#cue brain rot exhibit

[cuephrase]

no, i am not thinking about dick and tim's relationship and how many awful, tragic moments of dick's tim has had a front row seat to. that night at the circus when dick's parents die. when his wedding with kory was ruined. when he kills the joker. when dick asks who adopted him if there is no bruce wayne and is met with silence. when donna dies. when dick breaks down in a burning building because blockbuster is dead and it's his fault. when dick is so full of self-loathing that he tells tim to forget he ever knew him. when bruce dies. when damian dies. when the worst happens.

i'm not thinking about how tim met bruce in a deep low and it colors how he views him. but dick? he has seen dick fall apart and hit rock bottom and it has never changed who dick is to him- his hero, his role model, his brother.

i'm not thinking about how unconditionally tim loves dick. how undeserving dick feels of tim's love. how bruce's death pushed them apart when they needed each other more than ever.

i'm totally not thinking about them

[practically-an-x-man]

Soooooooo....

Ahk and Kat...

Got any AU headcanons for if the both of them were the same age, either modern NYC or ancient Egypt?

oooh, interesting question! thank you!

Let's see... there is a bit later on in the story that can kinda be seen as what would happen if they met back in Ancient Egypt, but I can't say much more without it being super spoilery. But hey, just for funsies, here's some headcanons anyway:

Modern AU: Kat is still an art student at Pratt, and Ahk is studying Egyptology/archaeology at Cambridge. Let's say they really do have a partnership with the New York natural history museum, and so they run into each other at the museum one day: Katherine's drawing the exhibits for practice, and Ahk is wandering around killing time before he meets up with an instructor to look at the records. I'm envisioning Katherine in the Egypt exhibit, sitting on the floor and sketching (and thinking she's out of the way enough), and Ahk very nearly trips over her when he comes in. Cue rampant apologies and a tooth-rotting meet-cute.

And honestly... this might just be because I watched Love at First Sight recently and it's still turning around in my brain, but I'm thinking that they end up chatting but forget to exchange phone numbers before they have to split up. And Ahk doesn't use social media, so she can't track him down despite his rather distinct name. For a while, it seems like it's a lost cause, but then he comes sprinting up to her right as she's about to leave (or maybe this even happens a few days later, and he missed his flight to see her again). Adorable, heartwarming reunion, and they live happily ever after :)

Ancient Egypt AU: Ahk has just been crowned pharaoh, and he can't quite process it at first. Desperately needing a break from all the glamor and attention, he decides to slip out one day, dressed in ordinary clothes and giving away nothing that he's a pharaoh. He reasons that most of the people in the city haven't actually seen him up close, and wouldn't recognize his face. He doesn't think about the fact that rumors might be enough, and he's one of very few people in Kemet with blue eyes (I want to say the only one for ~narrative flair~ but chances are he wasn't given the gene evolved 6,000-10,000 years ago in Turkey and would likely have spread to Egypt by that time. Either way it would be rare.)

Anyway, he decides to walk around the markets for a little fresh air, and he runs into a young artist who's working hard to manage her stall in the market. She's younger than many of the other vendors, and a little overwhelmed by the flood of people. Ahk offers to help, and manages to keep the chaos to a minimum (and gets many of her pieces sold for her). It seems as though she doesn't recognize him, and it's a relief to be seen as an equal rather than an authority.

This is the part where it gets... tricky. Obviously I haven't quite decided where this might go since it's not an actual fic I'm writing, but I'm thinking he keeps coming back, "undercover", and helps her manage her stall until she gets her footing. After this? Who knows. All I know is that there would be a reveal that isn't actually a reveal (since Katherine recognized him from the moment they met, but chose not to spill anything), and eventually he'd court her and choose her as his bride even though his parents are pushing for a more diplomatic marriage. And of course, I'd write a way to get him away from Kahmunrah - maybe he's off helping Katherine when the assassination attempt is made, and instead of him being discreetly killed, they discover Kahmunrah as the intended murderer and put him away. Cue another happily-ever-after.

[ellsbclls]

you write hurt/comfort so beautifully, it makes me want to have tom comfort me like that ): do u think you could write something where he's taking care of you after a long day at work?? and if it's a little nsfw i wouldn't mind but u dont have to do anything ur not comfortable with. again L O V E ur work!!

thank you so much 🥺 i guess i just try to portray a type of love i think everyone deserves! but also thank you for giving me this idea because my mind went rampant. i also don’t know why the reader is a musician, but just roll with it i guess idk what happened there??? 

i hope this tickles your fancy! nsfw, so extended warnings will be under the cut! please do not interact if you're a minor!!

extended warnings: cue fingering, and some messy, needy sex in the bathtub 🛁✨

The steam rising from the bathtub makes light work of your weary muscles, menthol vapors kissing up your spine, soothing the knots scattered across the length of your back. You were in dire need of this, after the plight of a day you’d endured. A couple of hours in the studio had quickly spiraled into a six hour-session, with nothing to show for it but a lousy sixteen measures of brass ensembles — and by the good grace of your talent and patience, the artist has requested you drop in for their session again.

The thought makes you want to drown.

Instead, you opt to curl into yourself, softly pressing your cheek into your knee, watching the spindles of warmth waft up from your well earned bubble bath. In retrospect, the weight of your day didn’t fall solely on this new client — if you’re being honest, they actually had a lot of potential. You wouldn’t mind having your name tethered to a couple of their hits — but Tom had just returned home from a three month long shoot, and you’ve only been graced the luxury of his presence for less than 24 hours. Any time that isn’t being spent with him feels blasphemous, but since he has yet to return from his unknown whereabouts, you seized the opportunity to flush out as much irritability as possible before he returned.

You didn’t know just how tired you were until you were woken up.

A half an hour passes before you’re tousled from your dreamless slumber by a docile touch, familiar digits scaling the curve of your spine before they take a detour at the nape of your neck, carefully parting stray strands of hair to either side of your frame.

“Tom?” You hum, dulcet tones wafting through the steam akin to a dream as it ebbs from the rim of your subconscious.

“Yes, darling?” He muses, entranced by the frothy remnants of your bath soak as he dips his fingertips into the water.

“I missed you today.” You melt into his touch, allowing your head to fall to the side and survey his attire. His hair is all tousled, chestnut locks sprouting from the bottom of his backwards strewn baseball cap, and those honey-dipped hues you adore so much are creased with concern. You want nothing more than to soothe them away with the pad of your thumb, and so you indulge yourself, reaching over the edge of the tub as you continue to ramble. “I started the day already praying for it to be over with, and somehow, every single inconvenience fathomable decided to fall onto my lap. I mean — who the fuck needs seven different french horn tracks in an overture? A real band barely needs one.” Tom’s nodding along to your ramblings, but you both know that he doesn’t fully under the lengths of your frustration — just as you’ll never truly understand the inner workings of his own career. “The only thing keeping me together was the thought of coming home to you.”

“I’m so sorry, my love,” He coos, and continues to caress your back, working out all of the knots that the steam couldn’t relieve. “If it’s any consolation, I was only running late because I had to stop and buy some pancetta on the way home.”

“Don’t apologize. I assumed you would be back since all your stuff is still here.” You tease, mirroring his bemused smile, letting his world seep into your slowly booting brain. “Pancetta…” Not many people knew this, not even Tom before his first attempt, but the boy could whip up a mean bowl of pasta. You remember floundering across the bed the night before, identical to a little kid throwing a tantrum, moaning over just how badly you were craving carbonara. Silly of you to think that he’d take your melodramatic request in stride. “Are you-“

His enamored gaze is answer enough, but he pairs it with a chaste kiss to your forehead that has you nuzzling into his touch. “Only the best for my lil’ lady.”

You show a mere fraction of your appreciation with a swift, flurry of kisses over his cheekbones, pulling him closer by the downy bundles of his hoodie. Lovedrunk giggles and contented sighs bounce off the tiles before you’re both submerged in a comfortable silence, one that leaves the both of you free to shamelessly examine the other, one clad in their comfy, weatherworn disguise while the other dawns nothing but an enchanted smile. Even with the disparity between your attire, you both end up with flushed cheeks and dopey grins.

Hours, days, years seem to press on until you break the silence with a silly question, one that you ask in hopes of hearing his gentle, candied voice once more — or even better, his laugh. “What would you do if I was as big as a thumbtack? Would you still love me?” You query, a childlike sense of wonderment tinting your sugar-coated sigh.

He takes a second to ponder your questions, taking it into far more consideration than you had in bringing it to fruition. You can’t stifle the tiny puff of air that leaves your lips, the semblance of a chuckle, and Tom, with his wild brow and theatrical ways, whips his head in your direction, sending you a cautionary glare. “I suppose I would…” He starts, only to tap his finger against his bottom lip, drawing the suspense to its boiling point by the time you shove his forearm. “But then again, it doesn’t matter what size you are, there’s no limit to how much I love you.”

“Hmm,” you manage to vocalize. Your heart is now a star, an incandescent ball of fire caged beneath your ribs, and if he hasn’t gathered it by now, then he can bask in the warmth of your smile and know that for him, for him it is the sun.

You have to admit that you got ahead of yourself. One moment, you were binding your lips in a bruising, indulgent union, urging him to bask in the lovelorn rays of light he summoned, but only managing to pull him into the bathtub, fully clothed and unsuspecting. What was once your lukewarm oasis is suddenly a swirling cauldron of spearmint, teatree, and now unmistakable notes of him, sloshing against the edge of the tub as his frame struggles against the latent tide. There’s bound to be one hell of a mess waiting on the bathroom floor, but now that he’s settled in your grasp, you see no reason to fret just yet.

“Y/N.” His voice is deadpan, which can mean one of two things — he’s either overwhelmed with joy, or exhibiting a great deal of restraint in not drowning you right then and there. You choose to cancel out the latter, and offer the best attempt at innocence your babydoll eyes could muster, peering at him through your lashes with a teeth-rotting gleam.

“What?” You ask simply. His eye starts to twitch, and you only double down on your facade. “I just wanted to be closer to you.” Wading through the newly shallow body of water, half of its contents now dispersed across the tile floor, you make light work of his soggy hoodie, sloughing it over his head as he grumbles beneath it, giggling when it catches against that razor-sharp jawline of his.

“Well, you are very close now.” You notice how his voice drops down an octave, and you’re embarrassed to admit just how quickly the coil in your stomach tightens at the sound of it, how it already aches to be pulled taut. 

Tom seems unsuspecting enough when he captures your lips once again, his brims as delicate as baby’s breath against your own, tentative as they glide in a sultry dance. He doesn’t need to coax a confession out of you, the truth is already there, nestled in your urgent, needy pressure, in the whimpers threatening to spill into his lips. He’ll indulge in this little game for a moment longer — where you pretend that you aren’t desperate for his touch, and he pretends that he isn’t just as desperate to provide it — but once you fumble into his lap, clumsily grasping for more, and more, and even more of him, his resolve begins to crumble.

“I need you.” you whisper into the hollow of his mouth, golden-tongued and virtually earnest, coaxing a trembling sigh from the back of his throat.

He hums back, contented, basking in the intoxicating warmth of your silhouette, tracing the curve of your breasts with his knuckles. “Long day, my love?”

“Mhmm,” You demonstrate your point with a wistful sigh,  enveloping his great hands with your smaller ones, coating them in languid kisses until there was no skin left untouched.

You’re just too fucking cute, he muses. He can never say no to you, not even in jest.

Two of his slender digits roam the valley of your stomach, knuckles ghosting over your navel in their listless descent before they venture between your thighs, surveying just how badly you really need him. He dips his middle finger between your folds, tender and slick with your arousal, and emits a husky groan as he traces a steady line between your entrance and the spot just below your clit, ghosting your little bundle of nerves with each taunting caress. “You’re already soaked, my love. This all for me?” He coos, nudging your jaw with the tip of his nose, pressing a wet, open mouthed kiss against the column of your neck.

“All for you,” You sigh, digging your nails into the broad planes of his shoulder. “Please, Tom, please touch me.”

He finally spares you, thumb sloppily circling your clit as he plunges two digits into your opening, welcoming the lithe intrusion with a warm, velvety embrace. You slump into his embrace, nipples straining hard against the soaked fabric of his t-shirt, and raggedly whimper as he starts to work you open. The reminder of your nude form plastered against his clothes, albeit soaking wet, summons another pool of wetness to your core. You’re flooded with thoughts of delectable anguish — of denim kissing your hips, dragging against your bundle of nerves, as he ravages your bare little cunt, proving that you’re so desperate for his cock that you can barely wait for him to undress.

“Is this all you needed, baby? My fingers? You wanted me to stretch this pretty little cunt out?” He can’t stop the filthy words tumbling from his lips, especially not when your tiny mewls of pleasure are flooding his ears — you’re just so soft and pliant under his touch, so eager to be filled to the brim, it’s intoxicating to know that you’ll take anything he has to offer you. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m gonna give you everything you need. Gonna have you spilling all over my fingers and then — fuck! — then i’m gonna fill you up with my cock. How does that sound?

“Y-yeah,” You’re rutting against his palm at this point, grinding down to meet each thrust, to feel impossibly closer, fuller, ambling toward an orgasm that is already barreling toward you. As he finds a new angle, the pads of his fingers nudge against your g-spot, and the heel of his hand careens over your clit with such a delicious pressure that your thighs begin to quake. “‘M so close.” You whine, prompting him to punctuate each thrust with a curl of his fingers, dragging your orgasm from the pit of your stomach.

“Then let go, baby. Let go for me.” You need no further persuasion, your eyes squeezing shut as you teeter off the edge, with nothing but a raspy, desperate string of obscenities, clawing at the slope of his shoulders, and bathing his hand in sultry waves of nectar as it spills from your weepy little hole. His fingers are trapped between your fluttering walls, working you through your climax with nimble, tentative thrusts, stretching each wave of pleasure out until you’re trembling over little ripples.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” You feel so small beneath his gaze, teeming with endless pools of adoration, like you’re a freshwater clearing and he’s parched. It nearly distracts you from his fingers as they slip from your opening, but each receding wave of bliss is tethered to him, so you groan at the loss of contact. Your walls flutter hopelessly around nothing, chasing the delicious stretch of his digits in their absence, but you’re instantly qualmed by the sound of his zipper being pulled down, no doubt freeing himself from the waterlogged confines of his jeans.

“Can I?” You sink your hands into what little water still remains in the tub, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans, but he swats your shaky hands away, adamantly shaking his head as a small frown of confusion forms between your brows. “You don’t wanna take ‘em off?”

“This is about you, my love.” He whispers, his free hand smoothing over the small of your back, stroking the patch of dew-ridden skin with his thumb. “And right now, all I wanna do is keep my promise.”

“You’re so good to me,” You whisper just above his lips, leaning back into his touch, peering between your bodies to survey his ministrations. You’re still a bit dazed from your first, earth-shattering orgasm, but the prospect of another has you buzzing with excitement, and Tom knows that look well enough to speed up his course of action.

Pearly veneers sink into the swell of your bottom lip at the mere sight — his cock is beyond compare. Even as its impatiently pulled through the opening of his jeans, it’s put on a mouth-watering display as he leisurely pumps himself, smearing tiny pearls of precum across his flushed, leaky tip with each upstroke. He’s far too enticing, far too pretty with his rosy cheeked, droopy-eyed charm, to resist, and you’re quick to replace his hand with your own, curling your fingers around the base and mimicking a couple teasing pumps before guiding him to your entrance.

Tom spreads his legs a little wider to accommodate you, the sensation of wet denim rubbing against your thighs, knocking your legs farther apart, causes a soft whimper to fall from your lips. It doesn’t take long for you to align the head of his cock with your entrance, teasing him with a couple of lascivious drags through your folds before you sink onto his length, reigniting the remnants of your last orgasm as inch after delicious inch prods your tender walls apart. By the time he bottoms out, you’re nothing but a trembling pile of limbs, and his lips seek out your own just to muffle your staggered breaths with a burning kiss.

You allow yourself a couple of seconds to adjust — no matter how or which way you take him, he still pushes up every crevice of your insides, demanding every square inch of your velvety heat. A wild flurry of crimson blossoms across the high planes of your cheeks as Tom nuzzles his forehead against your own, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing a melodious string of giggles from your chest while you scrunch up your nose. He presses a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips and smiles against the spot. “You look so pretty like this, my love. With that gorgeous smile of yours, and that pretty little pussy squeezing my cock.” You feel like you’ve got whiplash, trying to come to terms with how obscene he can be under such tender movements. “Just wanna turn you over and bury myself inside. See how tight you feel when you’re folded in half.” His hands reach down to rub gentle, circular motions into the small of your back, and you can’t help but pulse around him at the juxtaposition.

Once the uncomfortable stretch of his girth melts into pleasure, you finally start to work yourself over his length, and you swear you can feel every gorgeous ridge and vein of his cock as you rise up to the tip, only to plunge back down with a impish yelp, setting a clumsy, needy pace that certainly gets the job done. You don’t really find your rhythm until Tom helps you out, sinking his fingers into the supple curve of your ass, orchestrating a hard, punishing pace as he drives up into your sopping cunt, meeting you in the middle with each thrust.

All at once, the bathroom is washed in a crude symphony, the combination of your heavy panting and slapping skin intermingles with the shallow splash of water as it laps against the edge of the tub, punctuating the sinful drag of his length, and how the tip pounds against your furthest wall as you impale yourself onto him. You can feel another orgasm start to build, and since Tom has made it his solemn vow to not only study, but master, every little, scrumptious detail of your body, he senses it as well. 

“You got another one for me?” He asks between labored pants. His own orgasm is starting to peak over the horizon, following in the blazing trail you’ve set, you can tell by the way a thin sheen of sweat starts to build against his hairline, and his brows almost meet in the middle, as if the feeling of your pussy pulsing around his cock is unfathomable. He uses the grip he has on your waist to take control, using one hand to scale up the breadth of your back, and as his palms leave a blistering trail up, up, up your sides, he pulls you flush against his chest, attempting to plant his feet against the floor of the bathtub, 

He needs the leverage to piston his hips up into your own, to pound into your greedy hole at an unyielding pace — to keep his promise — and as you start to feel the tell tale edge of your climax cresting over your weary frame, you spoil his shoulder with sweeping, butterfly kisses and flood his mind with sweet, sweet nothings, luring him to the brink with the same dulcet tones you know drive him wild.

His hips stutter into your own, and before the words can even exit your lips, you’re dragged to the edge of bliss with a couple of rough, uncompromising thrusts that have you wildly spasming around his length. He joins you almost immediately, throbbing against your sensitive walls as he fills you to the brim, driving the mixture of your arousal further into you as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

Once he pulls out, he’s quick to wrap you up in a soothing embrace, planting kisses over every acre of skin he can get his lips on, but you’re too focused on the trail of cum leaking down your thighs to really indulge him, curiosity getting the better of you as you gently weave your arm between your bodies and collect the wetness on your thighs. You swear you can feel the rumble of his chest once you pop your fingers into your mouth, humming around the sodden digits, making a spectacle out of the addicting elixir pooling on your tongue, but his glimmer of reinvigorated stamina is put to rest by the sight of your drowsy, half-lidded stare.

“Why don’t we get you dried off? Then I can start dinner.” He hums against your cheek, punctuating his suggestion with yet another chaste kiss. It’s genuinely like he can’t get enough, and neither can you as you sleepily nod.

“Will you wake me up when it’s ready?” You sigh, teetering on the edge of slumber once more.

“Of course, my love.”

[inspector-montoya-fox]

#5 - The Cold Heart of Hate

Setting: well that was fast... we make it to Russia, where we’re greeted to the evilest of evil lairs. when not dodging robo-falcons and burning boulders, the first mission acts as a tour and establishes the fact that we’re legit in a volcano. i don’t want to say that this is anticlimactic because the missions in this episode are truly hard, but there’s no hub to explore. instead, it’s a chain of missions that lead to the Clockwerk battle, and i guess that makes sense since there’s no time to waste, the stakes are high, etc. if you weren’t able to piece the clues together about Clockwerk’s identity up to this point, the missions do not help. unlike some of the game’s other episodes where the baddies’ personalities are reflected by the settings, Clockwerk remains a shadow up until the very end (and that’s kinda ironic when you think about how he has a huge fucking tower with his face on it). considering the absence of a main hub, the missions do a pretty good job in establishing the mood. we see the outside and inside of the volcano while controlling the van, and then Bentley’s hacking and Sly’s journey into the lab exhibit the level’s technological/ science-y aesthetic. on that note, let’s talk a bit about that lab. i’ve mentioned this before on my account but Cold Heart of Hate is a slave to the early platformer tradition of having an evil lab as the final stage. i don’t blame the game for that - here’s what’s weird though: if Clockwerk is so much larger than Sly, he couldn’t possibly fit into that lab. so... who works there? the robo-falcons? or is Clockwerk actually a ship for someone else? i uh *removes tin foil hat* ...... the huge Clockwerk tower is great for exposition, given that Clockwerk, although a rotting owl corpse stuffed inside a machine, has a huge ego. Sinking Peril is my favorite mission in the episode because it sets up the perfect atmosphere for the final bossfight. fighting the bird over its sinking tower of a replica not only ups the ante but also makes it feel even more satisfying when we finally get to drop it into the lava. lastly, i said Sunset Snake Eyes represented red and i kinda regret it now because that should have been orange and Cold Heart of Hate should have been red. welp! Cold Heart of Hate can be black. seems fitting.

Characters: i lied - the setting does reflect Clockwerk’s character in a very specific way: we’re literally inside a cottdamn volcano. tensions are brewing, the veil is about to be removed. Clockwerk is great. no, he’s more than great. he’s a satisfying and deserving final boss. he’s a maniacal, narcissistic, eGoMaNiAc that really gets under your skin when he keeps on pulling off the reveals. not ONLY has he killed Sly’s entire lineage, the QUEEN had the AUDACITY to stay alive for centuries! Clock-werk it baby! we have no choice but to STAN. the bitch is evil and that’s made crystal clear. his source of youth? hatred. the bird literally killed to remain healthy. and i’m glad he knows no shame because the monologue at the beginning of the bossfight is everything i ever wanted. i guess, Clockwerk has the shortest appearance in the game but still manages to make it impactful. whoever played the game during their childhood knows what i’m talking about - the music, the dialogue, the purple shooting cues: they all remain fresh in the head. the bossfight is the stuff of nightmares. Carmelita makes her final comeback in the perfect recipe for a climactic clash. she starts off as the damsel in distress that can’t be trusted because of her profession, but ultimately helps Sly take down Clockwerk. and i love that this is the beginning of Carmelita putting an end to Sly’s nemeses. her role is great here. yes, she’s the love interest that gets shamelessly left behind at the very end, but she’s the one that helps Sly get back his cain. actually, here’s something i’ve never thought of before: we make such a huge deal out of Carmelita being a playable character in Sly 3, that we all forgot she was playable in Sly 1 as well. i’m lowkey shocked. i don’t know how i overlooked this BUT ALSO shocked to just realise that in both Sly 1 and 3, Sly loses his cain (SP stuck to the original formula for final level suspense, i guess). and let me use that revelation to segue to Sly. he’s made it y’all!!! he’s finally here, ready to extract vengeance. and it shows. we might take his valour and chivalry for granted because this is the Sly we all know and love, but if this was your first time playing the game and somehow escaped all possible clichés by living under a rock your entire life, you’ll appreciate the raccoon’s persistence to save Carmelita. he didn’t have to do it, but he did it. let me praise Kevin Miller here for a sec, because without his voice-acting this would mean nothing. but it’s because of him that it means so much. when you finally beat Clockwerk and the cutscene starts playing and Sly says how he’s made it, it really feels like home, y’know? damn. also: Bentley and Murray finally come into the spotlight. i don’t want to go into detail because i’d rather talk about friendship in the cottdamn Themes section, but Cold Heart of Hate is what makes them true characters.

Themes: off the top of my head? legacy, revenge, friendship, love trumps hate, climax, heat, honour, the past, and many more. i’ll go with my favs because this deserves a post on its own. friendship goes hand-to-hand with love trumps hate because it’s represented by everyone that came out to support Sly. Bentley, Murray and Carmelita come through. they put their fears and differences aside and prevail to help Sly get to the top. they all play their roles, their motivation being love for the raccoon, and that comes into stark contrast with Clockwerk’s preachings. the age-old “good vs evil”. Clockwerk stayed alive by feeding on hatred and got his ass kicked by a group of friends and the love interest (not yet a woman on her own). it’s traditional and it works. similarly to Tide of Terror, the theme of heat ensures that the player is kept engaged. there’s no time to roam around, find clue-bottles, etc. the need to finish this as quickly as possible is enhanced by the volcano landscape and the high temperature. this is especially seen in Sinking Peril because of the rising lava. if you waste time you will literally get gobbled up. the lava encapsulates Sly’s progress and his temper as well. he’s burning inside, itching to finally get revenge (you’ll notice that Sly 1 has no operations and that presents the gang’s early days, Sly’s rash attitude and his persistence to just go up to the main baddie and fight). and the heat’s significance is ultimately shown when Clockwerk sinks into the lava. he doesn’t only get blown up - he “dies”, sinking into the volcano, deteriorating in the heat, showing how time is inescapable. there’s some karmic energy going on here, as Clockwerk cheated the Coopers of a normal death and in turn got served, showing that even if you find a way to stay alive it ultimately won’t work. i also want to touch on motifs, and the motif of technology is a nice one. it doesn’t only showcase Clockwerk’s genius, but it also allows for Bentley to go head-to-head with the owl. there’s something truly cyber about Cold Heart of Hate, but not in the traditional sense. like, the collapsing computer screens during Burning Rubber feel absurdly surreal, pushing the cyber-ness to its limits. i don’t even know anymore, i’m tired.

What I Like: hmmm... i like traversing Clockwerk’s lab. i love Sinking Peril. i love that the end cutscene gifted humanity with those Japanese Barbie Girl rainbow videos. there’s no room for likes and dislikes here, but favourite detail would definitely have to be Clockwerk’s health-bar animations during the bossfight, slowly turning from owl to computer brain thing. very reminiscent of a purple yak toy in a Cartoon Network show which i’m dying trying to remember. if anyone knows what i’m going on about lmk please.

What I Don’t Like: the lack of a hub to explore kinda irks me but i won’t say i don’t like it because i understand why they didn’t include one. instead, this spot goes to Murray’s driving and Bentley’s hacking. thematics aside, i literally do not want to replay Cold Heart of Hate because of the Murray section with the slime monsters. the controls continue to be clunky, the slime monsters are annoying and look like they have raisins for eyes. Bentley’s hacking isn’t as annoying, but it’s definitely frustrating. it’s a far cry from Sly 2 and 3′s hacking parts... yea.........

Quote: Perfection has no age...

[latitudesunknown]

Day 31 on Tiny Haven

Marie starts the day with a very important announcement.

(1) 🧦

Against all logic, I buy turnips again, mostly because I saw a friend mention letting some of them rot “for the ants”. I haven’t seen any ants so far. I want to see ants.

I read an entire article on the business of turnips the other day and let’s just say my brain cannot even imagine spending hours studying the turnip market like some people are doing. It’s not like making money is even hard in this game! To me, trying to make a fortune in turnips is like Raymond bringing his office to a paradise island - criminally misguided.

The camping is empty for the third day running. I have a sneaky suspicion there will be no camper until I build some more houses. That is a bummer.

Raymond, who still will not accept any gift, goddamnit, informs me that Nacer’s come down with something. Oh no! I hope it’s not Covid!

(2) 😱

I rush to Nacer’s, who indeed looks like crap, shambling around his tiny house.

I brought him some oranges, but turns out all he needed was one of my bee-sting remedies. A good day’s sleep and he should be right as rain, whew.

(3) Coming from him, that means a lot.

A check-up of the island’s flowers brings up some intriguing violet tulips. Can’t wait to see them fully grown!

I launch Destination Pink into action...

If I don’t manage to get pink flowers with that set-up, I’ll eat my hairclip.

I’ve also planted myself a little orange grove. It’s about time I did something with those hills (and also I’m sick to death of all those ferns).

I find Vanessa’s bag outside of her house, and this allows us to become True Friends(tm). Another one bites the sweet friendly dust!

(4) She says, giving me what might just be the best piece of clothing I’ve gotten so far.

Problem is, the game only rewarded me for my first three True Friends, so I guess I’ll never know if the others also make the cut. I will have to somehow judge our friendship through cues like gifts and smiles...

In the afternoon, I make myself a little reading nook. I still haven’t really found a way to optimize my living room space, it’s vexing me.

And then I spend some time just watching Abraham being adorable.

(okay, I admit, I also wondered if there way any way I could steal his juice pack. I’m desperate for junk food, and they all keep parading juice and donuts in front of my nose!)

My evening is pretty chill. I run into Renée again, who thanks me for “trying so hard to bring Keke to the island”. She’s not the first, and she won’t be the last, and the guilt doesn’t get easier to bear.

(5) On the other hand, Renée, if the most exciting item you can think of to “make this island more attractive” is a fucking garden hose reel.... well, maybe you don’t deserve me to make an effort.

Raymond tries to convince me he is a real human being with thoughts and aspirations.

(6) Words, words, words, Raymond. Set your desk on fire and then I’ll start believing you.

I end my day by battling a tarantula... and winning!

Meet your doom, you creepy creepy monster!

And since the thought of keeping a spider in my pocket for the entire night is unbearable... I run back to the Nook shop like a chicken to dump it in the deposit box. Won’t Méli and Mélo get a ♪ lovely ♫ surprise tomorrow morning!

🕷️

Subtitles

(1) I found back the sock I’d lost months ago! It was behind the washing machine!

(2) Did you hear? Apparently, Nacer’s caught a nasty bug that was going around.

(3) I’ll make it up to you! If you fall sick, I’ll come visit you. I’ll use that excuse to do my daily run!

(4) I think you’ve gone and deserved a wrap dress! I hope you like it!

(5) I thought maybe a hose reel could help you make our island look good...

(6) That gave me an idea for an exhibition! “Raymond and the sea”. Simple and effective!