#because russ pitched

[zackcollins]

If you're a catcher and wear 55, you gotta pitch for the Jays

[marinerainbow]

"Time to kill the rabbit~ hehehee~"

*Handhold*

"Now it's time for the fun part~"

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink [obligatory]

•vaginal fingering

•oral [f receiving]

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

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Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you were as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little shoes practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small huff as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd be cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[aqua-the-smiter]

Primarchs in rut, the movie. Some AU-ish elements. Very nsfw x female reader/reader(s)? Reader is married to said Primarch in each snippet even if not explicitly stated Heavy breeding kink, knotting, rut, romance/healthy marriages because that's the real kink here @thevoidscreams ✦•······················•✦•······················•✦୨୧✦•······················•✦•······················•✦ LION EL'JONSON - If he had a little less dignity he'd bite you, but even in the throes of his rut he does his best to maintain his pride. Instead he licks your neck whenever he's in a position to do so. Sucking bruises onto your tender flesh there. Not that you mind either way. You're pinned prone underneath him while he breeds you, holding you still and fucking you full. Whispering to you about the cubs you'll bear him.

FULGRIM - His rut is far less...demanding, then that of his brothers. Which means he's of perfectly sound mind to adorn your body with ropes and keep you tied like a butterfly in a spider's web while he licks your pussy and pleasures you in every other way he can think of. Just so you're ready. Teasing you for hours on end, making you orgasm with fingers and tongue all while you get drunk on his pheromones and the need for something more satisfying. It's a laborious process, but when it's done you're more than happy to take his cock for twice the hours he teased you for and beg for more.

PERTURABO - He hates going into rut. The loss of control over his body, thoughts, and having no outlet. He has better things to do with his time then continuously think about sex. Of course, that's changed with you around. His sweet little wife. And how could he deny you when you've made it clear how willing you are to give him an heir (or several)? To that end he surprises you with a..."special" project, and you realize you're going to be very busy for a while when he picks you up and straps you to a breeding stand. You spend the next few days cock-drunk, being stuffed and bred by your husband. By the end of it you're so full of his cum that you slosh each time he unties you, and you thank him for it every time. There's no way you're not pregnant.

JAGHATAI KHAN - He's one of the only Primarchs who enjoys being ridden during his ruts. Watching you work yourself into the same (or at least an approximation of the same) fever pitch he's in. Feeling your nails dig into his hips as you work yourself up and down his length, a little mare eager to mate with her stallion and give him a foal. You hardly even need his pheromones to urge you on. If anything, they just give you energy, since craving him is nothing new to you.

LEMAN RUSS - Leman has a knot. You've known this since even before your wedding night with him, of course. But there's something very different about taking it like this. Taking it while he has intent. Every time he forces it into you with a wet pop you wonder how long he'll be able to keep it there before the rut takes over and he has to start pounding you full of his pups again. The longest time so far it an hour. But you love having it in. Having it stuck inside you, stretching you out even more than he already has, keeping all his seed safely corked inside, his tip pressed right against the entrance to your womb. While you're stuck on him he holds you close and runs his fingers through your hair, whispering to you about what a good mother you'll be.

ROGAL DORN - Unlike Perturabo, Rogal prefers to keep you pinned with body weight alone. His usual stoicism all but gone, swept away with sheer desire. He keeps you wrapped up tight in his arms, as solely focused on you as he is on any other task he's set his mind to. That task is knocking you up.

KONRAD CURZE - His rut is gentle somehow. Unlike most of his brothers it mellows him out significantly, making him into a very tender lover. Still rampantly horny, as you can attest to while he fucks you against the wall, but he's just as eager to press kisses all over your body and murmur his love to you between pants and thrusts, rubbing your clit and sucking your breasts as he tries to match your orgasms to his. You're still covered into scratches and bite marks by the end, the way you both prefer it, and he has the sweet taste of your blood on his tongue as he cuddles you close.

SANGUINIUS - From a dove to a cassowary. That is what his rut does to him. He's figured out how to pin you down with his wings, all while you squirm like a mouse in a hawk's talons. But you have absolutely no intention of trying to wriggle away, instead spreading your thighs wide. And of course he bites you. His favorite place is a little cliche, right at the junction of neck and shoulder. Happily lapping up your blood as your pussy spasms around his needy, eager cock. When you end up with a little chick of your own after this, you joke with him that you're thankful you didn't end up laying eggs instead.

FERRUS MANUS - He almost refused to relieve his rut with you out of concern for your welfare. He's the second tallest of his brothers if you're counting Magnus, the tallest if you're not counting the cheating, size-changing bastard. As such, he's got the equipment to match. Yes, you've gotten lucky enough to have married the most well endowed Primarch. And you make sure to let him know just how much you appreciate it. So he relents, sticking to what's always worked for him and his much beloved little bride. A lot of lubricant and a lot of patience. Soon enough you're happily on your back while he holds you down in a mating press and stuffs your pussy full of the biggest, thickest cock in the Imperium. Your hips and wrists have bruises from his metal hands, and your thighs and ass have bruises from his huge, low hanging balls slapping against them while he breeds you. When he's done with you, you're full of so much cum your womb has swelled a bit with all of it.

ANGRON - On first glance you'd think he doesn't go into rut at all. In actuality, his rut is so strong and overwhelming he loops right back around to being completely normal. Stack overflow if you will. He still insists you chain him down, and you're starting to think he enjoys the challenge of it. After all, he pounds you senseless even when you're on top. Really, you're on top in name only. Still, as ever you did your best to hang on, pressing kisses to his chewed lips whenever you could. Making a real show of yourself for him, rubbing your clit and grinding down on him. It was yet another loop of the two of your spurring each other on. You feel his cum trickling down your thighs. Your eyes meet, and he gives you an uncharacteristically sly grin before his hips start bucking again.

ROBOUTE GUILLIMAN - Another reluctant rutter. He's just too busy for it. Too much work to do, running an empire. He's got 500 worlds to look after, he's got no time to indulge himself no matter what his body is telling him to do. At least, that's what he'd normally be like, but now he has you. And you're very persuasive. The only downside is that because he takes advantage of his rut so infrequently, when he does it's a little...intense. He has you in his lap, his hands on your hips, gripping them tightly as he uses you as a fleshlight. Literally, dragging you up and down his cock just like if you were the toy. You've lost track of time for how long he's been using you like this, your face pressed into his huge chest and your eyes rolled back in pleasure. His gorgeous blues are glazed and unfocused, and when your mind gets a moment to form a coherent thought, you're happy to see him so relaxed.

MORTARION - You are the only person he's willing to be around when he's in rut. Nobody else. It's you he belongs to. You're the only one worthy of seeing it. Just as you are his. His to love. To fertilize and impregnate. You make your adoration clear to him even as he holds you down to keep your from squirming too much. Pressing kisses all along his lips and neck and jawbone. You wrap your legs around his hips and give him the most whorish moans as he buries his length deep between your legs. He growls in your ear that you're his, that he's going to stain your womb with his seed to mark that you're his as his thrusts grow more erratic. You tell him there's nobody else you'd rather belong to. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how much you love him. As he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight to him as he finally cums, you whisper in his ear what a good father you know he's going to be.

MAGNUS - It's not enough for him to merely fuck you while he's in rut. It's not even enough for him to just knock you up. No, for him, he'll make your very soul orgasm if possible. And with the combination of a mind like his and psyker powers, he can get pretty creative with his methods. You can feel a pair of hands holding your hips and another holding up your face and neck. Coincidentally you also feel a pair of cocks working your pussy and mouth. Spit runs down your chin and your lubricant stains your thighs. Getting fucked at both ends simultaneously as not exactly what you were expecting, but you could hardly complain. Both of them moan, purring and cooing to you about how good you look taking them both. The most you can give in response is a nod of assent around his meat in your mouth. But he is a psyker. He knows how much you're loving this and craving more.

HORUS - Your beloved Warmaster, unlike some of his siblings, thoroughly enjoys his rut. A shameless excuse for him to show off to you just how well he can fuck you. He holds you up in a full nelson, his arms pinning your legs as he thrusts up into you. Nibbling at your neck and praising you for being so good and obedient for him while he breeds you. Your favorite part however, aside from being packed full of your husband's manhood, is the mirror. On one wall of his bedchamber is a full length mirror, which you were energetically fornicating in front of. You can watch him rail you and see his cum and your lubricant dripping out. And you love watching it. With how much he fills you and how wide his cock stretches you. The smug look in his eyes as you writhe in his arms and see how good of a job he does at making you fall apart. His arms shift, one now holding both legs while the other lifts your chin so you get a better view.

LORGAR - Even in this state he still wants to worship you. You swear he gets off more on getting you off sometimes than he does with anything else. With the rut making him far more dominant than he usually is, it's become far less of a theory. He's very attentive to you, after all. He knows exactly how to work you with those long, slim fingers and can play you like a lute on a bad day. On a good one? He makes you sing hymns. Like he's doing now, hitting all your tender spots, rubbing your clit or kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples. Making you cum over and over again until you're an overstimulated puddle sitting on his cock, praying for him to keep going and fill you up with his seed.

VULKAN - He becomes just like the dragon of his legion during his ruts. Protective, jealous of any other men who even look in your direction, although he tries very hard to reign it in. He's always gentle with you still, loving instead of overbearing. He'll slip you little handmade gifts, checking after your welfare. Generally much tenderness and love. At least, when you're not stuck between him and his anvil getting hammered like a piece of metal. You feel him tap your cervix on every stroke. Like the rest of his brothers, it's a need. To see you full of his seed, to make you fat with his sons. You're not leaving until he's sure you're pregnant. And he's eager to see it, your beloved drake. Pressing kisses to your forehead and lips, telling you how your children will be the best thing he's made on this anvil.

CORVUS CORAX - He's made a nest out of bedding for the two of you. When you're not busy with more illicit activities or caring for yourselves, he's cuddling you close, the two of your curled under a blanket of silky black feathers. But that's when you're not busy. Most of the time you most certainly are, clutched in Corvus's embrace as he ruts into you. More often than not you wake up to him having already buried his cock between your legs, spreading your thighs wide open and chirping in delight as he sees you wake up. You don't mind, of course. In fact you looking forward to waking up to his touch, and he's sure to ask you every day if you're ok with him doing it. He might be a bit of a broody man, but you're his beloved hen and the soon to be mother of children, and your comfort is important to him. And it's hard not to enjoy waking up already filled with a few loads of his cum settling in your womb.

ALPHARIUS - Two cocks. He has got two cocks. Hemipenes. Apparently Omegon has them too, but you haven't seen them. You are Alpharius's and only his, as he is all to happy to make very clear to you. The twins share a lot, you've noticed. Which makes sense, they're twins after all. They've even shared women on occasion, serfs they've both taken a liking to, but you are different. Alpharius loves you, and you are all his, his one and dearest. The rut makes him even more possessive, not that you mind. In fact you find it sweet. And not that you have much of a chance of running into Omegon while your husband is in rut anyway, since you hardly leave his bed except for necessities. He's busy pounding you, stuffing you full with one cock, then the other. Sometimes he'll jam you up with both. You're always stretched and gaping after that little move. But you always end up asking him to do it again.

[satelitis]

꒰ CAN'T GET RID OF ME THAT EASILY ꒱ . . . f reed !

pairing(s) : fulton reed x fem!portman!reader (romantic) , dean portman x sister! reader (platonic)

in which before the game against varsity, the portman siblings have a surprise up their sleeves.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : fluff, yelling, swearing

robin chirps : erm so im out of my writing slump and ziggy and i nonstop talk about tmd and our boyfriends, so i decided to surprise her since she kinda got me out of my writing slumps and introduced me to my bf charlie and one of the most amazing movies of all time <3 ily zigma!! [@spaceagebachelormann]

"your'e playing hard, i'm proud of you guys." coach orion reassured as he patted russ on the shoulder.

"they're cheap shotting us to death!" luis groaned.

"i know they are, i know they are." orion sympathized.

"It's gonna take a miracle for us to hold on." averman replied. little did the ducks know that "miracle" would be a little more unexpected then they thought.

suddenly, the door burst open revealing a tall brunette with a bandana around his head. dean portman.

"dean portman is awarded a full athletic and academic scholarship to the eden hall academy," dean read off his maroon folder. "i found this lying around at home in chicago, my attorny thought i should sign it, and i agreed." he continued. "it's offical boys, im back!" he exclaimed as all the ducks cheered, especially fulton. his heart broke the day that his best friend dean, and the love of his life, y/n had to go back to chicago. he was ecstatic at the sudden appearance of his fellow bash brother. but if dean was here...then where was y/n?

"hey you ass, where'd you go?" a voice spoke in the doorway. fulton could recognize that voice from anywhere. y/n. the voice was further identified when she herself wandered into the room. fulton was beyond shocked, jovial and he felt that he might have a heart attack because of how much was happening. in no time at all, y/n was in fultons arms their lips interlocked.

"did you miss me?" y/n teased, as fulton rolled his eyes, kissing her once again. dean looked partially disgusted.

"what the hell. why didn't i get one?" dean joked, activly trying to piss y/n off. the girl gave her brother the bird as the ducks laughed and watched the cute reunion. russ and averman made jokes in the background and snickered.

"oh, fulton! i missed you so much mwah mwah mwah." averman said in a feminine high pitched voice, as he faked kissing noises. russ continued with the bit presumably as fulton.

"i missed you too, babe." he said also mimicking kissing sounds. the ducks snickered. fulton proceeded to threaten the two.

"will you shut the hell up before i give you pucks for teeth?" he said. averman and russ laughed, as they stopped the bit. fulton turned his attention back to y/n now answering her question. '

"of course i missed you, you were gone for like ever." he exaggerated. but that's what it felt like for the couple.

"the phone calls weren't the same." he frowned softly.

"yeah, 'specially WHEN DEANS BREATHING ON THE OTHER LINE." y/n raises her voice as she turns back to dean.

"why didn't you call me and tell me you were coming?" he asked her,

"cause this was way more fun." she replied, a goofy grin on their faces. "you can't get rid of me that easily." she said.

'i'd hate to intrude on your little love fest but we got a bunch of temperamental man children's asses to kick." russ chimed in.

the ducks all cheered as they made their way on the ice.

"is that dean portman?" the teenage announcer asked. the crowd was in unbelief, "oh and his sister, y/n! they're both back!" he exclaimed.

"who are those kids? they cant play!" tom exclaimed. "they're on scholarship tom, my hands are tied." dean buckley replied.

"so you're the big enforcer, huh? well its nice to meet you, see, we have a lot more in common then you think-" dean rambled.

"shut up." the warrior spat, "lets play hockey," he said.

"whatever you say sunshine," dean shrugged, the game continued as dean ended up making cole go through the glass, shattering it.

dean and fulton cheered as they banged their heads together. "the bash brothers are back and they're here to stay and so is "y/n "the firecracker" portman, as she scores goal one for the ducks!" the announcer called out and boy was fulton beyond happy with it.

[wxnheart]

Primarch hair styling by you? After all... they all need to look their best!

(Yes even feral Curze)

Horus Lupercal - A nice shave and shine. Complete with a head massage. You really like doing Abaddon's hair, though, even though he'll be looking sour the entire time you're doing it. lmao.

Leman Russ - Whatever style you do, there will almost always be braids and a man-bun of some kind involved. You also do your best to keep his scalp and strands moisturized with oils because his hair gets dry REALLY quick.

Ferrus Manus - Wash and cut; likes his close-cropped hair to be a certain length.

Fulgrim - Wash, trim, a protein treatment, a facial, and eyebrow shaping. All done in one sitting. Is the primarch whose hairstyles would change the most because he likes to experiment. You stay booked and busy because of him and his sons.

Vulkan - Head massage fanatic. You don't really need to do anything; you just enjoy his company

Rogal Dorn - Same as Ferrus Manus: wash and cut; his hair is much softer than it looks and at this point, it's almost trained to sit the way it does on his head. Believe it or not, you also like to clean his eyebrows up some because their shape really hones in his stoic visage.

Roboute Guilliman - Wash and cut complete with a facial and massage because the poor guy needs it (his scowl has gotten deeper in the time you've known him). You two have made a running joke of naming his gray strands after certain individuals who've pissed him off.

Magnus the Red - Wash, protein treatment, and trim. Magnus has some pretty fucking thick hair so there's no one style you can't do. Well, you can't do pigtails. Don't do pigtails. You cut layers in his hair once. Tiring but good work nonetheless.

Sanguinius - Wash and go; sometimes a trim, sometimes a full-blown cut. Sanguinius has a pretty sensitive scalp so you do your best to make the experience as easy and quick as possible. You love his curls/waves so you don't really style it. You just let it be. You also like to do Azkaellon's hair, too. He tends to get split ends easily. He was very offended when you told him you liked his headband lmao.

Lion El'Jonson - Wash, trim, and shape his beard up. That's it. Sometimes rocks a half-do, sometimes not. His hair tends to get oily really quickly, though, so you suggest he comes to you more often. Not that he listens lmao.

Perturabo - *Bombastic side-eye.*

Mortarion - *Criminal Offensive side-eye.*

Lorgar - You're in awe of the writing decorating his head and face so you spend more time reading it and listening to him interpret it than you actually do his hair (what hair?). He likes to be cleanshaven, though, so that's where your services go. You love to shape his brows, too.

Jaghatai Khan - When you can actually catch him, you wash his hair, oil it, and back into the top knot it goes. He credits you with its healthiness and length.

Konrad Curze - LMAO. The water was pitch fucking black when you got done washing it. He refused to let you trim it (it actually needed to be cut). You don't have an issue with Sevatar, though. The hair care actually helps more than you think it does.

Angron - Uh... well... he needs the facial massages much more than he does the haircare and to your surprise (and everyone else's), he's quite receptive to it. He's never felt anything other than blood and steel against his skin so a caring touch is... nice. Angron will never admit it, though.

Corvus Corax - Wash and trim. You especially love his bangs. He has fine hair but he has a lot of it, too.

Alpharius Omegon - Uh...

[lyliux]

My pikmin 4 rescue corps voice headcanons!!!

Been a little burnt out from art so I found some rescue corps voice hc's!!! Lmk your thoughts!!! I've got links on everything for your reference :)!

Shepard - Jessie, Pokémon

Collin - Dimitri, Anastasia / Raggedy Andy (i couldn't decide lol) (note skip a bit forward on the Dimitri video)

Russ - Wizard cookie, Cookie run kingdom

Dingo - Sun Wukong, Lego Monkie Kid

Yonny - Happy ENA, ENA - Auction day

Bernard - Kind Andrias, Amphibia

Pip (my Rookie oc) - Female vulpera, WoW

Thought process + ramblings below cut :0!

I tried to match them all at least a little bit to the canon voices(?) they have! Tbh these are like ALL subject to change because I have never done this before and I'll probably actively be on the lookout now lol.

Anyways notes!!! I cannot shut up

Shepard

She has such a distinct rich voice I struggled so hard to find something

Jessie was my first thought and what I ended up settling on, though I think Shepard probably isn't as animated as Jessie

Again, the timbre is SOOO specific,,, help me,,,

Idk what other people vibes on this one is but it's either spot on or super unconventional,,,,

Collin

My toughest one because there are so many white boy voices lmao

I was searching for mid range, a bit softer with not a lot of pep, and with a similar timbre of his canon voice

If I could mix the Dimitri and Raggedy Andy voices that'd be like PERFECT

Bonus points that a lot of the lines I can match up with other Collin hc's I have

Silly but now I have Collin singing hc??? hehehe :))))

Russ

Easiest one, silly nerd guy voice

I liked wizard cookie cause it's that vibe but also normal enough you can imagine him having a normal conversation and not just a science guy caricature

Dingo

Needed a voice that sounded SUPPERRR assured in himself

But that I could imagine very easily how they'd sound when they lost that composure

Tbh did NOT pay attention to canon on this one but Sun Wukong is a banger pic IMO soooooo

Yonny

I couldn't find anything to match canon too much so I'm sorta :((((

But I'm still quite happy with happy ENA! Very melodic, a bit higher pitched, quirky and silly

And a tad insane, cannot forget :)))

Bernard

Tbh I imagine this one a little more upbeat but ehhhh

Needed him to sound distinctly older than the rest but still sorta cool and a bit laid back

Pip

Tbh I sort just fell into this one without searching too hard for it lol

I was mostly thinking "what voice would sound good annoying the fuck out of Collin" lmaoooo

[blued-waffle]

These Eeveelutions have been STUCK in my head for way too long. Time to release them.

Character info beneath

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

EV

Nickname:

Even

Stats:

Nature: Naive

Ability: Adaptability

Level: 16

Moveset:

Tackle

Tail Whip

Baby-Doll Eyes

Description: A young eevee that wanna make friends. After hearing about how the first dusk lycanroc was discovered, he wanna be the first of a new type eeveelution.

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

Erif

Nickname: -

Stats:

Nature: Timid

Ability: Flash Fire

Level: 100 + EV Training

Moveset:

Flamethrower

Smog

Quick Attack

Dig

Description: A competitively-trained flareon that reach a high ranking with an element of surprise. Even though he's a fire type, he can't handle any heat and prefer frozen treat instead.

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

Russet

Nickname:

Russ

Big Potato

Fish 'n' Chip

Stats:

Nature: Adamant

Ability: Hydration

Level: 26

Moveset:

Charm

Hyper Voice

Scald

Alluring Voice

Description: A musically talented vaporeon with a spice tolerance of the sun. Performs under the moniker of "Fish 'n' Chip". Has too many hobbies. Is an unaware menace to society. You should never mention a certain piece of text around him.

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

Swiss

Nickname: -

Stats:

Nature: Modest

Ability: Quick Feet

Level: 45

Moveset:

Covet

Agility

Volt Switch

Rest

Description: A kalosian jolteon with a rich heritage. Knows how to set tables, wine taste, held parties, bartend, and the sort. The sin of gluttony towards cheese. Sucks at understanding idioms.

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

Studio

Nickname:

O

⭕_ (Pronounced "Circle")

_coward

Stats:

Nature: Timid

Ability: Synchronize

Level: 7

Moveset:

Tackle

Flash

Hyper Beam

Description: An umbreon who is solid with words and gaming. Streams speedruns under the pseudonym of "⭕_". When playing casual, he goes by "_coward". Glows white instead of yellow or blue because he has only been exposed to fluorescent light as an eevee. Is scared of the dark. Got hyper beam by mistake.

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

ESPEON

Nickname:

Es

Stats:

Nature: Serious

Ability: Magic Bounce

Level: ???

Moveset:

Psybeam

???

???

???

Description: An odd espeon who has a cursor around its neck. It appeared in the PC one day and can't be withdrawn. It is up to something. Only show emotion to who it deems worthy. It has terrible balance. It knows lots of things.

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

Nagev

Nickname:

NAGGIN'

Stats:

Nature: Hardy

Ability: Leaf Guard

Level: 36

Moveset:

Iron Tail

Growl

Magical Leaf

Synthesis

Description: A leafeon who knows how to cook but not plate. Use Iron Tail as a knife. Looks intimidating but not. Annoyed that he can't get his hair to stand up. Allergic to beets (Makes his voice very high-pitched). A fair food fanatic. Sucks at technology (Can't operate a remote.) Scared of the cold.

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

Glazed Donut

Nickname:

Glazed

GlazyDaisy

Stats:

Nature: Gentle

Ability: Snow Cloak

Level: 82

Moveset:

Helping Hand

Ice Shard

Icicle Spear

Snowscape

Description: A shy mess of a glaceon. Likes Rom Com and Mystery books. Works at a coffee shop of a friend. Is very serious at the job. If the place is too hot the outer ice layer will melt. Captain Oblivious. The Trainer's double battle ace.

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

sYlveon

Nickname:

SYLLY

sYlv

Stats:

Nature: Quirky

Ability: Pixilate

Level: 38

Moveset:

Substitute

Light Screen

Misty Terrain

Misty Explosion

Description: An artful sylveon from somewhere odd. Acts differently before being put in the box for the first time. Tries to hard to be a menace to society. Has broken taste buds. Hates being short. Strawberry enthusiast. Has a "MAGIC PAINTBRUSH".

[rocktoberr]

GOOD LORD I KNEW THERE WAS A REASON I WAS AVOIDING SOCIAL MEDIA

i hate trade season </3 my heart is in pieces on the floor again

tbh brendan makes sense to trade out as much as it would suck but like we have alan and obv mac (because i refuse to consider it an actual possibility that he gets traded) and its baseball half the team plays at least 3 positions. the whole thing for the rockies is that our pitching staff is as reliable and sturdy as running a madden25 ranked match on that one cousin's grimey ps2 only connected to internet by dial-up. that and the constant more or less vote of no confidence given to literally any vet not a fan favorite. its not a baseball team its a money grab. im one bad day of rockies news from writing myself in as the gm that fixes it all 2012 wattpad style

even if mac does get traded i hope he goes to the damn yanks literally just for the - gather? idk the word for what im thinking and im way too tired to be writing rn - w dj because i would write that fic to hell and then some . . . sideplot bryzzo would go so hard with it . . . . .but also going to a big name bigger wallet team means he's getting recognized as the absolute KING that he is and god knows he more than deserves it. tf you mean chappy got the gold glove ToT not in my heart

anyway we have to stay positive or we collapse so

bo nix looks like the strongest runner in this season's roty campaign and the broncos look really damn good when the defense comes to play nate atkins had a touchdown and whats his name that took chubb's number had a pick. cant stop thinking about holding kirk cousins to field goals. i'm not thinking about justin simmons im not thinking about jerry jeudy im not thinking about drew lock im not thinking about kendall hinton im not thinking about noah fant im not thinking about brandon mcmanus im not thinking about all the guys we've lost since 2015 im not- the javonte touchdown when he was carried into the end zone was hilarious and lives rent free in my mind

the nuggets looked like shit about halfway through won their game tonight and the rumor why joker's out is that his wife is having another baby. vlatko might have reinjured his knee and saric showed up big time. jamal was extra fluffy and adorable even though he kept making bad passes in the 2nd half and made some huge shots. russ was called for the weakest tech ive ever seen cooked and is now the all time nba leader in triple doubles (200) (i think) coach malone was hilarious to watch on the sidelines and is now tied as the nuggets winningest head coach

THE CHIEFS FINALLY FUCKIN LOST TOO

I get trading Brendan. I feel like all of us saw it from mile away honestly, it’s the least surprising thing that would happen this off-season. What would be surprising if we got someone value from him.

However, Mac gets traded I physically do not know what I’ll do with myself. If he gets traded, obviously I’m gonna want him to win the World Series right away because he deserves it and deserves everything good happen in life and I know him and Judge have been friends since childhood so there’s that as well that would add a different synergy to the Yankees roster.

Bestie imma try my best to stay positive this offseason however the nuggets are so iffy that you can’t really predict how the seasons gonna go and it seems like we are nothingness without jokic which adds a whole new problem.(also it has been a brought to my attention that Malone shops at my local King Soopers which probably means he lives somewhere close to me, and that scares me) Also, the Broncos are just confusing. They confuse me I don’t know how to feel. BUT YOUR RIGHT AT LEAST THE CHEIFS FINALLY FUCKING LOST. ALL HAIL JOSH ALLEN

Anyways, if we trade Mac, I will literally crash out 

[whoreforharlow]

speaking of favoritism and certain fans, can i just quickly mention that his international fans dont get SHIT - no texts, no flowers, no nothing. i am pretty sure they can't even text him.

Now listen, I want to say I fully acknowledge this sucks and that's 100% valid for international fans to be upset.

That being said, isn't it typical from all American artists to only interact with their American audiences? (Aside from touring) (also aside from Russ, because ole boy popped out in London just because he felt like it lmao) like most artists only interact with their home country or whatever country they majorly do work in (like Drake and the US)

If that's not typical of artists, then we can totally grab pitch forks and an add this to the shit list for Jack.

Side note: I think they technically can text him, but like with international rates and he probably won't text back an international number (even though he could totally afford it and just might text it back). It's not fair at all to have to pay to text internationally, but I just wanna throw that out there in case someone thinks it's not something that could be done. Again, NOT FAIR, but I just wanna say it is possible.

[snobgoblin]

If you wanna keep doing the summer headcanons, I've got an idea: going camping

hehehehehh goblin laughing thank you so much galaxy brain idea tbh

I'm gonna go with like, roughing it camping, no campers

2-D He's convinced he's going to be stabbed the entire time, super scared in the woods. Murdoc takes advantage of this and scares him with a mask, Courage style (Russel beats him up after don't worry). He's actually the greatest at ghost stories around the fire, though. Like. Scarily good. He can spin the scariest shit out of the most mundane objects- once he made Russel afraid to touch doornobs. Also, he's the one to play Wonderwall on his guitar for no reason- plus he's really good at identifying edible mushrooms for reasons he'd rather not admit

Murdoc Doesn't take it seriously, doesn't help- thinks the whole thing is cheesy and a waste of time. He just kinda gets drunk and trusts the others to babysit him. Once he stuck his hand in the fire trying to light his cigarette, screamed, then ran off. Woke up wearing only his boots 3 miles away from the campsite. Evidently he tried to fight a bear while intoxicated. He won

Russel He's the only one they trust to make the food- and he makes a killer s'more. He's the one who thought of most of the supplies because nobody else seemed worried about it. He makes sure everyone is wearing bug spray, though he had to sit on Ace to get him to wear his. He was grateful later on when he saw Murdoc (who refused. Russel didnt care enough to force him, and he was covered in bites later) though he'd never tell Russel that. He doesn't need to, he knows. But yeah Russ really enjoys camping, even if it's a bit stressful that the responsibility tends to be on him. He enjoys coming across dead animals, finds them interesting. Insists on taking them home in the cooler

Noodle Really loves to explore the woods, likes climbing trees especially. This is really just an opportunity for her to let loose and be a kid for once, and she really takes advantage of it. Loves pitching the tent, likes the puzzle of it, and really loves mimicking animal noises. She's always the saddest to have to go. She's usually the one to push for activities- while Russel is okay chilling at the campsite, Noodle really wants to do things like go hiking or canoeing or anything really

Ace He's a pro at this. His entire childhood was a step down from camping, so this is a breeze. He lowkey scares the other band members with all the weird little tricks he knows and with his willingness to kill a squirrel with his bare teeth. He's the only one that knows how to start a fire without a lighter- heck, he's the only one that doesn't own a lighter. He also tried to fight a bear, but he lost

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n tommy jack tubbo and george

requested yes/no

part 5 of the great adventures series

summary: training for the military

warning: cursing

AN: really sorry about this tumblr won’t let me change/add paragraphs so could look very weird

the journey there was quick for you, you spent the trip asleep in the back of the car whilst the others were discussing what you were all about to do “How difficult do you think it’s going to be” “dude it’s a military assault course” you woke up halfway there to the noise of the radio playing “afternoon y/n”“afternoon sorry I fell asleep I’m not used to being woken up early in the morning, I blame you guys and ranboo”“y/n have you ever wanted to join the military” “I can't say I have no” “well you’re going to love what we’re doing” “what are we doing” “you’ll see!”

you stood picking up more rocks and handing them to tubbo whilst Tommy and George began to film the introduction to the vlog “were in the jungle” confused you turned to tubbo “psst tubbo what the fuck are we doing, why are we in a woods” before tubbo had time to answer Tommy already began to answer your question telling you that you’re all training for the military, not taking him seriously you started laughing as you all were walking it was only when you were handed a jumpsuit to cover your clothes you realised it wasn’t a joke, you would be lying if you said you were ready for this, after all, you spent your free time playing Minecraft you wasn’t exactly great at sports

you managed to put the jumpsuit on pretty quickly unlike Tommy who was quite clearly struggling to get it on over his trainers “come on sergeant simons were doing a military assault course and you’re struggling to put on the clothes”after struggling to put clothes on the five of you stood together getting photos whilst you all looked decent “me and my boys in the jungle” “This isn’t going to go well” “we’re going to destroy it” “NO”

you hadn’t even reached the course yet and you were already tripping up over rocks and sticks that were on the muddy trail “we’re walking to our deaths..y/n is already falling over” “Hey I didn’t sign up to do exercise” once you finally reached the start of the course you were met with a canon, a dog and a man in a yellow jumper you stood as a team listening to what you were about to do and how you were actually a team of six, you hoped he meant the dog was a team member but no turns out the canon was the sixth member

“We have to take the canon with us” “...and take it apart into six pieces at each obstacle and rebuild it ” you handed your phone to the Russ, not trusting yourself to keep it on you especially since you were already tripping up before reaching the assault course “thank you” “good luck” “huh” you didn’t have time to process what was said as Mr military began counting down from three, the five of you ran to the first obstacle tubbo dragging the canon Tommy climbed over the net first with tubbo following after “What happens if I fall” it was as though you and tubbo had read each other’s mind as you both responded with “you’ll die” “death” you climbed over next with a wheel “reckon I can slide down the net” “that will hurt y/n don’t do- and you’re already doing it” you slid down the net despite George telling you not to do so, it didn’t take too long for the others to get over, you all began reassembling the canon “can we talk about our feelings” “I feel like shit I jumped out of a plane not long ago now I feel like I’m doing PE all over again” “Y/N JUST HELP BUILD THE CANON” “I'M TRYING ODDLY ENOUGH I'M NOT BUILT FOR THE MILITARY”once the canon was built Tommy and tubbo ran off with it “who’s going to tell them we need to test it” once Mr military shouted they ran back “why do we have to do this” “it’s the fucking rules Tommy and life is full of them” “like taxes” “tax fraud” a few seconds later the five of you yelled “bang” neither of you saying it at the same time “it didn’t work” “yes it did now come on”

you all ran towards the next obstacle, a giant wall. you all quickly dismantled the canon, Tommy went over first and began bickering with Mr military about him not being his dad whilst you tubbo and jack struggled to pass over the heaviest part of the canon “lift and lift” “really George? I thought we could just throw it over and hope he catches it” “Please don’t do that” “I am very sorry George but I'm struggling here” you continued your struggling tubbo tried to help Tommy through his words “you’re strong bossman I believe in you” “by the way, you really picked the shortest people to do this” part of the canon landed with a thud “welp hope he’s not dead” you climbed over next again carrying the wheel “he’s not dead guys don’t worry” you laughed as George took his time getting over the wall “I'm poving” “GET OVER THE WALL” you all stood questioning what time you were on completely forgetting that you were supposed to reassemble the canon “This is going to be embarrassing” “you guys could be rebuilding the canon” you could have built and tested the canon quickly however Tommy George and tubbo began telling people to subscribe whilst you built the canon with jack “we’re so good at this” “heh maybe not” you all test-fired the canon and made your way to the next obstacle

you were sent to go over the rope first, this was extremely difficult for you, the rope kept swaying as you walked causing you to lose your balance on multiple occasions “step on the V” “I’m going to fall” you made it over after a couple of minutes, like tubbo you also felt a bit ill, you assumed it was because it was quite hot and a lot was going on “how you feeling y/n” “Honestly, I’m jealous of ranboo, he’s at home living his best life and I’m in the middle of the woods overheating and climbing but no it’s pretty funny watching the others” you laughed as you overheard tubbo talking about how they’re only three obstacles in and how he’s going to die “YOU GOT THIS TUBBO!” Tommy crossed next, like you, he took his time he was then followed by tubbo who was trying to speed run walking over the rope you waited for jack and George cheering them on whilst Tommy was asking around for water and complaining about wearing a gamer hoodie. at this point, everyone seemed unmotivated “3 2 1.. bang”

“oh lovely..tires” tubbo went through first with the heaviest part of the canon “ill help you tubbo” you following behind helping him carry it due to it being stupidly heavily “so how are you tubbo” “AAAAAAAAAAA” “aye me too bud” you and tubbo decided that from now you two were going to work as a pair so it would be easier for you both, over the past few weeks tubbo became one of your closest friends the pair of you even started trending on Twitter as you did an irl stream where you both went on a walk at the beach and met several fans. whilst you and tubbo were making your way through Tommy jack and George we’re trying to figure out who should take what. “there’s piss in this one” “what the fuck?!” the pair of you finally got out from the tires “good job you two” “thank you” you rested your head on tubbos shoulder trying to get your breath back “I don’t think I’m made for the military” a few moments later Tommy made it to the tire full of water and put his finger in it “PEE” “Tommy why-” you stood looking around at the scenery, the sound of Tommy yelling about crawling away from George and that he’s ‘touched the piss’ was enough the drag you away from your own thoughts, you watched the others struggling to get through the tires and was amazed at the fact tubbo went back in to help them. you tried to ignore Tommy and George being dramatic as you tried to figure out how many more obstacles you had to go but you got distracted by George “ill just eat you if you die” “Mr military I’d like some help right about now” you walked over to Tommy and helped him get out of the tires “thanks y/n” “welcome” “how you doing bossman you know I pulled through your part...what are you doing that’s George's water” Tommy decided to throw the bottle to you so you could have a drink as he remembered you’d not had a drink since you landed from jumping out of the plane “Thanks, Tommy” “YOU BOTH DRANK GEORGES WATER” “he can drink the piss” “what Tommy said” you laughed as you walked over to where jack was in the tires “ HI JACK” “Jesus christ you scared me, hi y/n” you stood waiting for everyone to finish “I know exactly what the slowest time was” “we’re going for a new record it’s fine” “of being the slowest?” “yeah” “you know what Mr military ill clart you” “you’ll what me” “I’m gonna just go over here” you walked over to where parts of the canon were and got ready to assemble it again whilst George began throwing water over jack and tubbo to bless them then did the same to Tommy, you hid behind a tree thinking he wouldn’t notice you, however, he did and within a minute you too had water poured on you “Thanks, I was thirsty” “oh we know” “The fuck is that supposed to mean” “HELP BUILD THE CANON PLEASE” like last time you all built the canon tested it and ran to the next obstacle

“can we just you know drag the already built canon under there with us” “absolutely not” “I tried” you all disassembled it again and like last time you and tubbo went first crawling under “I don’t want to alarm you all but it is soaking wet in here” “delightful” a few moments later you were both working well “tubbo I’m scared of the dark and it’s pitch black” “you’ve got this bossman we’re almost done” you calmed down quickly until Tommy decided to jump above the pair of you

“SORRY” “TOMMY I SWEAR TO GOD” “YOU DICK” you laughed slightly and tubbo checked up on you “you okay?” “I'm fine if you’re fine” “come on let’s finish this thing” the pair of you continued and finished relatively quickly tubbo got out first “NEVER AGAIN” “Sorry about that buddy” “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU” you helped push part of the canon out so tubbo could easily drag it out he then reached out so you could hold his hand and help pull you out “I've never been so happy to see the light” the pair of you sat on the floor waiting for the others to finish, you both made a bet on who was going to laugh first somehow you won as tubbo laughed at George and jack struggling to crawl through “YOU LAUGHED” “OH SHITTT” Russ came over to you both whilst recording so he could ask about how everything’s going “I’m covered in mud and the jumpsuit is wet, it isn’t a good day for the y/n community it was dark as hell in there “Tommy is a dick and tried to kill me and y/n” “I DIDN'T TRY TO KILL YOU BOTH” “I think he heard us” “WE ALL DID WERE NOT DEAF” “NO, BUT ACCORDING TO INSTAGRAM YOU'RE DEAD” you stared directly into the camera “sometimes it’s like I still hear jack talking to me” George and jack started complaining about how much further the is to go and how it was dirty and Tommy's response about being sorry it doesn’t fit their tory lifestyle made you burst out laughing “YOU LAUGHED” “tubbo my beloved you laughed ages ago you’ve already lost” “But we���re equal now” “no” the pair of you stood bickering to the point you didn’t realise the others had finished the obstacle and were shouting for you to test the canon “Y/N TUBBO WE NEED TO TEST THE CANON” the pair of you ran over “3 2 1 BANG”

“just going to warn you all you see that black cloud over there” “oh yay a storm is coming” you grabbed a wheel and followed behind jack across the wooden bridge “y/n he’s been splintered” “oh no poor George” “these are my gaming fingers” “no gaming for you I guess” “Stop talking about gaming dickheads” you spent a lot of time talking to George and jack whilst crossing over trying not to fall over you all even made a few plans to stream a laugh and the stream ends on jacks channel soon

you were all building the canon again whilst being informed you weren’t even halfway through and already 40 minutes in “high score” “well it’s definitely high” “Y/N??” “coming tubbo hang on my shoelace came undone” after tying your shoelace you grabbed a wheel and caught up to tubbo “if you go over tubbo ill pass it over to you and we can keep doing that” this method worked well for you both tubbo would climb over you would pass the wheel and middle part of the canon then climb over and repeat the process you heard Tommy in the background complaining about the fact he’s wearing jeans and jacks response “Yeah but I’m wearing jeans” “tubbo and y/n are almost done and you’re complaining about jeans” “jean boy pops off” “I'M WEARING JEANS AS WELL QUIT COMPLAINING” “Can we just go home and play smash bros” “Tommy this was your idea I didn’t even get on an option” “Sorry about that y/n but you get to spend time with me and gogy” “lucky me” you weren’t going to lie this was hard work and you were exhausted you felt like you could just fall asleep right where you were stood however tubbo wasn’t going to let that happen “I’m never going on an adventure with Tommy again” “me either” this of course was bullshit and you were both going on another adventure soon you stood watching your friends struggle to get over the obstacles you decided to offer your support and went to help jack and George using a similar method to that you used with tubbo “thanks y/n” “anytime” “y/n you could have helped me, tubbo pulled me over I could have been injured” “very sorry to hear that sergeant simons sucks to suck I guess” you all reassembled the canon tested it and ran to the next obstacle “I hate it here” “there’s a storm on the way” “Thanks, y/n for the input” “welcome George” you all noticed the net luckily you didn’t have to disassemble the canon this very well could be because you were running far behind and a storm was on its way. you watched as the others went through and joked about tubbo losing his shoe and Tommy getting stuck, this obstacle wasn’t made for you either as you kept getting caught on the net “I'VE BEEN CAUGHT AGAIN” jack lifted the net for you again so you could easily crawl through “thank you jack” you all then made it to the next obstacle Tommy crawled on the metal bars with you following after him whilst George used the monkey bars once you all made it across you had to walk across many metal planks used to form a bridge Tommy walked close behind you knowing you were extremely clumsy and didn't want you to fall “irl nettles” “The fuck are you on about Tommy I don’t think you’re following my advice about going outside” you all dissembled the canon as you got to the tires the only difference this time was you needed to climb over them “it’s rather windy” “there’s dirt in my eye” like before you and tubbo used the same method “look at them go” “I LIKE A DA BEE” “I'M SCARED OF BEES” “oh okay” “Why do they keep taking the plank” “I don’t know tubbo just takes it and y/n follows” you both finished rather quickly and neither of you got injured or fell “really good job you two” “thank you Mr military” you stood leaning on tubbo watching George pick up random rocks and put them into his pocket similar to what you had been doing the entire way around the course “I don’t think George or y/n have been outside before they keep picking things up like souvenirs” “Y/N GEORGE HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN THE RAIN BEFORE” both of you just stared at Tommy making him laugh you helped the others get across the tires and even helped prevent Tommy from falling a couple of times. unfortunately, you ended up twisting your ankle but tried to ignore it not wanting to ruin the vlog for anyone, not that you would have, however it was clear you were in pain as you had started limping. one at a time you all crossed the rope “This is me climbing I am climbing” you cheered everybody on and then it was your turn

unlike the others the rope kept shaking as you walked across mainly because you were scared of falling and in pain all whilst trying to rush, this was clearly your least favourite obstacle of the day “take your time y/n don’t fall” “thank you jack I'm trying my best I promise” once at the end of the rope, Tommy took the wheel off you and helped you get down and pulled you into a quick side hug “you’re doing great let’s go we’re almost done” you knew your friends wouldn’t make you continue if you really didn’t want to however you were nearly finished and was determined to finish. you all reassembled the canon and made your way to the next obstacle

“there’s no way we’re getting through that without twanging a rope” “good luck” you and tubbo made your way through the ropes trying not to hit them, this proved to be a pretty impossible task and you ended up twanging the ropes several times, this mixed with everyone else’s failure to cross without hitting the rope meant you all had to do 20 push-ups, after reassembling the canon twice as you all didn’t do it correctly the first time and testing it you all had to do the push-ups “I’m sure y/n and George only did 3” “sorry bossman”

you all were finally making your way to the last obstacle determined to finish “Big Russ can we go to McDonald's after this” “sure” the five of you cheered and ran the last obstacle quickly disassembling the canon, you led the way over the obstacle tubbo Tommy jack and George following behind you, despite tubbo losing his shoe and George going backwards the five of you quickly completed the obstacle and reassembled and tested the canon running over to the finishing line

you all finally completed it and waited for your result “45 minutes easily” “1 hour 11 minutes and 46 seconds” “no way that’s a world record” “well we tried” the five of you stood telling people to subscribe before ending the recording and making your way back to the car

the car ride back felt a lot longer than the way there. you were all exhausted

“how’s your ankle” “it’s not too bad it’ll probably hurt more tomorrow morning”

“I'm still not over Tommy trying to kill me and tubbo” “I didn’t try to kill you” “sure” the rest of the journey was chaos you all screamed along to the songs on the radio eventually you all got to McDonald's and spent the rest of the night enjoying each other’s company.

taglist

@l0ver0fj0y @c1loudee

[cinema-tv-etc]

The joy of HBO Max's Julia Child series, a deliciously affectionate celebration of an icon

Even if you think you've hit your Julia Child saturation point, this series finds a fresh way to win your heart By Melanie McFarland  March 31, 2022

It was the Queen of Sheba's cameo that got me, unexpectedly appearing more than midway through HBO Max's "Julia" premiere. In this telling, Julia Child (Sarah Lancashire) has an uphill climb to win over dismissive male producers at WGBH, Boston's public television station, eggheads who pooh-pooh the intellectual value of a show that demystifies the art of French cooking.

They lacked the vision to see that Child was on to something that would transform the way Americans think about food. The scene in question shows her determination to get them on her page: Julia gaily waltzes into the offices of WGBH, cake plate in hand and ready to negotiate with a side of sugar. Once inside their offices she unveils her small masterpiece, explaining to her greatest fan and future producer Alice Naman (Brittany Radford) that its simplicity is one of the reasons she adores it. That's when my eyes welled up.

The recipe's simplicity also is why I could make that cake in grade school, having copied down the ingredients from a recording of "The French Chef," the very show she's pitching. In the same way Lancashire's Julia arms herself with an extra helping of chocolaty persuasion, I made my share of Reine de Sabas for school occasions and church functions, for gifts to neighbors and friends, as general a token of, as Julia might have put it, bonhomie.

Julia Child's legacy is constructed on a granite-solid foundation of nostalgia unmatched by most because of the place she holds in our memory, whether collective or individual. Reruns of "The French Chef" aired after my local public TV station's children's programming block ended, making it very likely that I was programmed to embrace her from early childhood.Women who held a certain image of her from way back then may see her in another light now. There is no way I would have fully appreciated the sundry social, gender and political subtexts "Julia" explores even a decade ago, for the simple reason of being closer to the age she was when her popularity ascended.

Times have changed since Child's era, but only by increments, as the show demonstrates. Alice, Julia and her best friend Avis (Bebe Neuwirth) and other women are constantly navigating the fragile male egos in their orbit, whether in the form of WGBH's sexist eggheads or Julia's own husband Paul, played by David Hyde Pierce. And one of the main ways Julia succeeds is by acknowledging their misogyny and turning it back on them.

They try to write her off because she isn't conventionally telegenic, but that's disproven when a guest appearance on a dull as dust literary show results in the station getting more positive letters than ever. She pitches a TV pilot anyway; they continue to reject it out of snobbery. But she is insistent.

"One of the advantages of looking like me is that you learn at a young age not to take no for an answer," she coos. Still, station producer Russ Morash (Fran Kranz) isn't convinced. "No offense, but it this what we really think public television should be doing?" he asks the men in the room, ignoring Alice and Julia.

In response one of them eye-humps the Queen of Sheba. "Cut me a slice."

Foodies raised in the era of Rachael Ray and Martha Stewart, likely appreciate Child through documentaries, culinary competitions like "The Julia Child Challenge," and the odd "Saturday Night Live" repeat featuring Dan Aykroyd's famous impersonation.

Through "Julia," showrunner Chris Keyser digs into the humanity underneath the ideal, giving us another ambitious woman that is in some respects the forerunner of Deborah Vance, Jean Smart's unsinkable comedian at the heart of "Hacks." Lancashire's Julia is a stately woman who curses and bawdily describes chicken parts, and she knows she can get away with that because she has no aspirations to be a sex symbol.

And "Julia" lives up to the popular image of Child as a bubbly, matronly professor of joie de vivre while also reminding us that she became an icon through her own effort (and financial investment, as the writers depict), and despite the obstacles placed in her path. She's also revealed to have few hang-ups, some of which are instilled in her psyche by men like her father (James Cromwell), who grudgingly puts up with his daughter's demonstrative self-reliance as he looks down on Paul.

This is another facet of the show's effort to grapple with the way successful women must constantly battle sexism and patriarchal pushback. Yet another surfaces in the form of Child's discomfort with homosexuality despite her devoted friendship with James Beard (Christian Clemenson). Then again, a wild day out they share has the dual role of pointing out Child's privilege as a wealthy white woman arriving on the national stage in time of societal tumult. "America can't love a fat old fairy like me," Beard tells Julia, adding with genuinely affection, "You, on the other hand, make people very happy, including me."

Lancashire, primarily known to American viewers from "Last Tango in Halifax" and "Happy Valley," presents Julia as a combination of savory and sweet, with a dash of bitter melancholy. She is unafraid to bare Julia's calluses and cracks, making her more human and whole in the process.

Like any story sauced with nostalgia, "Julia" folds in passages that are expressly engineered to achieve maximum heartstring-tugging throughout its first season. Some lurk within fictional recreations of scenes based upon Julia Child's life and legend. Other tearjerker moments are products of artistic license, as one is apt to liberally employ in a show like this.

https://www.salon.com/2022/03/31/julia-child-review-hbo-max/

[dakotafinely]

Thursday: What Happened to Rise?

So, today everyone should spread around and let people know what happened with Rise. Putting comments on @nickelodeon @nickanimation stuff to remind them of the stupid things they did, and let them know we are not happy with what happened concerning Rise.

For those of who don’t know, I’m gonna break it down as best I can from what I’ve gathered. If you know more, have correct information I’ve gotten wrong, or wanna do a better in-depth riffing of my post please do so.

So, Rise was cut by half of it’s season two by Nick who forced the creators to make four finale episodes within six weeks. Which is actually really hard to do. If you don’t know they have to: find a way to tie it all together, make a coherent and natural feeling script, make the storyboards, make the animations, schedule and get the v/a voice lines, and edit it altogether to be screened and green lit before the air date. Sure, the crew was able to do it, but just barely. And it really shows the fantastic talent of the Rise crew for pulling such a thing off in such a short amount of time.

Nick cut about 16 episodes abruptly, some of which were basically finished and ready to air. Not to mention Nick casually moved Rise to Nick-toons and made the airing hours times when many of the fans were unable to view it, as well as cutting advertisements of Rise and making it almost impossible to know about it unless your friends or family or Tumblr raves about it. As well as making it near impossible to find and get Rise Merch. Nick then also had the creators stay hush-hush about the abrupt ending of the series to prolong the inevitable outrage the fans had. As well as firing two of the crew members quietly.

And this was all pre-planned it seemed by Nick. I think it was Russ who made a statement saying that when they pitched the show idea it was to a different Nick head, then the organization had a change and they got a new lead for Nick. Which often causes a lot of shows to be cut, and Nick chose Rise to be one of them.

Nick told the Rise crew their show was on “Pause” and that they’d see how the movie would do and decide from there. The movie will be on Netflix at some point next year. Whilst also promoting their new spinoff series of Spongebob about Patrick the Starfish.

It is important to note that the original creator of Spongebob hated the idea of spinoff series for his franchise and didn’t want to do it. And wanted the series to end- I think -five years before it actually did. However, the creator is now dead, may he rest in peace, and Nick can now do whatever they want with the Spongebob Franchise.

There is also more evidence of Nick attempting to cut Rise short with the whole ordeal with Playtoys. Now, I can’t remember if it was actually called Playtoys, and I don’t know much about it. But a rundown of posts I’ve seen on the topic is that Playtoys is claiming that Nick cancelled the Rise Merch they were initially going to put out when the series first started. Whereas Nick was saying that Playtoys didn’t want anything to do with making Rise toys. This all came out as Playtoys made a tweet about new TMNT toys they were going to be selling as a collab with Nick. Again, this is what I think is going on, if anyone wants to clear this up and correct me, please do so.

Anyways, this is all I’ve got, is anyone has any new information they’d like to share I’d love to hear it. I wanna know what’s going on for my Rise boys.

For those of you who are new hear and your just now hearing about all this stuff. This is why the other Rise fans are fighting, because such a fantastic show and it’s creators faced an unfair justice. And I know there’s a lot of worse things going on in this world, but this was one of the good things. And now it’s been stripped from us.

This is why we gotta do all we can to bring back Rise! So join us and LET’S RISE!

[alcalavicci]

So there’s a really interesting interview with Deborah Pratt here. If you don’t want to pay for it, I’ll paste what I can below, but a few points first. 

Deborah says she doesn’t know where Dean is, and says she misses him. I guess she hasn’t had contact with him since he left for NZ? And with Russ Tamblyn saying Dean’s hanging in there in answer to a recent Twitter question, that brings up more questions about his condition.

Deborah claims she came up with the idea of Quantum Leap, which I’ve never seen come up before. Also Don wanted to send Sam home?? I feel like she’s misremembering a lot of details/making herself seem better than she is.

“Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator and vanished… He woke to find himself trapped in the past, facing mirror images that were not his own, and driven by an unknown force to change history for the better. His only guide on this journey is Al, an observer from his own time, who appears in the form of a hologram that only Sam can see and hear. And so Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, striving to put right what once went wrong, and hoping each time tht his next leap will be the leap home…”

The premise of Quantum Leap succinctly and empathetically explained by a voice that spoke to viewers week to week, setting the scene at the opening of the episode. It is a voice that left an indelible print on the show, from its inception to its finale. This is the voice of its Head Writer. No, not Donald P. Bellisario, but a woman of color who was leaps ahead of her time – co-executive producer and uncredited co-creator, Deborah M. Pratt.

Deborah wrote or co-wrote 40 episodes of this sci-fi gem and her authorship of the show runs deep through its five seasons. Aside from the opening narration, Deborah is audible as the voice of Admiral Al Calavicci’s pocket computer, Ziggy. She also guest stars in the episode ‘A Portrait for Troian’ (S2, Ep11) as a grieving widow who hears the voice of her husband calling her.

Deeper still, Quantum Leap was a family affair. It was co-created with her husband at the time, Bellisario, and their daughter, also named Troian, appears as a little girl in ‘Another Mother’ (S2, Ep13, who can not only see Al, but also sees Sam as he really is, rather than as her recently divorced mom.

Prior to helming Quantum Leap, Deborah rose through the ranks as an actress, racing the screen in Happy Days, CHiPS, The Dean Martin Show and many more, and was also a writer on shows such as Airwolf and Magnum P.I. She is a five-time Emmy nominee, Golden Globe nominee and winner of countless other awards. She went on to produce CBS comedy cop show, Tequila and Bonetti, and then to co-create and produce the TV series adaptation of Sandra Bullock tech thriller, The Net. But Quantum Leap was Deborah’s brainchild – one which is emblazoned on the hearts of its faithful fans.

Deborah has since moved into directing, including on hit show Grey’s Anatomy (2020), but was generous with her time when spoke in late 2020 to leap back into the past.

It does seem that you were really ahead of your time as a female head writer and a showrunner in the ’90s, especially in science fiction TV. Was it hard for you to progress and to get Quantum Leap made?

“Usually women were relegated to comedy, very rarely was it drama or heavy drama. It’s changed, finally, with people like Shonda Rhimes (Grey’s Anatomy, Bridgerton, Scandal). But yes, I was a true pioneer, even though I don’t have a ‘created by’ credit, it was a ‘co-created by’ show – with Don. I brought him the original concept, and we were married, and he said ‘Let me just run with this. I can get it made.’ And to his credit, he understands how to tell a story to the audience. He simplified it in a way that you could welcome Quantum Leap into the world. But it was still a tough show to sell.

“I think we went back three times to pitch it to the network. It was complicated to explain. Brandon Tartikoff [the executive] said ‘It’s a great idea – It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen on TV. Let me think about it.’ Then he asked us to come back, ‘I want you to pitch it to me like I’m six years old, then pitch it to me like I’m 80 years old’ and finally he took it. Then even after the show first aired, they decided to introduce that opening where I tell the story. That was created to explain every week to a new viewer what was going on and it worked really well.”

On rewatch now, the best part of three decades later, the show feels groundbreaking in terms of the subjects you cover. Did you feel like you were pushing the envelope?

“I feel we got to do so much on that show. I remember when I did ‘Black on White on Fire’ [S3, Ep7], the networks in the South in the United States wouldn’t air it because it was a black/white relationship. Even though there is no scene where you see a black person and a white person being intimate.

You saw Sam, who was white, and the girl who was white, but because he was playing someone who was black, it was an issue. They wouldn’t air the show in the South. This was around 1992.

“It was challenging for sure. I think we pushed the limits.

“The beauty of the show too, was that it was about hope, which I see so little of on television today. Everything’s so dark, so mean, so vicious, bloody – how many people can you kill? How mean can you make your lead characters and antiheroes. I think it’s why I didn’t work as much afterwards. A) I was a woman, and B) a black woman. There weren’t any black female executive producers that I knew of in drama. I got to do <em>The Net</em> because it had a female lead, but that was almost ten years after <em>Quantum Leap</em> was created. Any show I brought in that had a black lead was never bought, or a female lead, was never bought. 

“I remember I wrote a big action piece – like an Indiana Jones, but female-driven, feature film – and pitched it and the studio executive said, ‘Yeah, yeah, but when did the guy come and rescue her?’ And I said, ‘She doesn’t – she rescues him.’ The look on his face. I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

The show darted around TV schedules, but the fans remained with it, and still to this day hold it dear to their hearts. Was that palpable at the time, or has that grown since?

“I think near the end of the first season, Harriet Margulies [Production Assistant on the show] found a chat room after an episode where people from across the country talked about it and it became the ‘watercooler.’ We were the first television show that had a chat room as a watercooler. Before that, it was literally you going into your office and standing around the watercooler and talking about movies or TV shows you were watching. Suddenly, it was online. So we started to go into the chat room and talk to people about what they liked and what they didn’t. Not necessarily telling them who we were, but that fan base is what kept us on the air because the network didn’t know what to do with us. There was no show like it, so they couldn’t like pair us with anybody.

“In the five years we were on, I think they moved the show six times and the fans still found it, they followed it, they watched it. That’s how we knew we had something unique and special. To this day, I’ll go into a meeting with a young executive who’ll go, ‘I have to tell you, I loved Quantum Leap. I used to watch it with my mom and dad’.”

Scott Bakula was such a great hero and heartthrob as Dr. Sam. What was he like to work with?

“He was so approachable, you know, in the sense that he had this great, easy acting style. He took chances and he was likeable – in a way that he could be a man’s man and a woman’s man at the same time. He’s really a brilliant actor. I am saddened by the fact that he has not had the opportunity to do movies in the way that could really have lifted his career. He’s had an incredibly successful television career. He’s a good actor. He’s a kind man. I’ve always admired him and felt like when we were working together, I had a friend that I loved to write for because he was always so giving and willing and wanting to take chances as an actor. So it was fun to go down to the trailer and say, ‘Guess what? You’re going to be pregnant this week’.

He does everything in the show from sing and dance to baseball, football, hopping over car bonnets to fights and martial arts. Did you know he had such a wide skill set from the outset, or did you write the challenges for him to rise to?

“I think we had conversations with him about that. I also knew that he had been on Broadway doing musicals. I knew he could sing and dance. When I wrote ‘Sea Bride’ [S2, Ep20], I wrote a tango number – that was unique for him. When Don knew that he could play the guitar… We asked Scott, ‘What do you want to do?’ And he said he wanted to do a musical and I think that’s how the ‘Catch a Falling Star’ episode [S2, Ep10] came about, which involves a performance of ‘Man of LaMancha’.”

Admiral Al Calavicci – he’s so much more than wisecracking and surface jokes or flirtation. There’s so much depth to his character. Was that fleshed out early on with an end to end journey for him in mind, or did his character evolve through the seasons?

“It was a little bit of both. Dean Stockwell had been on Broadway at five-years-old and had been a major child movie star. I remember when we wrote the show where Sam had the chance to save Al – ‘The Leap B4, Ep1] – he was so good in that. I’ll never forget how beautiful that was. And then in the very, very end, I love the fact that Sam did change history and Al ended up wih his beautiful wife with five kids.

“I remember once asking Dean, ‘Do you want us to write more drama for you? Big dramatic moments?’ And he said, ‘I want you to look at me right now. I want you to tell me what you see.’ And I said, ‘Well, your performance, the pain, fear and loss and all that, because you’re such an incredible actor.’ And he said ‘For me to perform that, I have to be it and live it. So don’t do too many.’ 

“He had that depth of acting talent. He is so good – Dean,  wherever you are, I love you. I miss you.”

The episodes that follow later in the seasons involving celebrities – Sam as Elvis, Dr. Ruth, or Lee Harvey Oswald, was that kind of a direction that you always foresaw? It feels like a sea change as the show progressed.

“The stories were designed, for the most part, to be so, so simple in that they were everyday stories. They weren’t change-the-world stories. I think the biggest one was Lee Harvey Oswald, and maybe the one involving Marilyn Monroe – those were with people that could have had a ripple effect.

“But there were other little kisses with history in the show, but they were very hard to do. They ran into a child version of Donald Trump in a taxi cab, [‘It’s A Wonderful Leap’ – S4, Ep18], then they ran into a little boy who is supposed to be Michael Jackson – Sam teaches him to moonwalk [‘Camikazi Kid’ – S1, Ep8]. The first time I did a kiss with history was ‘Star-Crossed’ [S1, Ep3] – Sam meets up with the woman that left him at the altar and they’re at the Watergate Hotel. That was fun stuff.”

Sam managed to awkwardly kiss lots of ladies in that sense of ‘Oh God, they’re going to kiss me and I’ve got to be this person, what am I supposed to do.’

“We never, ever really discussed what happened to Sam. We didn’t want him to be encumbered by a relationship. But I didn’t get to kiss him. My husband wouldn’t leave the set on the episode I was in!”

Your move into directing – from your TV drama Cora Unashamed back in 2000, to Grey’s Anatomy just last year. Is that something you wanted to do sooner? Were there barriers prohibiting you?

“I was supposed to direct on Quantum Leap four times. Every time it was coming up, something would happen. The only women who directed on the show were two black women – Debi Allen [Fame, Everybody Hate Chris, Jane the Virgin] and the other was a woman named Anita Addison. They each did two shows.

I said, ‘If I’m not doing this, I want black women.’ There were no other black women. And it was a fight. I tried to get black women directors on the show, but I could never get them past.

Then when I went to do The Net, the studio blocked it. I give huge amounts of credit for executive producing to Shonda Rhimes and what she has been able to do. She did what I thought I was going to be able to do. She’s so talented and I’m such a fan of her and her shows. I’m looking forward to what she’s going to do on Netflix. And it was an honour to do Grey’s Anatomy because I’m a fan of the show and I’m really grateful to have that opportunity.”

Has there been progress in terms of female directors and filmmakers being given opportunities?

“It’s very hard for women because there aren’t a lot of women executives at the studios. There are more now. And so there is an evolution that’s happening, but it still feels slow. There were shows run by people I gave opportunities to back in the day, but when I said, “hey, I want to direct on your show,” the response was, “oh, there’s too much machismo. There’s too many male hormones around here. They’ll eat you alive.” And I went, “no, they won’t, you’ll protect me. How about if I do my job?” And that was only last year. But there are more opportunities. There are more women making decisions, but we have to do more because women’s stories and women’s voices are more than half the population – we need to hear those stories. The historic ones as well as the contemporary ones.”

Is there a leap that was your favourite overall? That you feel made you made your mark with?

“’The Color of Truth’ [S1, Ep7] touched so many people and it opened a dialogue. I remember we got a letter from a teacher who said she brought the VHS in and she played it to her class, up until Jesse [Sam as an ageing black chauffeur in ’50s Deep South] goes and sits down at the counter in the restaurant. Then she stopped it and asked the students what they thought happened next. They thought that he just ordered lunch. And then she played the rest and that hostility and the animosity he endures and the fact that he had to get up and leave really incensed these children. They had never heard of or experienced racism. They didn’t want to believe that it really happened. This is how history gets buried and why television is so powerful and important. It opened a conversation that she could not have necessarily had in her classroom, according to her, had she not brought that show in to share with her students.

“We had another letter that was very moving, and I want to say it might’ve been ‘The Leap Home’ [S2, Ep1-2]. There was a couple who wrote and said they had a child that was on a cancer ward and every Thursday the whole ward would watch Quantum Leap. Their child was dying and they had kind of given up and it was just time to help that child transition out of this world. They watched the show and she said, ‘We realized we gave up hope. When we watched the show, we realized we didn’t have to give up hope and we wanted to write to you. It’s now six months later and the crisis has passed. The cancer is in remission. Our child is up and going back to school. And we just want to thank you for reminding us that hope has its own power’.”

Its power and poignancy has never diminished. Though the final episode, ‘Mirror Image’ (S5, Ep22), with the caption saying Sam doesn’t get to go home, does leave a sucker punch.

“That was our last fight. Don was going to send him home. And I said, ‘You can’t, you can’t send him home. If you ever, ever, which we’ve not ever been able to get Universal to let us do it, want to do a movie… If you want to keep the story going, you have to leave Sam out there in the hearts of people, leaving people thinking he could leap into their lives’. And at first Don said, ‘No, no, we need to bring him home’. And I said, ‘Do not bring him home. Or you will end the show. If you leave the hope out there, that Sam is out there and he could leap into your life and make a difference’. You keep the show alive in the hearts and the minds of the fans. And I think I was right.”

The ending was poetic for me as a viewer, but your point about Sam still being out there – Is there a leap back to the future for Quantum Leap?

“I started writing a project called <em>Time Child</em> about Sammy Jo Fuller. I actually wrote a trilogy in Season 5 where Sam leapt back three times into the same family and the second time he leapt he ended up in bed with this character and conceived a child. Then the third time he leapt in, he met her at 10 years old – a girl named Sammy Jo Fuller. So in my vision, Sammy Jo Fuller grows up. I actually have Al say, ‘Sammy is in the future with me. We’re trying to bring you home.’ That was my set-up way back in 1993, in Season 5, to say someday, Sammy Jo being his daughter might take over…. 

“This was the ’90s. Women heroes didn’t exist really – other than comic books – Wonder Woman was there, Super Girl was there. But I set it up in the show that Sammy Jo was going to bring him home. Sadly, I have not been able to get Don and the studio to give me the green light for Time Child. It might happen someday.”

Right now, it feels like we need more shows that offer hope. Is there a place for a reboot on streaming platforms?

“Universal keep saying they want to bring it back. They’re not going to give it up to Netflix because they have [US streaming service] Peacock now and still have NBC. I personally think it should be on a full blown network. The hard part would be that it would have to be recast if there was a female version using my character Sammy Jo Fuller. Or if they just redid the show, it would be interesting in the sense that there was such an innocence about the show. I still believe that there is an audience out there that wants it, that longs for looking at the past through the eyes of somebody in the present. But who would that person be if you did the show now, what are those eyes like? 

“We’re living in the time of COVID and suddenly you go back in time. How do you warn people that this is going to happen? How do you warn people about 9/11? How do you warn people about things in the future?

“I mean, one of the beauties of that innocence too, and I thought that was a great gift from Don to the concept, was that Sam’s memory as Swiss cheese – he didn’t remember things and that made it a lot easier, and Al was not allowed to tell him what was happening in the present. There’s a lot of detail woven into the mythology that allowed it to be innocent and in the moment of time travel. You didn’t have to drag the future back with you.”

Do you have an actress in mind to play Sammy Jo in a reboot?

“Oh my gosh, Jennifer Garner. I always felt she would be a great female Sam. She’s an ‘every woman.’ She’s funny. She does great drama. When I think of a female Sam or even Sammy Jo, I think Jennifer – in a heartbeat. She’s so great in Alias. That show just never stopped. You couldn’t take a breath. If I had to go younger, somebody that would have that kind of believable humour that you think could actually rescue you – maybe Jennifer Lawrence. She’s pretty formidable in that sense.”

“To bring Quantum Leap back. If they’re thinking about it, now’s the time to happen. Tell people to write to Universal! Write for the attention of Pearlena Igbokwe – if anyone can bring it back, she can do it. Write! Write to Pearlena – she’s the one that’ll make it happen. That’s how we stayed on the air for five and a half years. Fans unite and write!”

[christopher-bryant]

my neighors are all very nice. its just that theyre all old. i dont hate old people but itd be nice to have some younger neighbors ya know? but yeah theyre nice people. if ive got a package outside or whatever theyll bring it up to my door if im not home, always ask if i need anything or what not. good people but just too old for me to chat with.

especially my neighbor across the hall. names russ. great guy but hes a chatty kathy and it drives me nuts. even my grandfather whos the same age as him.

a few weeks ago my grandfather was dropping me off after i helped him with some yard work. we're pulling into my parking lot as hes going to his car my grandfather goes "oh fuck its russ." because he talks non stop. and you just cant get away. theres no break in convo. even if you say youve gotta run, he'll somehow trap you into another convo. but good fucking god does it drag.

other day my grandfather and i were heading up to my place so i could print some things for him and i shit you not this guy trapped us into a conversation while the sun was out and when finished it was pitch fucking black out.