#chip's challenge was it

[knightofleo]

[vgadvisor]

[kirby-the-gorb]

[blue-tailed-artist]

We were all talking about how each of the Rise boys would react to the "One Chip Challenge"

Leo- Ate it, refused to spit it out, suffering while trying to keep cool

Mikey- Spit it out and is still suffering

Raph- Sniffed it, burns his nostrils and couldn't even eat the chip cause it burned the inside of his nose.

And Donnie- Can eat a whole bag unaffected because I thought it was funny.

[starry-bi-sky]

no context snippet for a "SY is SJ" au i thought of at 1am last night, because i am a firm believer of the "amnesia doesnt erase your trauma it just erases the context of it" agenda.

(although in SY's case he DID kinda forget that trauma.. at first. it's coming back to him. the system gave him a grace period. there that's my excuse)

crossposted on ao3 too in case anyone wants to read it there instead

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Shen Qingqiu is painting again.

He's found himself doing that a lot lately, now that he's out of seclusion and Binghe is in the bamboo house, squirreled away into the side room where the Head Disciple should be. Painting is, of course, a logical course of action for a peak lord to do! Especially one such as himself, the Peak Lord of Qing Jing, which was basically the peak of the creative arts.

But— well, he wasn't expecting to find himself liking it so much. Or doing it so often. Painting in the style of the time period is a lot easier to learn than he expected, and it gets him B-points for in-character actions! Who knew the Original Goods was such an artist of the time? He had such an evocative way with his brush, he should know — he's found some of his works!

(They were tucked away like a dirty secret in the back of his closet, locked away in a qiankun chest that Shen Qingqiu found the key to far too easily. He’ll admit to being a little disappointed in the Original Goods’ predictability — a false bottom in the vanity, really? Anyone could find that!) 

This brought him to his next issue; he was getting headaches, and he thinks, perhaps, just a little, that the Original Goods' thoughts and feelings were bleeding into him. Just a tad! And he was certain it was the Original Goods too, because— because, well…

He keeps flinching. You know how you’re walking down a public but otherwise empty hallway, and turn the corner and nearly run right into someone, and your heart jumps three spaces to the left and back? Subconsciously you knew there was a chance you were going to see someone, but their sudden appearance still startles you? 

Yeah, that. He keeps experiencing it with Binghe. He about jumps right out of his skin whenever Binghe emerges from the side room or the kitchen, even though he knows his disciple is there! And he knows it’s not a habit from his old world, because Shen Qingqiu lived with three other siblings in the house, and always knew to expect someone to be right around the corner. 

And he knows, especially so, that it’s not a habit from his old world, because along with the mini heart attacks that come with Binghe’s presence in the bamboo house, is the discomfort. A distinct yet indistinguishably vague feeling of unease that comes with sharing a living space with someone. The kind that makes his hackles rise like a particularly disgruntled and cornered street cat. 

Again, he grew up with three siblings! That could not be coming from him. It has to be an Original Goods feeling slipping in, and it was really getting in the way of things! How was he supposed to give Binghe a sense of belonging and a better upbringing if his presence in the bamboo house made him feel horribly exposed?

Some days, he just can't escape the gnawing feeling of dread in his chest when he returns to the bamboo house at the end of the day, knowing full well that it will soon be accompanied by someone else. Even if that someone was Binghe. 

That feeling of a lack of privacy makes his skin crawl and his shoulders lock up to his ears with every step. It was inconvenient; annoying. 

It was utterly unscientific, it was his house! And it was only Binghe, who, currently, is a harmless little white sheep! There was no darkened protagonist here, come to tear his limbs off. There was nothing to be so… tense about. 

It does nothing to stop the little swooping his heart does when he opens the door to, sometimes, Binghe already there, kneeling at the table like a dutiful disciple as always.

Oh, and that's not starting on his steadily increasing dislike of physical touch. It had to be something to do with the ludicrous amount of layers he wears and the modesty standards of the time period — and, also, of course, the Original Goods' own aversion to it.

He knows he's never felt so uncomfortable in another human being's presence before! Sure, he wasn’t the most social of people in his old world, but he still remembers being able to leave the house and be among the masses with relative ease. Here, though, was an entirely different story. His personal space bubble seemingly doubled, no, tripled in size, and it was irking him quite unhandily. 

The worst offenders were the Peak Lord meetings, it had to be. Navigating through the sea of disciples, cultivators, and visitors on Qiong Ding was a nightmare enough on its own — lessened only by the fact that said mountain occupants parted like the red sea when they saw him coming — but sitting in a secluded room with eleven other people, majority of whom still disliked him despite his turnaround? Awful.  

The proximity between him and his martial siblings isn’t even that bad, either. He has plenty of elbow room and in fact, would need to make an effort to reach out and physically touch anyone on either side of him. But, still!! Too close!! 

Shen Qingqiu made the conscious decision to sit as close to the door as his own comfort would allow, but not so close that he couldn’t see it — he tried that once. He doesn’t want to speak of the incident. The stress alone will give him heart palpitations. 

(He, pointedly, doesn’t want to think about the time he arrived at a Peak Lord meeting and found the Long Ning Shou Peak Lord sitting in His Chair either. Shen Qingqiu has never been particularly territorial about ‘assigned seating’ before, up until that moment. While he’s proud to say that he didn’t do anything to Chen Qingxuan for sitting in his spot, he’s mortified by how childishly petulant he felt about it for the rest of the meeting. He’s pretty sure everyone could sense his sour mood.)  

Why, just a few days ago he nearly bit a poor disciple's head off during martial lessons when they accidentally tumbled into him after a series of spectacularly fumbling footing. The child had been so horrified and apologetic that Shen Qingqiu remembered to reel himself back in time and merely scold them, rather than tear their skin right off with a tongue lashing.

But— enough about such stressful things! Shen Qingqiu was painting, and when he was painting, Binghe knew not to bother him, and to not let anyone do so either. Lest they all be dealt with a moderately grumpy Shizun. 

(His emotions may be as volatile as a hormonal boy lately, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t know how to keep them in check!! He still had a reputation to keep.)

His studio offered him a sense of privacy and solitary that not even his bedroom allowed him — for Binghe could knock on his bedroom door to alert him for whatever needed his attention, and while he could do the same to the studio, the fact remained; a Shizun interrupted during his precious studio time, did not, a happy Shizun make. 

There were silencing talismans painted into the walls — courtesy of the Original Goods — that Shen Qingqiu really quite appreciated. It allowed him the peace of mind to do things his face could not allow him outside of it— and that is, he got to muse aloud to himself, and hum songs from his old world that he couldn't anywhere else. Some songs that he still knew the lyrics to, he was happy to half-sing under his breath.

It had to be a form of meditation, it had to be! With how much peace and grounding it brought him, it couldn't be anything but a form of meditation.

Currently, he was just letting instincts lead his brush strokes while he hummed a melody from some myth musical he stumbled across a few weeks before he died. The songs had been so catchy that he had most of them all but memorized! He's tried repeating the instrumentals on his guqin and ruan with varying degrees of success.

Painting helped kill his migraines the most. As it stands, he’s had a killer one hammering at his skull since this morning. Bad enough to the point that he nearly snapped at poor Binghe during breakfast, and the child could all but sense the sour mood radiating off his master, and in turn had been silent and subdued until he left. 

Aish, that child… Shen Qingqiu hasn't quite quelled the guilt in him. Something about that awful subservience rankled him in a way he couldn’t explain, making him want to recoil and snap out at the same time. Something dark and deep in him had reared its head, wanting to reach over and shake Binghe for it. 

He'd been horrified by his own thoughts, and then locked himself in his studio for the rest of the day.

Even in death — or wherever the Original Goods was — he was still making things difficult! It was only natural that Binghe would go quiet and careful at the sight of Shen Qingqiu’s bad mood, he used to beat the boy at whim for imagined slights! He’ll have to reassure Binghe better that he wasn’t going to hurt him. 

Bah. He was supposed to be painting, not thinking about things that made his head pound worse or his mood dampen more! He didn't want to think about Luo Binghe right now — a surprise, even for him! — he wants to focus on the scent of ground ink and paints, and his own soft humming.

He blinks, once, twice, and focuses on the painting. It happens, like now, that he would zone out and paint entire landscapes, people, whatever, without realizing. It was always a guessing game of what he's made when he lets his mind wander. Some of things he painted were merely of Qing Jing, other times— 

— a burning red fire, encased on canvas, hangs off his eyelashes. And following it, the ensuing qi deviation he'd shoved off. —

Other times aren't worth mentioning.

He's painted a boy this time, a young one, with dark skin and even darker hair, and a smile that isn't quite right. There's a beauty mark right above the corner of his lip, artfully placed, as if it had been hand-placed by an expert craftsman. The boy's upper face remains unpainted, as if he’d been born without eyes. Yet, even without them, the boy looks completely serene and non-judgemental. Mn, no, perhaps more accurately he looks passive? Peaceful? 

Shen Qingqiu can feel his gaze, missing as it is, burning into him. He frowns immediately. His headache no less lessened, in fact— he thinks it's gotten worse. There’s a horrid familiarity about the boy in the painting, like a word poised on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite place. "Don't look at me like that." He says aloud, bah, he hadn't meant to! But it’s not like there’s anyone to hear him. "Don't you know who I am?" 

En, no, it’s placating. That’s what it is. The boy is placating him. How unscientific! Unneeded; ridiculous. Why would he paint a boy trying to placate him? He was a scum villain, and a grown man!

The painting says nothing, as it ought to, it was only wet ink and dry parchment. Shen Qingqiu's ears burn anyways, and his eyes drop down to the smile on the boy's face. 

He finds that he deeply detests that smile on his face, it disgusts him. 

It disgusts him in the way only sheer incompetence can, a burn of irritation that bubbles up every time he saw an objectively wrong take in the PIDW comment section. As if he can't believe someone would look at him, a scum villain such as himself, and still be able to smile like that.

More than that, it's not right. That smile. It's— there's something wrong with it. Which can't be right, Shen Qingqiu hardly makes a mistake when he makes these trance-made paintings. But there is, he’s looking at it right here. He hates it. That awful smile. It's so— so… insincere. If you're going to smile at him, at least mean it, eh? Doesn't he deserve that much?

Long, slender fingers dip into the small wooden paint bowl beside him and lift back up, dripping wet ink onto the side table, and then onto the floor, across the last two layers of his robes that he always strips down to in here.

He reaches for the canvas to— to what? Smear that stupid smile off that boy's face? Mould it into his own image, back into place like the way it should be, paintbrush be damned? That wretched child, smiling at him like that. That smile is too straight, too perfect. It's mocking him.

Where is the tilt? The slant in it? That boy always smiled with an off-kilter turn of his lips, crooked, that made him real the same way blood in the mouth did, and now he's not, and it's wrong. He will wipe that smile off the boy's face himself if he must, if only to get him to wear anything else—

There is a knock on the door, gentle, hesitant. Only his cultivator hearing is what allows him to pick up on it. Shen Qingqiu's head pounds terribly at the sound. It makes a screeching sound go off in the back of his skull, like an abrupt kick to the teeth. His jaw clacks together on pure adrenaline as he regains the sense to not snarl wordlessly.

Didn't he say not to interrupt—?

His ink-stained fingers snap back, a gunshot recoil that sends splatters of ink flying and splatting coldly against his face. His nails dig painfully into the soft flesh of his palm, and Shen Qingqiu gathers himself back into his lofty cultivator persona with a single breath and a ramrod straightening of his spine. His ears ring horribly. "What." He calls, perhaps a little too coldly.

"Shizun?" Binghe says softly, and the sound of that child's voice is like a bucket of ice water dumped over his head. Recognition hits him, and the guilt crawls back in at his earlier irritation. "Forgive this one for interrupting, but Yue-shibo is here."

Shen Qingqiu is still staring at his painting, but the boy’s smile burns behind his eyelids like a fire. It takes half a beat for him to respond; "…Alright," he says, and stands up, "prepare some tea, Binghe. And use the ginger root this master owns, he has a terrible headache."

He walks around the stool, fingers still dripping black, and plucks his robes up from the chair he draped them over. His head still hurts, and there’s a peculiar ache in his heart. He takes his time putting his layers back on, vindictively tying each button and knot leisurely. 

Surely Yue Qingyuan has the patience to wait for this one after he so rudely arrived unannounced, hm?

[sentinelsthiccass]

TFO Actor AU Episode Two

More Truth or Dare

Orion Pax: Darkwing, truth or dare?

Darkwing: Uhm... truth?

Orion Pax: If you had to kiss anyone in the room, who would you kiss?

Darkwing: ...no one.

Orion Pax: Oh come on, you gotta like someone!

Darkwing: No. No way. I don't like any of you idiots!

Orion Pax: Not even a little crush?

Darkwing: I'm aroace, okay?!

Orion Pax, surprised: Oh... my bad, dude.

---

During a solo interview with Orion Pax

Orion Pax: Well... that was a shocker. Kinda thought the reason the guy's always so pissy was because he isn't getting laid or something.

Orion laughs before getting serious again.

Orion Pax: But anyways... the guy is a jerk, but I'm gonna respect him with that. Everyone deserves to be comfortable with their sexuality and not be bothered about it, even someone like Darkwing.

---

During a solo interview with Darkwing

Darkwing, being open and less aggro for once: That was a little uncomfortable for me... I haven't told anyone I'm aroace until now. I've heard that some aroace people still do fragging and relationships in their own way, but not me. I just don't want it, nor do I feel comfortable talking about it. And they better respect that!

---

Back to Truth or Dare

Darkwing: Alpha Trion, truth or dare!

Alpha Trion: Truth.

Darkwing: Do you chase laser pointers in your alt form?

Alpha Trion: What? Don't be ridiculous!

Darkwing: So you wouldn't mind testing that theory?

Alpha Trion, shifting into his alt form: Fine.

Darkwing gets out a laser pointer and points it at the floor. Alpha Trion initially resists temptation, but gives in eventually and starts chasing the dot around as Darkwing moves the laser pointer. The rest of the cast erupts into laughter.

Alpha Trion, shifting back and sitting back down: Alright, alright, enough! Sentinel, truth or dare?

Sentinel: Dare.

Alpha Trion, referring to this AU's version of my OC Aethos: I dare you to finally ask out that script writer you've been eyeing.

Sentinel, blushing: WHAT?!

---

During a solo interview with Sentinel

Sentinel: Okay, what in the Pit?! Where did he get that idea from?! Like, sure, I enjoy talking to her. And sure, she's got a nice personality. And sure, she's the most beautiful bot I've ever seen... but I'm not into her!

---

During a solo interview with Alpha Trion

Alpha Trion: He's so totally into her.

---

Back to Truth or Dare

Sentinel: Ugh, fine, I'll ask her out. But you owe me, old timer!

Alpha Trion just laughs at that.

Sentinel: Anyways... Airachnid, truth or dare?

Airachnid: Dare!

Sentinel, knowing Airachnid has the spice tolerance of a baby: I dare you to do the one chip challenge.

Airachnid, in tears at the mere thought of consuming spicy energon: ...okay.

Needless to say, that did not end well for her.

[artist-ellen]

Fooduary Day 7: Chocolate Chip Cookie

A classic, apparently a 1938 classic from Massachusetts. I’m accidentally learning a larger and larger pool of random food facts with this project, which shouldn’t surprise me. XD I ended up going with a sort of milk and cookies vibe with this design, which was fun.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

[akarisandraws]

Day 6!! Flexing those background art muscles in inktober? Unbelievable.

(( Check out my inktober so far vid! ))

[bacchuschucklefuck]

[avephelis]

evil artstyle chippy if i have to touch another gradient in the next week i'm throwing hands

[orgonongurlz]

today marks 6 years since supermarket scandal aired which means… ITS CHIP WHISTLERS NON-CANONICAL BIRTHDAY!!

chip means the actual world to me and to celebrate his birthday i wanted to top what i did last year!!

so this time i redrew 9 of my favorite frames from each of his episodes!!

im so happy this is the second birthday of his ive been able to celebrate

happy birthday chip!! (and also andromeda.., and tildromeda…)

[weevmo]

Daily OC Challenge Day 1 and 2!

1: Character most likely to become an evil dictator -

Chip Buddy alllllll the way - it's just too bad his fellow sock brethren don't share his woolen vigor!

2: Genderbent -

Starring the CS gang; it wouldn't matter for Nim! Lulu would be thrilled perhaps, and WB....you can't bend what isn't there -

[everygameover]

Chip's Challenge 1991 - Windows 3.1

[nicollekidman]

NOT PEOPLE THINKING GRAND SLAMS ARE LIKE WINNING SCHOOL SPELLING BEES!!!! 6 grand slams are like you are a world class player OF ALL TIME, do people know how many people actually win grand slams? its NOBODY but like a very select group lol

there is simply a large difference between “he’s the least naturally gifted” and “he’s a mediocre player” and it doesn’t make patrick any less talented to be like. yeah art has those titles specifically because tashi is his coach and he plays as a surrogate for her. he’s also still playing! we’re just being silly with semantics but like free my man he’s not mediocre and i don’t believe in “natural talent” so the fact that he has to work at it and he keeps getting injuries and they keep ravaging his body in the relentless pursuit of something he wouldn’t even chose for himself is actually. so hot. like it’s HOT. patrick sleeping in his car and not eating and he still easily plays how he does while art has an army of trainers and a domme wife who psychosexually tortures him into the match….. its all ingredients for a yummy meal.

[tradgedyinwaves]

You can't breathe.

Your lungs are burning.

There are tears dripping from your eyes.

Your mouth is open like a silent scream.

Your hands claw at your chest like that will help you draw breath.

You've never laughed so hard than at Johnny, Kyle, Simon, and Price trying the One Chip Challenge.

[never-obsolete]

Chip's Challenge (Lynx, 1989)