get worked up over, but when you’re all prepared to ask for his number the next time you see  him and his brother gets involved instead, you might be in for something  more than you bargained for.

FIRST 💜 PREVIOUS

“So….” Was the melodic tone of his voice when he was joking grating or was it just the fact that Leo had insufferably been avoiding said topic of your meeting with Donnie while heavily implying he was going to ask about it at any given moment. Either way, after the first 7 fake-outs, you were no longer holding your breath.

“Mhm?” The response was automatic at this point. Using his tiny plate as a useless middleman, you watched as 5 tiny sandwich triangles disappeared into Leo’s mouth.

“I sort of liked the huge piece that takes up a whole section over on the left.” He pointed towards the said piece and the two of your wound around the packed gallery to get closer to it.

“Is it because it’s blue?” It wasn’t that you weren’t enjoying the event or even his company, but you wished he would just rip the bandage off already.

He looked at your with genuine offense. “I will not be reduced to a  mere shade. I can’t believe you would think moi to be so one-note.” He placed a dramatic hand to his chest which absolutely did not help his point. When you’d first arrived at the venue, he gushed over the same brand new trademark blue crushed velvet dinner jacket he now happened to be emphasizing. One of his eyes popped open to find you unamused by the layers of nonsense he was spouting so he straightened up as if properly inspecting the art. “I was going to say I like how you can’t see the brush strokes from far away, but you can up close.”

For the first time that whole evening, he’d had an actual astute observation. The change of pace was like a breath of fresh air. This particular topic was also something you’d heard your friend mention. “I think it has something to do with relationship between color and form.” You turned to look up at the piece. The muddled shades of blue reminded you of the good parts of the evening thus far. It felt like the two of you had successfully conned your way into what was very much a public event. You'd both snatched away a good portion of the free food and no one seemed to think you were freeloaders because of Leo’s outrageous ability to fit in amongst the art crowd by just saying the most the most ridiculous things you had ever heard. Different factions of critics ate up his nonsense and you were only alerted to the deception because every time it worked out, Leo would shoot you an obnoxious wink.

“’Color and texture are ends in themselves.’”

That one sounded like a quote, but you weren’t sure. Maybe he wasn’t all mouth and had been picking up on the cacophony of conversations that drifted amongst the high ceilings. You took a sip of a sparkling cider that you had been nursing since eating a few too many deli meats. “So what kind of feeling do you get from it?” You tilted your head to one side wondering yourself. Blue was usually synonymous with sadness, but that didn’t seem right.

“Curiosity over what happened when you kept my darling brother out for several hours last week.”

You sputtered into another sip and tried not to let your choking fit disturb the other patrons. Leo patted you on the back and after you were able to force oxygen into your lungs once again, you looked up to find him gazing down at you with an self-satisfied grin spread wickedly across his face.  You wanted nothing more than to smack it right off. He'd dangled the bait in front of you all evening and you'd been able to resist. You were so mad at yourself there was little room to be mad at him. Further frustrated by your brain's lack of response, you did the next most petty thing and walked away. You dress shoes pinched your feet from their otherwise disuse.

“Aw, Y/N, come on!” He called after you and you stubbornly inserted yourself amongst a crowd of people surrounding a oozing statue of liberty sculpture. You could feel Leo catch-up, but your humility had yet to do the same. “Don’t be like that. You knew it was coming! It can be difficulty when you’re going up against a number 1 player like myself, but I’m sure by tomorrow you will deeply appreciate how hilarious that was.”

A warped reflection of the blue trickster shrugged in your glass. “But right now…?”

“You are mad, yes I got that.” The crowd dispersed to the next piece and Leo stepped up beside you.

“I thought you made the boundary lines pretty clear about Donnie the last time we talked.” You cradled the glass across your chest to telegraph that you were still closed off.

“Donnie, hm?” You weren’t looking at him, but you could just tell his eye brows were waggling.

You were just annoyed enough that you were able to mentally stomp out any flames of blush that the comment may have otherwise sparked. You had been able to strike up a few, albeit short, text conversation with Donnie since your bao meeting. The purple-themed man had even gone so far as to text you that same night about his family’s response to the food. Needless to say you lost more than a few hours of sleep just trying to get your heart to stop beating uncontrollably out of your chest.

Even though you were now only silent out of contemplation, Leo still took it as a cue to drop that particular part of the subject and return to the matter as a whole. “Fine, D is his own person! Yes, you got me! I said that, but that doesn’t mean I’m not super curious about the little impromptu date you went on!”

“It wasn’t-!”

He held up a hand to stop you. “Phrasing, don’t get to tied up in it.” He waved the hand off as if the stop signal he’d given was too serious. “I’m not saying he’s as pure as freshly fallen snow, but people don’t catch his fancy as much as things and nerd stuff do.” Leo shrugged his shoulders as if it was a silly uncontrollable fact of the universe. “So what if we don’t focus on him or the content, but maybe what you did?”

“I didn’t do anything…” You finally offered him a side glance out of how absurd the question was. He was acting like you had duped his brother somehow.

“Come on!” You hadn’t realized you were wearing Leo’s nerves thin until he actively starting to unravel. His knees buckled and his shoulders slumped down until his hands almost touched the floor. “You have to give me something. I thought you were just going to ask for his number!?”

His youthful dramatics were cute so far as it brought out the kid side of him that was far more manageable. “I asked him to go eat first is all.”

“Donnie isn’t really the one of us you can bait with food…” Still crumpled over, Leo narrowed his eyes at you.

“I don’t know what else to tell you.” It was your turn to mimic his earlier cosmically unhelpful shrug. “It’s the truth.”

Leo was uncharacteristically quiet for awhile. You lowered your drink barrier and turned to look at him. He was staring at some black and white photographs. His brow had the slightest crease in it. Just as you were about to ask, you saw his lips part instead.

“So crush, infatuation, or something else?” He was slow to turn to you for your response.

The significance of the question created a mental blowback so strong your whole frame shifted. He turned to stare and his gaze was so intense that you dropped yours to the floor. Your dress shoes shone back at you. You knocked them together at the toes ever so slightly.

“I’m still not sure.”

“Take you time…” You could hear a movement of Leo’s jacket as he presumably turned away from you. “But don’t take too long. Donnie is smart, but he’s also just as dumb as the rest of us in a lot of ways. Don’t even think about hurting him.”

“I would never!” Your gaze snapped up to meet Leo’s back. “Not intentionally… at least…”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Your hands fisted at your sides, but Leo did his characteristic mental 180 and bounded back into his bubbly self as a carter came out with a new tray of canapés.

-

Stumbling out onto the street, the darkened sky disoriented you. Hadn’t the clock rolled over to morning. You took a few weary steps before leaning against a wrought iron fence. You used the brick they were built off of to sit your backpack down. It took some fishing, but you unearthed your phone from between your textbooks and notepads to find the time around 5am; just long enough from sunrise where the sky hadn’t reflected the oncoming dawn. Both yours and your phone’s batteries where lethally low. You sighed and packed your things back up, wrapping your coat tightly around you. Your late night cram session turned video game night had run so far over that you had no hope of getting back to your apartment for any sleep before you’d need to be on your way to your morning class. You made it several steps down the sidewalk as the loaming burden of today’s test seemed as dark as the ocean above. You needed to reorient.

The street was empty so you led a leisurely pace and closed your eyes to check your most pressing needs based on importance. The omnipresent sleep was out of the questions so you shoved that top notification to the side. In its place a new item appeared in the form of caffeine. Opening your eyes and seeing you’d made it a good way down the road without running into anything meant your luck was faring well. An energy drink this early was not something your stomach would tolerate so that meant sustenance was on the menu also. At this hour and on your current budget, you could hit a cheap coffee shop. Some of your facilities returned to you as a streetlight glowed overhead. It would also be a great place to charge your phone. Walking with more purpose now that you had a plan, the next hurdle appeared instantly: without your phone you couldn’t look up the closest or cheapest shop.

You paused, doing a minor heel turn to look up and down the street. This wasn’t an area you were really familiar with. The study group had been hosted by a classmate you’d only met this semester. After brains were thoroughly stuffed with knowledge, the video games had come out. The others, weaker to sleep, had filed out on by one until only you and the host were left. They’d ushered you out, bleary eyed, and were presumably already unconscious which meant so going back for directions was out of the question. Another breathy sigh and you resumed your trudging. You’d have to find somewhere the old fashioned way. You let instinct lead you, turning corners whenever you felt like it. On one particular street, there seemed to be a two or three people mingling down the block. You carved your path outward toward the street and saw there was some sort of break between building rows. It was the most promising lead you’d had so far. If nothing else, you could try to ask the people for directions.

Reaching the break you slowed as everything took on a dream-like quality. Lights were strung all around a plaza bathing it in a golden hue. Cute café table sets were tucked into one side and two open mini food trucks were operating out of the opposite end. The brick inlay of the space shifted outwards from a center point into a mesmerizing swirled pattern.  You stepped along a row watching the way your shoes followed the lines. It brought a smile to your face which was made all the brighter when you realized one of the trucks was serving coffees, teas, and pastries. You resisted the urge to run, but only succeeding in instead speed walking your way over.

There was a man hunched over with his back turned to you in the truck. It gave you time to nervously check their hand drawn chalkboard. You were pleasantly surprised to find the prices were reasonable the limited menu seemed tasty.

“Can I help you?”

You turned to him and started off your order with a warm drink. He commiserated on the ever approaching winter. When you ordered your pastry next he offered to warm it up and that could not have sounded any better. You thanked him and paid before remembering something else needed a pick-me-up also.

“This probably sounds ridiculous because we’re literally outside, but do you have a place where I could charge my phone?”

The man chuckled between grinding coffee beans. “You’d think we wouldn’t, but we actually have one outdoor outlet.” He wiped his hands on a cloth before pointing to the café tables. “Though it looks like someone’s using it so you’ll have to share.”

Following his finger and throwing a gratitude over your shoulder, you felt time slow. The only person in the seating area looked ethereal under the twinkling lights. His head was tipped down, but his purple hoodie was unmistakable. One of your hands moved up to your face and you pinched your cheek hard, wincing at the sharp sting. You couldn’t believe it was real. You crossed the bricked space and approached Donatello.

“Mind if I use the charger too?” It felt like an out of body experience.

“Knock yourself out, I’m only using one plug.”

He hadn’t noticed yet, that was somehow even better. You slowly set your bag on the table to fish out both your phone and charger. It took a little longer than it should have because your eyes were glued to him. He was hunched over and oddly enough, not on his phone for once. He was a bit too shaded to see, but it almost seemed like he his eyes were closed. Leaning over the table to where the socket was, you plugged your phone in.

“Wait… Y/N?” You wondered what had finally tipped him off.

“Hey, Donnie.” You smiled at him, straightening up.

“This is…” He straightened his posture and looked at you with a cocked neck. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t.” You smiled, zipping your bag up.

“I need to work out the exact calculations, but I can assure you that the odds of us running into each other outside of our respective neighborhoods in a city with a population of a little over 9 million is extremely high. There must be some kind of outside interference.” He tugged on the edges of his hoodie to cover the exposed parts of his legs.

“Trust me, I thought I dreamed you for a second.” You shook your head and took your bag from off the table.

“Does that mean you dream of me often? Your psyche better be doing me justice.” His monotone delivery didn’t read flirt, but the contents of the sentence had you swooning.

“Hm, maybe someday you can read my dream journal.” You muttered, looking back to the coffee stand.

“Ah, so you also keep a log of your dreams? There’s no exact science to it yet, but I feel as though sometime in the near future we can learn a great deal about how long-term memory is utilized in the dreamscape.” He held out a hand of glory. “Someday the future generation will look back on the data of Donatello Hamato as the greatest scholar of his time. Also, I will definitely be remembered for the presumable number of Nobel prizes I’ve been awarded.” Creating an L-shape between his thumb and first finger, he brought it to his chin as he devilishly imagined his illustrious future.

You had meant the journal bit as a joke, but you adored that he took it seriously. It didn’t keep you from being sarcastic about the rest. “Speaking of dreams…”

“I consider myself a scientist foremost and a realist after that. I've simply stated a given!”

“Ah to be young!” You crooned, shouldering you bag like it was far too heavy.

“Another unknown, I might be older than you.” He pointed out both literally and figuratively. You both shared your respective birthdays and he cackled. “I’ve got you beat!”

“Fine, but only someone with youth on their side would be out dressed like that in this weather.” You pointed down to the green branching out from between purple coverage.

The look on his face soured instantly and you debated retracting your statement. Instead he clicked his tongue and gestured for you to take a seat. You took the one across from him and could feel some sort of story coming on. “So the lair lost power and I was given not a second of peace while I alone was tasked with the repair. Unable to take the constant barrage of 'when will it be done, Donnie?' and 'what happened to the backup generator, Donnie?' nonsense any longer, I told them I needed some air. I was just going to take a walk and start anew, preferably with some music to drown them out, but my precious phone was about to die.” He groaned and wiped a hand down his face. He then reached for a drink cup that had been otherwise left forgotten. The moment he lifted it a pathetic whine struggled it's way up his throat. In an act of pure frustration, he crushed the apparently empty cup in hand. “Great! Just great!!”

“Order up!”

You gripped the table, torn between getting your much needed drink and leaving an obviously distraught Donnie behind.

“Just-" He didn’t have the energy for further words and waved you off.

“I’ll be right back!” You pressed before heading over to pick up your breakfast. Your backpack thumped against your back as you gave a meager jog to the counter. You slowed on approach, passing the chalkboard sign which gave you an idea. “Uh, can I do a last minute addition?”

“Sure! What’ll it be?” The man anchored an arm to the counter, ready. You leaned in as if it were a secret and placed the order with a hushed tone. Thankfully the barista was game and leaned into the demonstration himself. When you were done, he glanced across the plaza and pointed at Donatello. “For him?”

“Yes.” You bobbed your head.

A laugh bubbled up in the man, but he seemed to remember the classified nature of the order and cleared his throat. “That’s perfect. I love it.” You paid and he gave you a beaming smile. “Wait right there and I’ll whip it right up.”

You did as you were told with only a few nervous glances back at Donnie. The man was in a purple heap and thankfully didn’t seem to be going anywhere. You were glad you’d forgotten to take your backpack off when you had sat down.

“Here we go!” Instead of the to-go cup that both your drink and Donnie’s previous had been in, the man handed you a tall glass with a matching stirring spoon. You gawked at it in amazement. “Hurry and get it over to him before it mixes. Oh, and I’m sure you will, but be careful with the glass. We’re not actually supposed to give those out to the customers, but I figured this was a special occasion.” He punctuated his sentence with a wink and you felt almost weepy at the kindness this man bestowed upon you.

Juggling your order and the delicate cup, you brought it back over to the table. Donnie’s head was down and folded into his arms. Ypu struggled with a tinge of guilt over the fact that you were grateful for it. Hoping the reveal would at least make up for it, you steeled yourself. “Donnie…” You urged, carefully setting the glass down in front of him.

“Hrm?” He grumbled from underneath his layers. “It’s best if you just leave me. I might as well try again tomorrow.”

“Then I have bad news for you about the time.” You couldn’t keep the airy tone out of your voice. His dramatizations were too much.

“Don’t tell me it’s sunrise already!?” He raised his head and froze. His eyes widened at the concoction in front of him. In the glass was a steaming, cascading mix of rich golden coffee and purple cream. “What…?”

“It’s an ube latte.” You smiled and carefully took a seat. Setting your bag aside, you palmed your cup to warm your hands and watched as Donnie uncurled out of his ball. He gave the drink a stir with stick and you took your first delicious sip of your caffeinated beverage.

“It is my color…” He remarked with a sense of fondness. You nodded and resisted the urge to scarf down your whole pastry. The mix of food, drink, and Donnie’s rising spirits warmed your body.

He grasped the glass and took a sip. “Hmmm.” He then acted as if he were a sommelier, twirling the liquid and sniffing it between small tastings. “It’s a bit sweet for my tastes, but the nuttiness pairs really well with the espresso.”

“As long as you don’t hate it, that’s a win for me!” You nodded, just finishing off the last flaky bite.

“It’s not your responsibility to cheer me up.” Cradling the cup in a similar way for warmth, he continued to sip the beverage.

“Is that what I did? I was just thinking purple goes with purple.” You gave him a catlike grin and took a long luxurious swig of your ever emptying drink.

“I would like to reinstate the line of questioning about this being a set-up.” He pointed at you and there was an air of playfulness to the otherwise staunch delivery that was not lost on you.

“Damn, I knew the barista wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut.” You snapped your finger in frustration and both of you chuckled.

Several moments of silence passed before Donnie gave a long winded sigh. “I believe I left off when I was about to lose my phone?” His brows hung heavy with effort.

“That’s right, but you don’t have to get into it if you don’t want to.”

He shook his head. “I like to finish what I start.” He leaned back in his chair and took the latte with him. “So I change course for the nearest cafe and catch a glimpse of orange which means I was definitely followed!”

In rapt attention it occurred to you that must mean his other siblings were also color coded. It seemed like it should be obvious seeing as how the only one you knew was too, but it somehow wasn’t.

“I catch up to Mikey and he says he was just worried about me, but he’s a terrible liar.” Donnie rolled his eyes. “His phone goes off and after a short grapple for the device, I find that the others are using him as a gauge to see when I had ‘calmed down’ and to give an ‘eta when the power would be back on.’” You were impressed that he was able to inject so much anger into air quotes. “Like that’s all I’m good for! They act like my emotions are just a hindrance when they pop up because I usually don’t have them!”    

Your eyes widened. That was a particularly loaded sentence. You wanted to interject to reassure him that it had never crossed your mind that he didn’t have emotions, but interrupting him didn’t seem right either.

“Cue a long winded chase where Raph and Leo came topside in pursuit and…” Donnie rolled a wrist in demonstration before flattening out for the finale. “Needless to say I lost them since it’s been… Oh.” He smacked the hand to his forehead. “I had asked about the time?”

Waking your phone up, your read off the number. “It’s almost 6am.”

“I lost them about two and a half hours ago, so I would rate it as a pretty successful escape.” He took a long swig of his drink, almost finishing it off. “Since I ran out, I didn’t have time to throw on pants as I would have if I had known I was going to be stuck out in the cold for so long.” The weight of the story lightened into his characteristic dry tone.

Finishing off your drink, you ruminated over the tale as Donnie continued to recuperate. The words ‘lair’ and ‘topside’ were jumping out to you as particularly strange. Were they a family of super villains? They didn’t seem like it, but it was such a strange word choice. You really wished you knew what they did for a living. As you came out of your thoughts, you watched Donnie chug the rest of his latte and give a long breathy exhale that seemed to blow out his concerns.

“I did not yet thank you for this.” He set the glass down with the stirrer tinkling from the movement. “Still too sweet overall, but I suppose one could say it was ‘just what I needed.’” He put on a different voice for the quote and you wondered who he was mimicking. “Though to be more accurate there were many factors that improved my current mood.” He paused, his lip pursed before eyeing you. “If you did track me, you picked a very good time to reveal your location. To reiterate: thank you.”

Oh how you wished you had any liquid left in your cup to justify hiding behind it. “Any time!” You were torn between upholding the gesture and playing your skipping heart beat off with a joke. “My sensors are specifically tuned for when Donnie is in distress.” Your mouth jumped ahead of both your brain and heart. You wanted to bang your head against the table.

Donnie, on the other hand, smiled softly. “That might be something I should consider adding to my repertoire.” He tapped his device and made a quick note with nimble fingers especially considering how many he had.

“Are you saying you track your brothers?” You wondered through a laugh. This meeting might have charged you up just as much as your breakfast had.

“Nooo…” He drew out the word and looked left to right with narrowed suspicion. "I definitely do no such thing."

That was not convincing in the slightest, but also seemed to absurd to be a real thing. It wouldn't keep you from teasing him for it though. “And you said Mikey…?” You really hoped you had gotten that name right. “Was the a bad liar?”  

“Yes, Mikey, but otherwise, I don’t care to know what you mean!” He retorted, folding his arms. Pale hues started to color the sky. You saw them as you craned back, enjoying the moment.

“I have a mid-term in just over an hour.” You told the single streaked cloud above.

“I’m sorry, what?!” Donnie banged the table with a sudden jolt and the glass cup tipped violently. Slow motion horror spread across your face as your brought uour gaze back down only to see the cup suddenly right itself before your eyes.

“Wh-“ You muttered in disbelief, raising a hand to feebly point at the action.

“No!” He ordered, pointing his own finger in a more accusatory manner. “We’ve been focused on me this whole time when I should have been questioning you! Why are you up so early? You look like you haven’t slept at all! You’re going to take a test in this state? Where’s your academic honor!? Did you even study?!”  

You stared back at him weakly. The ever growing light overhead was certainly not helping the bags under your eyes, but all you could think about was how much he must value education. That and he apparently had the reflexes of a ninja.

“If you aren’t going to answer me then get up. Up!” He flung his arms in time with the command, picking up his glass and standing himself.

You scrambled to follow suit while gathering your trash. “In my defense, I was up all night studying.” You would just leave out the gaming part out for the time being. It was something you could consider texting him as a fun teasing surprise after your class.

“An all-nighter?” He seemed utterly revolted as he strode over to the drink truck where a line was starting to form.

After watching him deposit the glass, you pouted and turned your head away as he approached. “I’m hearing a lot of lecture from the guy who is also awake… What did you say you were doing? Electrician work?”

His inhale was so sharp he almost whistled. “How dare you!? Tradespersons have honorable professions, but my arsenal includes so much more that comparing what I do to a single line of work is utterly disgraceful!” You walked out of the plaza together, but the indignity was too much for him. He rounded you and pressed a finger right to your forehead. “Apologize to me while I’ll still accept it!”

The best you could do was crinkle your overjoyed smile.

“And stop smiling! Why are you even smiling?!”

If only he knew how lucky you counted yourself.

💜 NEXT 💜

#rottmnt donnie x reader #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise leo #rise donnie x reader #Leonardo Hamato #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #cartoons #fanfction #my fanfiction #crush too much #crushtoomuchfic #me

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Now or Never!

Game: Splatoon Series et al

Hi :3 Mod Cat Flopter here. I was too busy sleeping in a sunbeam to post until now, but I’m here with an oddball.

Now or Never! is an iconic song by the band Squid Squad, one of the first popular rock bands in the Splatoon world! Now or Never plays in the last minute of a Turf War in all three Splatoon games, as well as at other times in other forms.

The first hint of Now or Never! that world saw was at E3 2014, a weird boogie that helped show off Splatoon (for the Wii U console!!)

The Beta version of Now or Never! is unavailable in a clean quality. Most of the footage has ink flying everywhere! However, one intrepid fan recreated the sound on youtube :3

The original track goes for even more of a hard rock sound than the final Now or Never! This song REALLY tells you to Ink or Sink down the rankings, and Splattack the enemy to win! However, it doesn't quite sound like a Squid Squad song to me, with a lack of their trademark vocalist and the synthesizers Splatoon is known for. Overall, I like the finished Now or Never! betta, but the changes have me Kracken Up!

The finished Now or Never! by Squid Squad, which debuted in Splatoon 1, is such an iconic piece of Splatoon that it's hard to imagine the game without it.

The track is high energy and establishes lots and lots and lots of Splatoon's sound, from the rock influences, to the synths, to the inklish vocals and the energy! To quote a cool video, it's loud, bold, and Booyah! (please imagine a guitar riff!) I'm just a little guy and I don't know music theory so please watch this video instead https://youtu.be/38h8eudzy7k

it's only 11 Now or Never!s long, it's a good use of your time.

Squid Squad is soooo creative for soming up with this song all on their own :3

Next is the Squid Sisters’ splatfest cover of Now or Never!

With more of a Jpop feel, the Squid Sisters change up the sound immensely, going for MORE synths and a BUBBLEGUM feel! It’s so cool. I bet the original creators of Now or Never! Were so happy when they heard this cover by a famous band!!

The next iteration is a slightly altered live performance by the Squid SIsters from 2016!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wxkKUbNnXKE&t=326s

The song is modified to be extended in this version, although i have to say- too much of a good thing :c. The new sections that aren’t just a loop of the original song are interesting evolutions, but they’re sadly a small part of the performance.

Next up is an era shift! The Splatoon 2 Global Testfire (2017) had its own version of Now or Never! This came with a shift in bands and an overall higher push for Splatoon marketing within other Nintendo games, such as Super Smash Brothers Ultimate and Mario Kart 8 Deluxe! Its so cool that Squid Squad let Wet Floor cover their original song, and I'm excited to tell you about it!

With an obvious and notable shift in vocals, the Splatoon 2 Global Testfire Now or Never! also brings a shift in energy from the Squid Squad version, slowing the song down and bridging the gap between the Squid Squad and Wet Floor versions of the song. It adds even more synths to the composition, pushing it towards a western poppy feel over the rock and jpop versions of Splatoon 1.

And here’s the finished version!

It pulls back on the synths to pre-splatoon 1 levels and boosts the crowd section, adding in a ska feel. The classic guitar and drum kit are even more prominent here than in the Squid Squad version, which has both benefits and drawbacks. For one, the Splatoon sound is a fusion of both rock and synths, so scaling it back to more conventional instruments for the genre it’s aiming for is to the game’s detriment. On the other, my cat flopther (father cat flopter) has made me a big fan of classic rock all my life, so I can’t be too mad at moving Now or Never! In that direction.

On the other hand, Off the Hook’s version of Now or Never is…

Oh. Oh no.

:c

It’s the same issue I have with the other version of Now or Never! In Splatoon 2, but it’s also I think a bad song for Off the Hook. Sorry to fans of lesbianism everywhere, but this just doesn’t sound like an Off the Hook song to me, and although the bubblegummy synth composition works for a Japanese pop band like the Squid SIsters, it doesn’t quite vibe for an American hip-hop, as well as pulling back on Splatoon’s unique sound. The brassy sound at the very beginning is cool, though, and the homage to Marina's inspriation is nice!

Although I’ve been speaking in timeline order up to now, I have to admit something.

I skipped two (2!) Now or Never!s. Actually, I skipped one Bouyant Bougie and I’m going to talk about Ebb and Flow as well in this section.

Being a story mode song, Buoyant Boogie appeared before the Splatfest exclusive Off the Hook Now or Never! on day 1.

Buoyant Boogie is a Now or Never!; it samples the Squid Sisters’ Now or Never! and even includes backwards vocals from Callie, hinting at her story mode fate, which is cool. :3 The song additionally only lasts one minute before looping. Also, Turquoise October ROCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!

In Octo Expansion, the final battle is a Turf War on the NILS statue. For two minutes, Fly Octo Fly plays, then at one minute remaining, it transitions into Ebb and Flow. At the time, many people called this a Now or Never!

However, Ebb and Flow is NOT a Now or Never!. It’s an Ebb and Flow. Although it’s cool symbolically, it’s its own song and Off the Hook doesn’t need to be bound by tradition!! THEY GET TO MAKE THEIR OWN COOL MUSIC OK!!

sorry none of these videos are available btw

Okay so next is the first not a Splatoon game Now or Never!, Mario Kart 8 Deluxe (2017)’s Now or Never!

This song plays on the Urchin Underpass battle stage when one minute is left in the match. Interestingly, this is the only Now or Never that is shorter than a minute- The Final Lap jingle takes up four seconds, so the song itself is sped up to accommodate. It’s modeled after Squid Squad’s Now or Never, which is fitting for a Splatoon 1 exclusive stage!

In fact, it feels like a lot of appearances of Now or Never! are almost identical to Squid Squad’s Now or Never!. Here are the rest of them:

Tetris 99 (2019)’s Splatoon Theme’s “10 players left” music

Wait, that’s it?

Yeah! Surprisingly, Now or Never! Is usually remixed. Even though Squid Squad’s iconic and original cover of the song is the most popular, most appearances pay tribute to them instead of keeping their sound 100% the same. Take Super Smash Brothers Ultimate’s Now or Never for example. It’s worse than the original! I’m not even going to pretend to link to it! It’s bad!

The Splattack cover, though, is fresh and new! A jazzy, big band vibe that samples Now or Never! in the same jazzy style. Although it’s far from my favorite Now or Never! it’s something new, something that I’d be excited to see in a Splatoon game. Perhaps an Ink Theory cover? Regardless, it’s an interesting evolution of this Strange Splatoon Entity.

Meanwhile, the The Super Smash Brothers Ultimate remix of Now or Never! itself is……….

….

…

…

bad.

it’s so bad

Sorry, Spikey, do I have to talk about this?

“Yes, Sorry Mod Cat Flopter! You said you wanted to talk about all versions of Now or Never!”

Ok, fine :(

I will continue not even pretending to link this. It’s so bad. zero tension. only nominally a Now or Never!. An infinite Now or Never! would be a good thing, you would think.

Next is the Taiko no Tatsujin Switch Splatoon 2 Medley. A compilation of two original Wet Floor songs (Rip Entry and Turf Master) and their Now or Never! cover. It starts about a minute into the song, not a minute from the end, strangely enough! It’s the middle song of the three!

Off the Hook Live! at Polymanga 2018 This is one of the BEST versions of this song. Take a listen for yourself: https://youtu.be/-i9GTp3Mp30

With the Squid Sisters and live band members here, they use ACTUAL INSTRUMENTS along with the synths, the Splatoon style that I love so much. With a fresh new intro to the song and lots of extensions that continue to ramp up tension, this version of the Squid Sisters’ classic is the height of this song in my opinion!! it’s sooooooo gooooood!! The record scratches in the beginning to lead into the song itself, the electric guitar, the DRUMS!! that kick in at around thirty seconds in. Pearl dabs. THIS is how you extend Now or Never! to four minutes.

Okay, now the SPLATOON 2 FINAL FEST CHAOS VS ORDER NOW OR NEVER!

A second collaboration between Off the Hook and the Squid Sisters, this Now or Never! takes after the Off the Hook cover of the Squid Sisters’ cover of the Squid Squad cover, with both bands providing vocals. With the Squid Sisters here, this version of Off the Hook’s cover is… less bad. Not as good as the other way around, but still better than before. I like it when squids sing :)

Fast-forward three years to Splatoon 3! The third game in the series had, fittingly, three versions of Now or Never! At launch.

First of all, the Deep Cut cover. This chaotic cultural fusion combines the Brazilian, Middle-Eastern, Indian, and classic Japanese influences of the three members of Deep Cut! I’m only one of those things, so I will not comment on how well they pulled this off! All I know is that I really like this song, and that Shiver and Frye are lesbians as fuck. The same guy from before has a video on this one too! I’ll link that instead of posting a not available image. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ebqBmL53UQ

Now! Wham!

Flashback to when I posted about the Infinite Now Or Never in Smash Ultimate!

This one IS an infinite Now or Never! The Tableturf 3 turns remaining theme is a modified infinite Now or Never! In the Tableturf sound style, with Onward! cutting in multiple times through the song. If Now or Never! represents the Turf Warring denizens of the Surface, and Onward! represents the octarian army, this tune is perfect for the Splatlands, where both live in Harmony (tee hee! Get it? :3) and have for generations. Pretty cool if you ask me!

Last but certainly not least, but certainly not last-

C-Side’s Now or Never!

While writing this post (this has taken a long time!) New information came to light! Beika, the lead of C-Side, has claimed to be the first creator of Now or Never! THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING!!!! And it makes perfect sense! C-Side’s Now or Never! Is pure rock, a decision that sets it apart from other Splatoon music, which always involve synths!! This perfectly reflects the change in setting from the trendy high tech big city to the grungy desert! It’s SO GOOD!! Not the best Now or Never! (I do prefer Splatoon’s unique style!) But it’s hard to beat the original! But it’s also easy to beat the original! I love you C Side!!!!

Okay, this has been Mod Cat Flopter, Logging Off! :3 see you next week!!

p.s. ichiya is a stupid bastard

#mod cat flopter #splatoon #mario entities #now or never

[heathers-incorrect-quotes]

heathers incorrect quotes #166

J.D.: Veronica told me I was found in a KFC bucket next to a dumpster and I was rescued.

Duke: You probably were.

J.D.: Oh crap, maybe that's the reason why. Maybe my lackluster feelings towards their fried chicken is because subconsciously I'm reliving the trauma whenever I see their trademark bucket. My brain and cognitive dissonance won't let me completely lie to myself and say I hate their food, because fried chicken is great and I want some now, instead it just steers me away. Thank you for helping to guide me towards this epiphany, perhaps now the healing can begin.

#incorrect quotes #heathers incorrect quotes #heathers #heathers the musical #heathers 1988 #jason dean #heather duke #jdukesaw #jduke #veronica sawyer

[odusseus-xvi]

MORE DUNGEON MESHI x MONSTER HUNTER

So, I said on a post, and I'm quoting, "I doubt Laios would have much of a chance against a Deviljho, [...]" ( This post )

And now people are arguing in my tags saying that Laios would definitely beat a Deviljho.

SO that made me reconsider a thing or two, HOWEVER I think a lot of people are forgetting what a Deviljho is. So let's look further into that : (REMINDER this is not serious I'm just having fun)

what- what are you talking about. No. No hunters are not grounded. They wield weapons heavier than they are while wearing batshit crazy armor. They can jump from icredible heights and suffer no damage *canonically*. Hunters are inhumanly strong canonically, and that is the only reason they do not die instantly to monster attacks.

That AND the hunter/huntress you play in the games is an exception even among hunters. Especially in the old games we had a lot of tales and quest descriptions that implied most hunters would die against such monsters. The one who faces Deviljhos and Elder Dragons are exceptions that are considered legends. (Like The Sapphire Star of the Fifth Fleet in MH World, the hunter you play.)

OK so multiple things to say, both in favor and against Laios in this situation.

1 : Now that yes, a lot of tags talked about Laios being effective against Monster Hunter monsters because he would LOVE studying their weaknesses and that is the trademark of a good monster, and I agree with that, a really good thing for Laios. He would probably figure out how to use it's appetite against Deviljho, using poisoned meat and other things to make the fight easier (let's remember nonetheless that Deviljho's metabolism is very resistant and wouldn't die from poison, the reason it can eat most of everything) 1.5 : HOWEVER the second option is terrible. Do not starve a Deviljjho. Not only would no one be able to do that consistantly, a Deviljho WILL find a way to eat, but the more starved is a Deviljho the more violent and strong it becomes : Starving Deviljho and Savage Deviljho (two different Variants) comes from a Deviljho so hungry it becomes near unstoppable.

2 : Ok but Marcille is cheating (I'm joking I'm joking but yeah, with Marcille on his side it would increase his chances greatly.)

3 : "It has a much thinner hide than a Red Dragon." That is true HOWEVER, let's remember : The Red Dragon as a spot that kills it instantly if hit, that is not the case of a Deviljho. It's Hide is still *very* strong, AND it has spikes making it harder to hit it without weapons boucing right off.

4 : Ok but who decides that, what if Laios gets Isekaid to MH universe. (that is not a serious point but like, who knows what we consider for what happens in this situation.)

5 : Last one : That wouldn't work, Deviljho has a thick hide, most normal weapons wouldn't do much against it AND one of the things Deviljho does is open up HIS OWN muscles and by how scarred it is. It would survive some Laios swordplay.

Yes As much as I think Laios would probably die against a Deviljho, he would have a FUCKIN BLAST in the Mh universe : A whole GUILD dedicated to understand and study monster, and some monsters considered good meals. yeah yeah he would love it.

THAT would be his way to both eat some Deviljho and survive the encounter : Chop off the tail, and flee the furious beast. A carefully crafted plan would make it possible.

NOW some things about Deviljho some of you might have forgotten that might tip the fight in it's favor :

The size :

Deviljhos are MASSIVE, but they are also FAST, they run fast, they can jump extremely far, they are muscly, they can carry monsters such as ODOGARONS in their jaw without much of an injury. They are also powerful enough to fight back when caught in a trap.

And my last two points :

1 : Deviljho has a corrosive saliva that corrodes and melts ARMOR off, that's why in the game you get Defense Down when you get pinned in it's jaw. One mistep from Laios, and it's over. Reminder that the guy wears basic iron armor. Laios does havd some healing magic, but that would only buy him a little bit of time.

2 : Now that one is more complicated : Dragonblight is mysterious in canon, no one really knows what the Dragon Element really is, but we do know that it is really powerful, that it hurts real bad, and that it increases your weakness . (and that it's linked to the madness of it's user but that doesn't matter here.) That is really powerful, hard to dodge, and would be really hard for Laios or anyone to truly understand.

A few weaknesses a Deviljho DOES have and that Laios could use :

It's weak to Thunder. I don't know what Laios would do, but who knows he'd probably have an idea.

It's weak to Dragon Element. Well. That one's probably not being used.

It's belly hide DOES become softer when enraged, but it's till very thick, and it's tall enough that it's hard to reach.

It's perpetually hungry, and the use of drugged meats is a known method, Laios would probably figure that one out.

It has little self preservation and is reckless. The thing is, Laios too. But there is things to do here.

Ok I think that's my most autism post I ever did. welp. A reminder, I did this just because I was having fun doing it, this is not serious. A fight between Laios and a Deviljho would have a lot of variables. (I still do think a Deviljho has more chances of winning but who knows) (also hot take Laios is not the best fighter)

that's it that's the post. There you go.

#dungeon meshi #monster hunter #deviljho #laios touden #crossover

[familyvideostevie]

𝟭𝟮 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗰𝗵𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗺𝗮𝘀: 𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲 

day three: buying a tree with steve | fluff, 1k 12 days of christmas masterlist

"What do you think?" Steve asks you. "7 feet? Is that too big? I've never actually done this before. Does the stand add inches?" He runs one hand through his hair and puts the other on his hip in what the kids call his trademark Steve pose.

You and Steve moved in together this year and this is your first Christmas in your own place. Living with him is wonderful --- he's your favorite person ever, even when he leaves his socks on the floor and forgets to shut the microwave after he uses it. Waking up to him, going to sleep next to him, brushing your teeth next to him, it's all a dream come true. And watching him pick out your Christmas tree makes your heart feel like it's going to burst in your chest. Every day you are struck by how easy it is to love him. It's like breathing. 

"You gonna be the one who carries it up the stairs?" you ask him. He's standing in front of a pretty wide tree that's taller than he is. The look he shoots you is all sass, all Harrington attitude, like he's daring you to question his abilities one more time. He seems to think that you're going to, because then he flexes, both arms bent at the elbow in the air like he's in a body building competition. You can't see any difference through his winter coat but you know that he's got plenty of strength hidden under there.

"What're you trying to say, huh?" You laugh and surge forward to push his arm down. He's so embarrassing and you love him so much. 

"You're suck a dork, Steve," you tell him. You look the tree up and down. "Yeah, I like this one."

"You sure?" he asks. "It's gotta be a good pick. I want you to be sure. Our first tree!" He's babbling in a way that's a little unlike him, but you know where it's coming from. The novelty of your life together has not worn off and you yourself feel giddy sometimes. It's exciting to know that you've got someone to come home to, someone waiting for you, someone thinking about you. It's better than you ever imagined, and Steve sometimes gets overcome with it too.

"You're the one who spotted it, Steve," you tease him. "Didn't you tell me that you have 'perfect tree spotting skills?'" You use air quotes and he rolls his eyes at you. 

"Alright, alright," he says. "Enough outta you." Despite his words, he tugs you close and plants a sloppy kiss on your temple before calling over someone who work at the tree farm to cut the tree for you. 

"Do we have all the decorations?" you ask Steve while you wait. He nods. A teenager hauls your tree to a chainsaw station and trims the bottom. Steve grabs your hand and rubs his thumb over your skin without thinking, like he always does. 

"I think so," he says. "My mom gave us her old tree stand and Mrs. Henderson gave us some lights. You said you moved with some ornaments, right?" You nod.

"Yeah, I put them in the hall closet."  He squeezes your hand. You admire him in the winter night, his handsome face lit by the farm's string lights. His nose is red from the chill.

"Should we watch a movie while we decorate?" he asks. 

You shake your head. "I think we should put on the Christmas radio station so I can hear you sing again." His cheeks flush even though this is an old routine by now. You tease Steve every time he sings along to the radio but he knows you love it when he does. 

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Keep milking that." You'd caught him belting "Let It Snow" in the shower just this morning when he thought you were on a walk.

"Which car is yours?" the teenager asks you. Steve points to the BMW and together they haul the tree onto the roof as you watch.

"Will you roll down the windows?" Steve asks, tossing you the keys. You hop into the car and do as he asks, all four, and then pull the ropes through so the tree is secure. He pays the teenager in cash and you both settle into the front seats.

"Gonna be a cold ride home," Steve says. "You gonna be okay?" It's nippy, sure, but it hasn't started to snow yet so you figure you'll be fine. Plus, hearing the word home from his lips and knowing he's talking about your place fills you with a warmth that even Indiana winter can't pierce. 

"Good thing I have a furnace for a boyfriend. We can take a warm shower when we get back, yeah?" Steve wiggles his eyebrows at your suggestion and laughs. Once he starts the car he reaches over and squeezes your leg gently. 

"Our first tree," he says softly, like he can't believe it.

"You're a sap, Steve Harrington." He doesn't deny it and you lean over to smack a kiss onto his cheek. He makes a whining nose deep in his throat and turns his head, pursing his lips. You consider teasing him again, but decide against it because if you're honest, all you want to do is kiss him. So you do, leaning in to press your lips to his properly, maybe a touch longer than is appropriate for a Christmas tree farm parking lot.

"Okay, handsy," he says when he pulls away. "Now I'm cold." He puts an arm around your headrest and backs out of the parking lot.

"Home?" you ask him. He nods. 

"Home." 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine

[thecurioustale]

Art Begets Art and the Law Should Respect This

I believe in the tradition of folk art, which is to say: Borrow liberally and lovingly.

It's a practice we've been mostly sterilized from embracing in our modern corporatist society, where all of the big-name, commonly-recognizable "IPs" are imprisoned behind layer after layer of obnoxious lawyers with nothing better to do than torment the innocent. It's a terrible thing, a deprivation of our cultural oxygen—a crime against art and ethics.

As an artist myself, I often have to thread the needle of building upon the inspiring works of others while still remaining within the letter of our outrageous IP laws. It's something I think about a lot.

In Galaxy Federal, for instance, I mentioned last time that the name "Galaxy Federal" was inspired, among other things, by the mention of the "Galaxy Federal Police" title screen of the original Metroid game. When I was settling on this title for my series, I also found that Galaxy Federal is the trademarked name of a bank. I spent considerable time and mental resources, years ago, to determine to my satisfaction that it is permissible under the law for me to use this title.

I have to do way too much of this bullshit, and I know it'll still be for naught: If I ever do become an even remotely successful author, I'm sure I'll be sued anyway, probably for something I never even realized was an "infringement" despite all my vigilance. Because, at the end of the day, for big corporations and for IP trolls, our IP laws are just a racketeering scheme—a side hustle. I mean, Best Western trademarked the word "seniority." If someone wants to sue you, they're gonna find a way.

I am not really a "from scratch" writer. I don't sit down at a blank page and just come up with prose from first principles. My art is almost always inspired by things that I experience in my life, or by the ideas that result from those experiences. Sometimes—frequently, even—my inspirations come from things that are copyrighted or trademarked. I have written in the past about the influence of the video game The Secret of Mana on me as a kid. Among many other inspirations, that game has a neat sandship in it, and that's why the desert easts of Relance are prevalent with sandships.

Over the years I've become a pro at reinterpreting IP-blocked inspirations into usable, original ones—both in terms of the legal research I've done and the skills I've developed at transforming an IP-blocked inspiration into something usable. I've also become more knowledgeable about what I can get away with quoting directly: Certain things cannot be copyrighted, and trademarks have a finite zone of applicability.

It's all a very needless and skill-intensive ballet to achieve something that should be directly accessible. Obviously, there do need to be limits. As an artist myself, I am keenly aware that I wouldn't want to have no special claim to my own work. But if I were to rewrite our outrageous IP laws—and over the years I have amassed considerable material for a book on this—I would make it vastly easier for artists and the public in general to "borrow liberally and lovingly" from the sources that inspire them. Our current IP laws are like a crime-ridden police state: The security is in all the wrong places and just doesn't work. We could relax the laws considerably without hurting artists, and potentially even tighten them in other respects to better combat trolls and thieves.

But in the meantime, here's my advice: Don't let it daunt you. Dance the friggin' ballet. Get good at transformation. Liberate intellectual property from its prison in spirit if not in substance. And, when you're fearless and/or sufficiently obscure, just straight-up pirate. I think society has a duty to reject unjust laws through word and deed.

I don't usually don my pirate's hat, but I do sometimes. When I published the Prelude in 2015, for a limited time I also published a free companion soundtrack consisting entirely of, gasp, copyrighted music. Nowhere is the horror of our modern IP laws more evident than in the realm of music. What I did was basically create a curated playlist, to help set the mood of the story. I don't know if anyone even availed themselves of that soundtrack, yet for me to license all of those pieces to make my limited-time links lawful would have cost me thousands if not tens of thousands of dollars! All for something that it's possible nobody other than me even listened to. That's a crime against art. And it's a crime against artists. Our draconian IP laws hurt small artists the most. If I had had thousands of fans, I'd have been able to pay to play—and I would have done so, or perhaps I would have spent the equivalent money to hire composers to write an original soundtrack. But, as a nobody-artist and a poor person, whose own Curious Score musical compositions are long in the making, the lawful avenues are all unassailably closed off to me. This too is an injustice, of another sort.

Doing the companion soundtrack was the right thing to do in the tradition of folk art. None of those other artists (or, let's be real, the corporate goliaths that hoard most of this "content" in their treasure-vaults) was deprived of a single penny; in fact that's one of the great lies of the IP lawyers and their corporate masters: Cultural interchange usually improves income for people whose work is quoted by others. Borrow liberally and lovingly—and give credit where credit is due.

That's the way it should be.

And, one day, that's how it will be again.

#IP law #IP law is a fucking joke and painfully Orwellian and we should all be praying to the Bermuda Triangle to disappear these corporate lawyers #Prelude to After the Hero

[thealogie]

Just saw someone fancast DT and MS for Holmes/Watson (and a corresponding piece of fanart that make me cry blood because it's not real 💔) and I would like to ask, given that you quote unquote, had SH in your bloodstream at 13: who's who?

So true, such an important question. First, my most genuine wish is for them is to recreate this Holmes and Watson parody. Second, I think it’s such a close call. I would say MS Holmes and DT Watson just to switch up who spends more time gazing at the other adoringly. (However I would say DT as Holmes if he promises to incorporate his trademark wriggling and gay sitting)

[itisin]

Call me by your name

Okay, so, hate me for this if you will, but this one post isn't about miraculous ladybug, for a change, it's about a very very different and unrelated story- Call me by you name. So, 2 days ago, I wanted to watch a movie and I googled 'teen movies to watch', or something like that, and just picked the first movie I found and went ahead and watched it. It was this- 'call me by your name'. It be noted that I knew absolutely nothing about the movie, I hadn't even seen the complete trailer. While watching, I had a very rare experience- I just couldn't decide whether I loved it or hated it, but I couldn't stop. It was spellbinding. This movie had some VERY VERY sexually explicit scenes, and for those of you who don't know, I'm bi-ace, which means I wasn't drawn to THAT whole vibe of it. Now, I see this movie, and it is past my bedtime, and as soon as I shut my laptop down, I know I'm not going to fall asleep tonight, and that isn't usual for me, I can sleep through anything, but not this time. I still can't figure out whether I liked the movie or not. There was one thing I was sure of though, the story was lacking a bit of, like, personalization. I was obsessing over the movie (this wasn't usual for me either, I don't normally obsess like this over anything) so, I thought that this lack could have been because it was set in the 1980s or something, and also it followed a similar style to give a feel of that time. So, you know how movies would follow kind of close-up of the characters in each scene, different angles- to really get the audience into their skins. I thought maybe that helps us as the audience understand the emotions, somehow; I thought it needed some kind of background narration to make some things clear.

Then the next day too, I was overly obsessing over the movie, and SCOLDING myself for it, cause, its exam time and I'm very stressed about it; I needed to study. Just couldn't focus. So I start bargaining with myself and decide to read a little explanation of some lines from the movie, which are supposed to be like, the trademark of the story, they were "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine". I just needed to know the emotion, the meaning behind it. I found some explanations and they were all quoting the main character, and I was sure he hadn't said any of those lines. Then it hit me, the movie was an adaptation of a book. Now, after reading that one-sentence explanation I knew the book was from the main character's point of view and, after reading a few more quotes, I was convinced I NEED TO read the book, just so as to understand the movie through the emotions behind. BUT, to read it AFTER the exams cause I had like, 5 days for my exams to begin and I DO NOT have sufficient breaks in between of exams. Couldn't resist, begin reading by the night with an obviously unreal expectation to finish the book by the night itself. Doesn't happen, finished the book next day by 4:30 pm. Now, THIS, has never happened before, NEVER in my whole life. I'm a person who needs a whole year to finish a single book and I read it in a single day.

Now, THE BOOK, sigh THE BOOK, it was everything I expected. All the scenes that remained unclear were now clear, and the movie was actually a decent adaptation of the book, even though, there were a few scenes different in the movie that the book and vica-versa. The book, however, was FAAAR MORE SEXUALLY EXPLICIT than the movie, not my cup of tea, like AT ALL. And some of the scenes were like, not only sexual, but like, almost disturbing. Still, STILL, I was obsessed with the story even more now, just couldn't figure out why. It was like, I'm understanding something that I'll never feel and don't even want to feel, but it is still beautiful. Most importantly, the narration, the words! Aaaah! Amazingly written, one thing I could actually make out. I heard a person in one video say, the words that are used were MADE to be used in this book. He wasn't really exaggerating. Still, one thing I STILL don't know, do I like the story or not, I just don't know. Now, I do think I like it, why else would I be obsessed with it. Now a new question, Why? Idk, I'm hitting my head on the wall over this and am unable to distract myself from this trough any means, and, as it turns out, most people on the internet are saying that they too, were obsessed with it when they saw/read it- though they were clear that they loved the story. I just, don't know, and because I was obsessing over it nevertheless, I came here, my safe haven; to handle my thoughts, thinking that if I untangle my string of thought at once, it will help me focus on studies, cause I really need that, But, I'm still here, with the theme song 'mysteries of love' ringing in my ears like a broken record. (helppp me T_T T_T )

#call me by your name #cmbyn #oliver cmbyn #cmbyn movie #cmbynfilm #armie x timothee #elio x oliver #cmbyn fic #timothee chamalet #elio cmbyn #armie hammer #elio chalamet #cmbyn spoilers

[sirenium]

If you ever feel invalidated by an exclusionist, please remember this post because I can assure you they don't know what they're talking about💀

⚠️trigger warning for of course exclusionist dumbassery, also this gets rant-y⚠️

I swear exclusionists have the most incoherent thought processes known to man dude cuz what is this shit

[ID: purple header text reading he/him lesboy flag/ hesboy flag! Under this text is plain black text reading based on these two flags: •reclaimed lesboy •he/him lesbian. Under this, red, bold text reads DNI, followed by rad inclus, terfs/transmeds, anti he/him lesbians & she/her gays, male/men "lesbians" in black plain text. End ID]

'Lesboy flag' and 'no man lesbians' in the same post... my brain is melting. Also... these people 'reclaimed' the term lesboy? Just to exclude a group of people who are lesboys? You do know that lesbians who also consider themselves men are also included in the lesboy term? Apparently not to these people. Butches who also consider themselves men? Sorry, not lesbians anymore. Multigender man lesbians? Nah sorry you're men so you can't be lesbians./sarc

[ID: blue header text reading Demiboy lesbian flag! Beneath this, quote text (at least I think that's what it's called) reads I couldn't decide on which ones to choose, so I'm posting all of them! Beneath this, much like the previous image, OP starts off their DNI with a bold red DNI, followed by black plain text. This text reads mspec "lesbians", radinclus, terfs/transmeds, radfems, men/male "lesbians", anti he/him lesbians and she/her gays. End ID]

Is that,, not excluding demiboy lesbians? Oh my bad, it's fine cuz they're only 'partially male' and therefore aren't ACTUALLY icky men invading lesbian spaces!/sarc

Also can I just say how fucking entitled it is to be all like 'mspec "lesbians"' with the quotes and shit? Like oh my god get over yourself, you aren't the leader of the lesbians™️ [trademark]. Bro thinks they're part of the lesbian council or some shit. 💀

Besides that, this has got to be one of the funniest examples of exclusionist stupidity I've ever seen. I can't get over it bro: 'demiboy lesbian flag!' 'Fuck off icky man lesbians!' In the SAME. POST. BAHAHA–

-----

It's rare that I feel the need to take screenshots and talk about them on my blog, but these are so poetically idiotic that I had to make a whole post dedicated to them. So yeah, sorry about your braincells lmao. But just know you're valid regardless of how you identify as a lesbian, and these are the types of people who think otherwise. Needless to say, they aren't really that credible.

[ID: a DNI banner with a purple background with lighter purple text reading DNI: system/queer exlusionists, TERFs/SWERFs, truscum/transmeds, anti recovery for harmful paraphilia, anti otherkin, anti self dx, pro cringe culture, pro-lifers, anti xenogender. A more detailed DNI is in my pinned post. A transparent png of Shadow The Hedgehog can be seen on the right, beside the text. He's holding his hand to his chest, his body facing the text and his eyes looking off to the distance. End ID]

#tw exclusionism #random rant #demiboy lesbian #lesboy #transmasc lesbian #exclusionism rots your brain and this is proof💀 #I sometimes feel like exclus are these little creatures that I'm observing from behind a glass wall or something like it's so bizarre to me #how there are people in the world who actually think like this #and it's like ?????? #how??? can somebody be so dumb??? #that sounds so rude but like seriously how can somebody sit down #make a lesboy or demiboy lesbian flag #and be like 'lol no men lesbians' and think that's in any way coherent 💀 #it's so fucking funny to me #but also frustrating like just let people vibe lmao #anyway #we love lesboys who are lesboys for any reason here #rad inclus #radical inclusivity #radical inclusion

[infini-tree]

episodic - part 2

< prev | next >

Summary: Captain stumbles in the dark, the boys are hasty, and Krupp looms over the narrative.

As that one quote goes: it's the villains who act; heroes react. Or maybe it's the heroes who act, with the villains hindering their every action? Either way, there are pranks to pull.

A/N: the series was meant to be comprised of oneshots, the fact that there’s a new chapter to an existing one is just as surprising to me.

what changed my mind? i could not think of a good title for this next bit, so i decided to append it to this fic. to be honest it works out perfectly, as this is the direct result of the first part anyway. to those that thought that the first part was a clean conclusion to the whole thing re: the boys and captain: i'm only partially sorry (and besides, it did end with them saying they were going to meddle further, so...), in reality it was the start of a larger thread!

i haven't decided how many chapters this chunk of story will be, but for the time being i will hopefully write chronologically in relation to this part of the timeline (as far as the fic series half of this au is concerned). so for now i won't jump around the timeline for assorted written oneshots. for now.

——————————–

By the time Captain Underpants reached the man in his head’s house, the fuzzy feeling in his chest had fizzled out. The issue is done. A resolution was reached. They’ve all said their nice words, and it’s fine now. 

The house was silent, save for the TV that he had left on. The living room was still littered in what remained of the prankovation (trademark). He paid no heed to the grown up talk on air as his own words from earlier kept rattling around his head.

I miss what it was like before all this. I know you do, too.

He circled his way around the table before plopping on the chair. The light from the TV practically bleached out the scattered notes on the table, leaving the other man’s words impossible to read. Right now, he really didn’t want to read them. With everything that’s happened, he had almost forgotten that he had just been talking about how annoyed he was at the prank earlier.

He’d have to reply, eventually, but at this moment, he feels…

He feels.

He doubled over and clutched the cassette recorder against his chest. It reminded him of the moment he had recorded– what his sidekicks listened to – and his body seized up even further. He was fine earlier, so why was he acting like this? He had even thought, for a moment, that it was a latent effect from a monster. 

Captain knew it wasn’t. A part of him wished it was, like how he wished things were before.

He glanced back to the cassette in his hands. It was too dark to see through the plastic door that showed the cassette tape, but he knew it was equal on both ends of the spooling parts of it, paused right after that moment. A moment he didn’t want to share like that.

But they were his sidekicks. He supposed that they had the right to know, so it was fine. It was fine.

Captain’s hands shook in the dark. From the edge of his vision, he saw the light that lit up the chair and the living room change. Pale blue, to darkness, to red from a commercial.

His words rattled in his head, both what was recorded and what was said. The letters snare the other ones like they were static clung together– at the same time I don't.  

His mind felt like it was racing, but the only thing on the tracks was grawlixes ensnared in agitrons. He could feel it make a one-way trip to his chest, where it sat heavily.

After what felt like an eternity of being curled up, the feeling managed to fade, Captain quietly peeled himself off the seat. He turned on the light.

“Well–” He floundered for a moment, trying to recall where they left off. It felt like years since he spoke to him. Play it cool. “I think the prankovation, trademark, is an improvement.”

He dipped a few fingers in a nearby glass and flicked the drops in his face. 

Snap. He let the uncomfortable tenseness in his limbs wash over him before it dissipated.

What were you doing for an hour?!

“I was…” He looked back down at the cassette player. “Looking for the cassette. It, uh, got misplaced in the shuffle.”

Splash, snap. The fact he couldn’t feel much from the man felt worse than feeling a dissipating sweep of emotion. At least then, he could try and guess where this was going– as terrible as it felt. 

Awfully convenient timing, the note remarked vaguely.

Captain could practically feel the accusation curdling under the ink. He knew his voice would have too much ache in it to rebuke the statement. He cannot lie. 

In a smaller voice: “My sidekicks found it.”

The ache twisted. He nearly spilled the cup he was using as he put his hand in it and wiped his face. 

Snap. 

The twisting feeling mingled with the prickling hot emotion of the man in his head.

Those brats know?

“They’re not brats!” he defended. “They’re… they’re just looking out for me.”

Splash, snap. No prickling hot this time, just something he could only describe as slimy.

Behind your back? Sounds about right.

“I– I trust them,” he said out loud, though he made no effort to record it. His voice was too shaky for that– he repeated the words until they came out smoother and only then did he record.

Splash, snap. I mean, you didn’t know you weren’t real until now. Who knows what else they’re hiding.

Captain shook his head. This shouldn’t be affecting him this badly– any hero worth their salt knows how villains will do anything to get a rise out of you for any sort of footing. This was no different. He knew this was no different.

Captain grounded his teeth until he swore he heard it crack under the pressure. 

“Even– even if they were hiding something, I still trust them.” A pause. “That was just a hiccup, and minor conflicts are bound to happen. They’ll do the right thing in the end, usually.”

The Waistband Warrior listened through the recording again. The response felt foolproof!

Splash. Snap.

He was hit by the caramel onion emotion again. Sweet and good feeling at first until you got into the acidic onion-y part. It was the exact same feeling that lingered in his chest when the man in his head told him he wasn’t real.

They’ll do the right thing in the end “usually”? the note said. Honestly, you should keep better track of your little “sidekicks” and what they do– ten year olds don’t exactly have the best judgment.

In smaller print in brackets: (eg. Stealing that cassette. You know that counts as breaking and entering, right?)

Something hot flared in his gut seeing the last statement. “They are not thieves!”  

Captain immediately clamped his mouth shut with a hand. He gave a quick glance to the recorder, relieved that he hadn’t pressed the record button yet. 

He brought himself to stand on solid ground. Made his way to close the suddenly too loud TV. Was this how he ran the school? Is this how he thought of the children? His sidekicks?

He swallowed. Forced the heat in his gut to cool. Pressed record. Paused.

“We are a team.”

Splash, snap.

Are you, the note retorted. Because from my end, it looks like you're their personal idiot that’s part of a months long gag. One that may be going stale.

Captain elected not to give a response to that. Saying nothing was not a lie. Plus, the man in his head was ruthless, combed at every dip and rise in his voice and managed to figure him out. If his sidekicks had anything else to hide, then there had to be a good reason.

There had to be.

Captain looked at the sticky note one more time and placed it on the far end of the table. He needed… alone time. Or at least, alone time without seeing all those little notes.

He decided to follow his gut feeling, and his gut led him to the Closet At The End Of The Hallway, cassette player in hand. As he opened the door, his sights were set on a box in the lower shelf. With a quick press to the cassette door, he pulled the tape out, placed it in a box of other tapes he used, and pulled out a fresh– and most importantly, empty– one. 

The lights from the living room didn’t quite reach his little corner of the hallway, leaving him half-shadowed. He was still expecting something to pop out of a dark corner, or for the flowers on the wallpaper to twist to vines. But, the more he was out here, the house felt less lonely. 

Alone, maybe. But in the same way he was alone– with another presence looming around him.

(Or, within him, he guessed?)

Haunted, then? No, that word rattled in his brain like a rock you wanted out of a shoe. Apparently, that sort of thing was pretty uncomfortable.

Captain scratched at his chest with a frown, trying to will the ache to lessen. He sighed. Rocks.

He thought back to the papers scattered across the living room. To the confused looks on his sidekicks’ face. To the scattered remnants of the man’s backstory he could find in this closet. These moments were not fights, but there was a strange weight to these quiet and small moments he never had a chance to parse before. It wasn’t like his usual fare, but it wasn’t not, in some ways.

He’s still trying to untangle this specific subplot.

Captain finally placed the cassette in the player. The Man In His Head would not notice the change. The action wouldn’t matter much to anyone except him. 

Maybe that was the point. 

He made his way back to the living room. Nothing changed from when he left, and yet he was still… expectant.

Captain had contemplated staying for longer– how could he not, with the amount of plot threads he needed to untangle? But the time that stretched out before him was much more daunting than any villain, and he wouldn’t know where to start.

He thought back to the Man In His Head. If he was out, the other was not. Being out meant there was one less evil in the world. But he was a superhero, not a jailer with a key. It wasn’t his nature.

He splashed water on his face.

Snap.

Cuts from one scene to the next was a familiar thing to him. Much more than the endless stretches of time he was allotted in the house. So when one blink later he was somewhere that wasn’t in that lonely house, Captain sat up quickly. He was already getting out of the man’s clothes to get into something more heroic.

“Sidekicks?” 

George gave him a look. “Uh, Captain Underpants–”

“How’re you feeling?” Harold added.

In record time, he was out of the clothes the man in his head insisted on and had grabbed a picnic blanket-cape conveniently on the ground. 

“Well, I don’t feel like I was smashed to the ground, so… pretty good! Now where’s that monst– ack!”

Four hands grabbed at his cape before he could properly fly up. The momentum left him upside-down. 

From his point of view, Harold’s mouth curled up– that is to say it curled down, if he were right side up. “There’s no monster.”

“There’s always a monster.”

Now both of them were right side up-grimacing. 

Captain tilted his head, his entire body flipping right-side up at the motion, and amended with, “Or, uh, at least a conflict.”

“In that case…”

“Krupp’s cracked down on a lot of the school rules,” George explained. “And I figure that this would be a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.”

Captain gulped, trying to will away the words exchanged in the previous scene. “M– metaphorically, right?”

“It’s for all of us!” Harold picked up where the other left off. “Even you, after what Krupp must’ve put you through.”

“Now–” George waved a hand. “We were thinking that we could do a rehash of the prankovation, but–”

“We thought he might expect that! So then I thought you could help us out in the ideas department, like you did with the whole Brain Farts issue. Whaddya say?”

Captain stopped hovering. He could feel the stuck rock feeling again, rolling around in his chest.

“Listen, we get it– I know the last time you helped, it was… well, never mind about that,” Harold winced. “Nothing like that’s going to happen this time, we promise. And you won’t get caught. Plus, you’re the only one who can help us.”

“Promise?” Captain echoed, testing out the word like one would test the weight of a projectile before throwing it. 

“Yeah, for sure.” George said quickly, like throwing a hot potato before moving on. He looked up from what he was doing and handed him a plastic bag of supplies. “Think of this as… Free The Children, Part Two.” 

Captain gave a look inside. He wasn’t sure how the supplies connected to each other– he was never a planning sort of guy.

“Ah, to make school fun again, right?” 

“Yeah!”

His shoulders untensed. That was a good thing, he reassured himself. “Well, when you put it like that– what do you need me to do?”

——————————–

But before I tell you the rest of this story, I have to tell you this one.

Sunlight skirted off the remaining leaves around Treehouse Comix Inc. The wind was quickly snapping them up and off towards other autumn-y pastures. They had to bust out some of the blankets they kept up there, but eventually their parents were going to start telling them they’re not allowed up as George’s dad fortified it for winter

The key word was eventually. There were more pressing matters at stake than getting a little cold.

Harold frowned at the page he was working on. The content was fine, but something about the way he was drawing it was frustrating him and he didn’t know why. He set it aside next to the other pages. 

“Ugh,” he let himself splay on the ground dejectedly, face planting into the wood floor.

“Is that an ugh for Krupp suddenly going crazy mode with his rules or an ugh for the Cass-Incident?” George asked, leafing through his notebook and crossing out some of the more half-baked ideas.

“Uuugh,” Harold ugh’ed, which roughly translated to both.

He made his own noise of agreement as he crossed out another idea.

In one corner: the entire fourth grade had been blindsided by the sudden announcement of a whole gauntlet of assessments. Essays in English class, timed tests in math, horrible running tests in gym, but the real kicker was what was in store for science– a fair with mandatory participation. Even the weekend Invention Convention didn’t have that!

In the other: the Cassette Incident (Cass-Incedent, for short). It didn’t weigh in their minds so much as it squatted in the corner of it. It was just one of those things that was looming like a principal-and-or-superhero-shaped elephant in the room.

Harold slammed a fist down to the floor and pushed the sketchbook away. Instead of walking over, he just rolled beside the beanbag the other boy was sitting on. 

“This is too much.”

“I know.” He set his own notepad to the side. “It took a long time to figure out how to make comics at the same speed we did before we were in separate classes, now I’m not even sure we can keep up the same release schedule with everything else now.”

A pause. “Do you think this has to do with the Cass-Incident? The timing is too convenient.”

“What else could it be? It’s mostly affecting our grade.” Then, in a frustrated grumble he added: “Everything lately feels like it leads back to them.” 

Harold said a soft hm, before picking up the recently abandoned sketchbook. Turning to a new page, he started to draw.

“What did he mean by that he didn’t want it to change?” he asked. The doodle was Captain Underpants standing around with the same confused hurt they saw on his face as he found out that they found out. “Like you said, Krupp’s been nothing but mean to him.”

George thought for a moment. “Maybe he’s afraid of things getting worse if they did change. And, well–” He gestured vaguely.

“The sudden rules right after we found out.” Harold stared at the page intently. He started placing more lines; a panel around the Captain doodle, lighter lines radiating behind him. Shadows at his feet. “Poor Captain Underpants. At least he doesn’t have to deal with school.”

“Small victory that is.”

Harold continued scratching out more shadows. “What are we going to do?”

George put a hand to his chin. If he was right about the rule changes connecting to the Cass-Incident– and let's be real, he had a high chance of it on account of Krupp being predictable– then they had to deal with it and the source in one fell swoop. An inkling of a plan was forming in the back of his mind. 

And they could mesh it into the as-of-now half-baked idea they had shortly after said Cass-Incident. 

He stood up and made his way over to the Treehouse compartment where they kept stuff for their pranks. He began pulling everything out and dumped it on the ground.

“We’re going to need supplies. I don’t think the stuff we got is enough.”

The other boy sat up and dusted himself off. Confusion gave way to a determined look; he didn’t need to hear the plan– he knew this was going to be good. “What do we need?”

#mellsian fanfics #sticky notes au #captain underpants #fun fact this has been in my drafts for a little over a year #spoiler a/n: the first scene in captain's pov was originally going to have a horizontal divider between the house scene #and the scene with the boys but the lack of it made sense considering the nature of Captain's character/how he perceives the passage of time #now you too can experience how jarring it is to jump from one scene to another with no point of transition!* #( * i say knowing i've probably done this before in a different installment.)