#Idk about Aspens clothes tho

[just-a-lesbian-octoling]

Fan video for The Splat Chat/ @geminired

based off one my questions in the second Q&A, Hailey (blue hair) is mine but Aspen (orange hair) is Geminis!

Find the wonderful world of The Splat Chat here:

[pretty-toastie]

Cassandra

[ok so i kinda maybe lied when i said "Flowers" was coming soon,, it's finished but idk i'm hesitant to post it. in the meantime tho have this little short story / mood piece!!!]

Things that are tangled: The loop of red string I keep in my pocket, rub absently between my fingers, twist into tiny shapes. The boughs and vines and briars of Central Park. The feelings inside people, the friendship that skirts the edge of love and the hatred that hides behind eyelashes wet with loss. The scream of crows perched high in hemlocks, in birches, in oaks and aspens and yews, raspy and joyful and defiant. The thatched roof of a home on the rocky shore of Ireland and the carpeted floor of an arcade strewn with neon geometry, both rough on my hands in the same way.

The prophecies that hang in the air, the knowledge that suffuses the atmosphere and drips, blackened, over the heads of people, invisible to all but me.

Time.

A pair of young girls—was I ever that young?—stumbled across me once, in the woods of northern France or in an alley in Rio de Janeiro. Their gaze fell on me, wrapped in a battered bomber jacket, the patches torn away long ago or long after, and I exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke and stared back at them. They stood frozen, side by side, their eyes wide. I watched one girl shift closer to the other, whisper something in French or Portuguese, grab the other’s hand, her fingers trembling slightly.

I wanted to put them at ease. I knew what it felt like to be a deer in the headlights of an unexpected encounter. Your children are beautiful, I told them. You raised them so well. And they are, and they did—I can see them, all bright smiles and bubbling laugher and round cheeks, all dirty hands and strong arms and herbs tucked into leather pouches, all grey hair and wrinkled skin and wisdom.

The girls couldn’t see, though. They couldn’t know yet. Of course.

It’s so easy to forget what you should and shouldn’t know yet. The years blend together, and it’s hard to know when you are, where you are. Sometimes it makes me feel insane.

A young man, maybe 19 or 20, found me once. He was out of breath, anxious, spoke in rapid Old English. They say you’re a witch, he said. Can you change me? Can you fix my body? They don’t see who I am. They refuse to see who I am. It broke my heart to have to tell him no, tell him that all I can do is see, that the only way I can change anything is to warn people.

I cannot bring myself to tell him that no one will ever heed my warnings.

Once, an old couple—will I ever be that old?—greeted me with a nod in Shiretoko National Park. They smiled at me, smiled at each other, smiled at the view. For a long time, they did not speak to me. When they did, finally, their words were slow, calm. Thank you, they said. You told us we would find happiness. We didn’t believe you, but we did. We have. Thank you. I didn’t remember having met them before. Maybe it hadn’t happened yet.

Things that are tangled: The pieces of soft, soft cloth I keep in my pocket, rub absently between my fingers, worried and worn and frayed. The wrought iron fence gates of a manor in northern Vermont. The calls of screech owls and foxes, hunting at night, earsplitting, beautiful. The smell of woodsmoke, the taste of basil and rosemary and lemongrass and mint. My feelings. How can I love someone if I can see the day she will die in vivid detail, know that I will long outlast her? How can I love someone when I know that she would do anything for me, that for me to love her would destroy her? How can I love someone when I can see her wife’s face in my mind, always, always, and it isn’t mine?

But then, how could I not? She makes me water with basil and rosemary and lemongrass and mint. She takes me to an arcade, laughs when I need to stop to run my fingers over the carpet of neon geometry but waits patiently all the same, listens when I tell stories about places I’ve been and things I’ve seen and people I’ve met. She walks with me through Central Park, smiles excitedly at me when the foxes and the crows and the screech owls scream.

Her face in the moonlight is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and I have seen everything. She never asks me about her future.

And then her future arrives. It always had happened, always would happen, but I can only live through that time once. I wasn’t there. I left her. I was lost in the tangled weave of time and space and future and past, hunched over in the rain on the edge of a street in the middle of somewhere, terrified by the swirling mass of certainty that hung in front of the faces of everyone who passed me. I was broken, I was lost. I knew everything. I could not remember my name. I watched the end of the world against the inside of my eyelids, again and again and again, and I could not tell where I was, when I was. I did not know how to get back to her.

I left her, and I was gone for so long, and she fell in love. Really, truly, deeply. She and her wife were so happy, are so happy, will be so happy. I breathe in, breathe out. I have always known. I could see our ending from the moment I met her. I am so, so happy for her, but—

I still didn’t expect it to hurt so much.

Things that are tangled: the lines of fate that bind people together, tear them apart. The red strings, the dark shapes, the ever-changing and always static line of history, stretching away in all directions. The sound of raindrops on asphalt. The taste of loss, bitter in my mouth—I only lived it once but I know it always, again and again and again. I feel insane. I know that I am not. No one ever heeds my warnings, everyone always wants to hear them.

I blow a cloud of cigarette smoke into the damp night air, pull my worn jacket closer around me.

Time keeps on. It always has. It always will. And I will bear witness to it all.

[swampythesweetsketch]

Aspen??

gib me deets

i think i saw something earlier bout dr. Julien? idk tho

Aspen Frost. The malewife of the group.

He likes wearing baggy clothes, it's comfy and it's convenient for his partners when it's cold cause he lifts his shirt and traps them in it.

He's Harumi/Ruru's main caregiver since he's home most of the time. Whenever he leaves, it's to shop for meals, drop or pick her up from school, and missions. Other times he's at home avoiding the world due to his anxiety.

While the other Bizarros have mixed thoughts about their originals' parents, Aspen HATES Dr. Julien. He doesn't agree at all with what the guy did to Zane. And it hurts thinking of his and Zane's shared memories cause he has to relive the years Zane was a lost, amnesiac, homeless kid trapped in a teen/young adult's body and received little to no kindness or help before Wu. And combined with the years he and the others spent homeless trying to figure out how to survive in Ninjago City, reliving the memories makes Aspen near feral.

For all he cares, it doesn't matter if Dr. Julien and Zane patched things up before the old man kicked the bucket again; that man caused Zane and Aspen (indirectly) years of trauma.

When he was still acting "evil", he wanted so badly to be smart like Zane and act like a know-it-all. Now he's mellowed out and been happily working with his homey lifestyle.

Aspen's favorite interrogation method is to lock someone in a tiny room and slowly freeze them to death if they don't talk.

[oh-yeah-its-actually-micheal]

Idk thoughts

//Some things about Mike and her fam from the main timeline///

-Penelope loves Mumford & Sons, which is part of the reason Micheal learned guitar

-Mike has: Hot glued a boy to his seat, buried a living bird after hitting it with her bike, stole three chalkboard erasers, and loudly shouted FUCK in a McDonalds. All in third grade.

-She was such a daddy’s girl until she caught Richard showing his true colours

-Mary and Penny were both born in Ireland, but moved to America when Mary was ten and Penny was 4

-Micheal was a very much unplanned baby, and was born just over a month early

-Mary has (probably) cut the hair of a few escaped convicts or people trying to fake their own deaths

-Due to his unfaithfulness, Richard has fathered at the very least four other kids with three different women

-Willow-Grace Simmons, Harry and Connor Aspen, and Luanne Maroons. All distinctly looking like him due to bright orange hair or the sharp nose. (No one looks the most like him than Micheal tho)

-Being notoriously bad at taking care of yourself runs in the family it seems

-As does oversharing

-Mary once cut her hand and needed stitches, and when Mike found out she had stopped eating because they couldn't afford it until her next pay check she cried for hours

-Penelope owns a cane, a wheelchair, and a few books in braille just incase

-Everyone in that house can speak three languages, English Gaelic and ASL

-Mike is a very loud Bisexual and her family is 100% chill (tho who knows about Richard he’d probably have a bird about it but who cares)

-The second Micheal’s hair grows out those upswept bang things are falling in her eyes like limp lettuce

-Penny had the worst post partum Mary had ever seen, it was probably the worst she had ever seen her sister

-Almost all of their clothes are from Value Villages or Goodwill’s

-Due to that most of Mike’s clothes were boy’s clothes, which she didn't mind at all, and went for four years being called Oliver due to a mistake in her school and didn't bother to correct them on it

-SHE LOVES HER FAMILY EVEN IF IT’S HARD SOMETIMES THEY’RE ALL TRYING AND THEY APPRECIATE EACH OTHER

-exceptyouRichardyoucangosuckanegg