#egads! it speaks!

[usamey]

happy pride! william murderface would like to announce something

//cw flashing

[jetlaggingbehind]

scout wishing for a girl who'd love him without being cajoled into it..... still becoming like his ma and raising a bunch of kids from his deadbeat partners..... spy STILL not telling him that he's his dad..... some fun scout abandonment issue bits to toy around with here

[needybimbopuppy]

or if someone wants a pic of my tits for like ten bucks sure whatever ill do that

[weaselishmcdiesel]

biting biting biting biting youuu--

this is anon hate youll never guess from who

all i have to do is examine the bite marks and then ask everyone i know to send me a picture of their teeth! perfect plan...............

[bugpoasting]

also another facet of girl!beatles au that i personally find sososo fun is dirtbag lesbian probably sex addict george . so fun

[falderaletcetera]

[edit: venting redacted]

I'm really missing the times when I was ignorant about what people would actually do for others ppl's health, lads

[doggerell]

also they keep giving these things the most horrible names pls 💀

theres a new Mella track today but I havent listened yet Im #scared

[quartztwst]

Azul probably knows what slang or "internet lingo" is but he chooses to speak like an old geezer because he doesn't know how to use them ("egads!!!")

He's like those guys who try to impress girls by using their extended vocabulary but they actually sound like complete nerds

gustory olfactory and tiles man shut up

[desceros]

Can you do a Bay!TMNT X reader that doesn't have an accent normally but when they get upset that shit just appears outta thin air and they can barely understand them? Thank you!!

egads, something has upset the dear sweetheart. :)

tmnt x reader; i say fuck but otherwise it's G, GN!Reader

Leonardo

immediately, he’s focusing in on the fact that you’re upset. whichever brother is closest is on call to handle that issue while he takes care of you. big bug? donnie, annihilate. scary dude? raph, if you please. bad news? mikey, go into the kitchen and bring that box of cookies we all pretend not to know we’re dipping into.

once he’s got The Issue under control, he goes to you to check and make sure you’re okay. before he’s even talking to you, his eyes are going head to toe to make sure you’re fine. only then does he ask.

leo: what happened you: [fdalsjflksjflsakjfas] leo: …………what

he’s so, so patient about not knowing what the fuck you’re saying. gently, he’ll put his hands on your shoulders, pulling you a little close, blocking everything else out, giving you a safe bubble, softly murmuring your name until he has your attention.

“breathe. match with me,” he’ll say, taking one of your hands and pressing your palm to his plastron so you can feel his lungs work. in, out. in, out. in, out. as many times as it takes before you’re calm again. 

“okay?” he’ll wait for you to nod, or give him some indication you’re good to go now. then he’ll find out what upset you, if it wasn’t already obvious, and transition to fixing it mode.

later, while meditating, now that the scary moment has passed, he’ll think it’s kind of cute—only to immediately get annoyed with himself, because no, it’s a problem, what if something seriously wrong happens and he can’t communicate? ok but it is kinda cute he makes a mental note to work with you so he can understand you in case of emergency in the future.

Donatello

the second donnie sees that you’re anything other than sparkling with joy, he has a split second of what do what do before the boy is on it. he’s in your space, cupping your jaw, making sure it’s not something physical that’s the problem.

donnie: what happened?! are you okay? you: [ladjflaskjfklasjf]!! donnie: …huh. ok. not exactly helpful.

still, donnie knows the value of a good ramble. once he’s sure you’re not hurt, he just cups your nape with one hand and lets you talk. does he understand a word you’re saying? nope. does he care? nope. he’ll let you work out the whole thing in gibberish first, get all the hyper-aroused emotion out of your system, and once you’re calmed down enough to where you can speak normally again, then he’ll get the details.

sliding his thumb to your pulse to make sure it’s at a normal level again, he’ll ask once you calm down. “okay, that’s better. now, what happened?” 

if something’s spooked you, he takes care of it. (bug? annihilated.) if someone scared you, he takes care of it. (bad dude? he looks at raph, who just grins a little ferally and handles it).  if it’s bad news or something of that ilk, he pulls you into a hug and slowly rubs your back, keeping you pressed against his plastron so you can focus on the feel of his scutes instead of your problems.

later, in his lab, he’ll be sitting at his desk fiddling with a rubix cube, not really solving it, just sitting there burning bc oh, it was so cute, oh it was so cute, you’re so cute and he’s kind of dying a little just thinking about all the ways that you’ve completely, irrevocably charmed him

Raphael

oh. so someone has decided to die today. 

raph sees you’re upset and the first thing he does is check and see if someone else is involved. if yes, they’re about to have a bad day. he’s got pointy weapons and a short fuse, and you’re a hot-button issue on top of that.

if you’re alone, he grabs you and tosses you over his shoulder to get you somewhere private so you can let it all out. he hates showing weakness to his brothers and he won’t make you do it, either. his sweetheart gets privacy for their meltdowns. once he drops you, that’s when he asks.

raph: the hell happened? you: [fdlsafjlsakjflsa]— raph: whoa, whoa, i ain’t catchin’ what you’re sayin’. start over. you: [fdljsafklasjflkasjf]!! raph: ……nope.

the poor guy has no idea what to do, so he tries to think about what he can do to get you calmed down enough to make some sense. you enjoy sitting in his lap on movie nights, so he sits on the nearest surface and plops you in place, rubbing his hands down your arms like he knows you like. 

“give it a minute, then try again,” he says, probably a little too rough to be considered gentle for most. still, it’s sweet, for him, and he’ll keep up the pets until you’re calm again and can actually explain.

bug is squished. bad guy has found god. if it’s bad news, he keeps petting you, letting you take from him what you need. if it’s his, it’s yours. 

later, he’ll be lying in bed with a pillow over his head, so fuckin’ mad bc you’re so cute and it’s so annoying how easily you get under his skin. 

Michelangelo

first thing mikey does is grab your biceps, getting your attention immediately.

mikey: what’s wrong?! what’s wrong?! you: [orijdklsjfsa]! mikey: …aw, nuts. DONNIE. LEO. help?!

after his brothers tell him that no, they can’t understand you either, he groans and squishes your cheeks with his palms. 

“babe, i know you’re freaking out right now, but it’s gonna be okay, okay? now you gotta start making some sense or else i’m gonna start freaking out, and we really probably both shouldn’t be freaking out at the same time.” 

behind where mikey is doing a stellar job of absolutely not solving anything, leo and donnie take care of the issue, if there is one. bug is squished. bad guy is informed of his need for life insurance. leo slaps a hand on mikey’s shoulder, then the two of them leave, bc they know you’re in good hands. 

(you are in the finest of hands)

despite not knowing how to fix, he knows how to help. he pulls you close and smooches you all over your face, loud smacking kisses that either annoy you into being distracted from what’s bothering you, or that make you laugh bc he’s such an idiot how could he possibly think this would work. (and yet it works.)

only when you put your hand in his face to push him away does he stop, sending you a sunshine grin that acts as a tether for you to become stable again. grabbing your hand, he invites you to tell him what was the problem, twining your fingers together and keeping you calm. 

later he’ll be thinking about your exasperated face when he couldn’t understand you and laugh until his stomach hurts bc you’re so, so adorable and he is so, so glad that you’re in his life and his. 

[lady-rosceline-hurst]

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

{Pirate outpost in view, 50-Unarmoured, 3-Civilian-Class Mechs}

Don't speak too soon, there's one more approaching. Is that-

{Orchis}

Its got House Hurst livery, oh shit, look at the ribbons

{Violet}

Yep, seems to be pretty chummy with those pirates, too...

{Evidence?}

They haven't killed eachother yet.

{Can we use this recording as evidence? Perhaps gift it to your beloved Lady Rosceline}

Hmm, sounds good, now, do we wait for the Orchis to leave? Or just try taking them all out?

{That Orchis could do with a change of colour, how about a nice rose?}

Okay, alright. We have the advantage of surprise, let's try that Deck-Sweeper we found a while back, yeah?

For the honour and glory of the Venerable Lady Rosceline Hurst

[Gunfire]

[Transmission Ends]

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

- Status report, Marceline? Egads. This is why I always did remain on comms with Rebecca on her missions, lest I drown in worry.

- Foundest thee any evidence as to why a Hurst Orchis pilot would keep such strange bedfellows? Tis unlikely that mother dearest would orchestrate such a thing, given their targets hath largely been our own freighters. Mayhap their is some instability among the loyalists.

[nfumbewalk]

Opening

A candle I had burned for my son. Its his zodiac sign color, red for Aries. The knot in the wick still has me concerned.

Well, I've been recently been thinking of my opening and attunement that's been happening for the last two years. Its apparently all been due to me accepting muertos and embracing them into my life. Mostly Rodolfo. He's been instrumental in many changes that have happened in me and my environment. He took many of my fears away and helped me realize that I need to chill out and let my intuition come to me at full force - stop trying to muffle it or deny it.

I did not know my full power. And, my dad didn't tell me much until near his death about muertos speaking to him. Plus his amazing intuition, which now I remember witnessing often. My dad was very empathic and tuned in. As a kid, I went to him when I was ill in the middle of the night - he knew before it happened because he was awake and waiting for me with medicine. Mom never awoke.

Dad was so special and had the temper of a devil. But most times, he was gentle to me. Such a Scorpio too! He was quite interested in astrology and witches, and the powers of stones and plants. He had a learning disability, so his focus was off, but he remained interested in some stuff that I did. I think his death last year has really blown off the lid. I'm so open now!

Before he died, I couldn't hear my relatives talking to me, and really, not many other muertos - just Rodolfo. Seriously! I hear both of my grandpa's, one grandma, my dad, and now - my mom! I know other muertos will come. Hopefully it won't be too overwhelming. I know I'm not making this up. The things they say are so separate from the things that I think of. Their words are nothing like mine. And I've mentioned that they sound SO weird!!

My mom, who I had not heard from since she died in 2006, sounded low and warbly. The women have. Men sound kind of high pitched and whiny like old time radio from the 1930's. Yes, I've heard very old radio. Lol! Now, Rodolfo sounds normal. I think its because he's been dead longer. He sounds kind of like Cheech from Cheech & Chong. He took no offense when I said that. But his voice register is a bit lower.

So, I don't have any idea if my attunement is still happening or not. Oh, Rodolfo just said its not over yet! Egads. What's next?!? I don't know of many other relatives to die. Phew! But, I mentioned Tom's stepdad Chuck. I do think he would communicate with me if he passed. He's already giving away belongings, like a $300 watch to Tom. And a exquisite leather coat to me. He was very wealthy, but lost money due to his son and his other stepson. I hope he will hang on for a bit, unless he is really ready to go. I swear I'm the Angel of Death. I was there when both my parents died!! Well, my dad was gone a little bit before I arrived, but I was holding my mom's hand when she died. 10 minutes to 10 AM, December 16th 2006. Dad was August 25th 2023.

You all can see Rodolfo's tombstone on the header of this blog. He was only 35 years old when he died. He told me he was shot in the guts. I believe him, but Tom is skeptical. The Free Souls are a super cool MC (motorcycle club) but they were/are still dangerous af!!! He didn't make it very far in the Army - his tombstone reads, "PFC." That's Private First Class, very low on the totem pole. He must have gotten out, but honorably discharged because his rank is allowed on his stone. If dishonorably discharged, the military won't let that tombstone happen.

Rodolfo has also said his hand got mangled - perhaps that was the military discharge?!? I've mostly just seen his face and silhouette, so I haven't seen his mangled hand yet. Interesting to just put that together. Look! Neurons firing!! 😂 I think he's proud of me! Haha! He got his tequila today and its going pretty quick. His ritual this morning should have been longer.

I'll make it up to him when I do the Siphoning of the Earth with my Baston de Muerto! Rodolfo just loves it. Dunno why but I see a big grin. Probably because I developed this ritual move for and with him. Oh, and he loves this tool of mine, he says. "Baston de Muerto," means Dead Man's Staff, or Cane. Mine is the staff that you can see in all of Rodolfo's altar photos, on the right side, next to his vessel (bottle). Its a bit over 5' so its taller than me. I'm 4'9". But I wield it very well!

Trying not to jump topics. Its all muertos, right? Lol. My post about Palo brought me another muerto today. My dead Tata. He told me a lot. He tried to comfort me. He kind of did. He said to remember that he was a Palero on the fringes of the religion and wasn't accepted either. That was there was no doubt that I can do it, but my own way. Also that I would need to search Spanish Palo books. He reiterated that these other Paleros that I knew couldn't initiate me for a reason. I wasn't meant to be a branch on their trees. Ill fitting and possibly cheats, they are. He also said that I'm not meant for all of the Regla, just some. Weird, huh? Another muerto!

My opening is still going strong! Apparently I have more work to do? I truly had a change in fortune start this September. I did some ritual work...must have really turned the wheels. Well, good!

Hope this was interesting!

M.M. 💖💀💖

[usamey]

shits goin down in the mojo dojo casa mordhaus

[shivunin]

A Good Fight

(Arianwen Tabris/Zevran Arainai | 2,440 Words | AO3 Link | CW: Mild sexual references/sexual tension)

Summary: Things that annoy Tabris: frivolous conversation and being the butt of a joke. Why, then, can she not get the insufferable Crow out of her mind?

“May I rest my head on your bosom?” the Crow asked somewhere behind Tabris. “I might cry.”

Tabris grimaced, casting a look at Alistair. He echoed her glance, nose wrinkled. It galled her to agree with him, but plainly they were in accord when it came to this.

“You can cry well away from my bosom, I’m certain,” the mage said severely. 

“Reconsidering keeping him around yet?” Alistair asked in a low voice, bending closer. 

Wen pressed her lips together, eyes narrowed, and glanced behind her at the other two. Zevran gazed at Wynne soulfully, one hand pressed to his chest. Wynne was grimacing, staff thumping into the dust of the road as they climbed the hill. 

“Did I tell you I was an orphan?” the former Crow went on, his voice sorrowful. “I never knew my mother.”

“Egad,” Wynne said, disgust as plain in her voice as it was in the lines of her body. “I give up.” 

She sped up, outstripping Zevran and both Wardens. Arianwen watched the mage go, shaking her head, and glanced behind her again. 

Zevran caught her eyes at once and winked. Wen stared back, lips still pressed into a tight line. 

“Maybe I am,” she told Alistair, and turned away again. 

Before them, the harried mage left small clouds of dust above the road. The late afternoon light diffused there, giving the road an odd sort of dreamlike quality. 

“Could still give killing him a shot,” Alistair muttered. 

“What was that? I could not hear you over the sound of all that armor,” Zevran said, abruptly behind them. Arianwen took a large step to the left and carried on. 

“Oh, nothing,” Alistair said. Wen could feel him looking at her, but she ignored the desperate glance. “We, ah…thought your conversation was interesting. That’s all.”

“Ah—so I suppose you also have an opinion about murder, then?” 

There was something under the words. Some sort of…double meaning, hidden undercurrent. Ugh. Wen hated plenty of things, but trying to understand what someone meant when it wasn’t what they actually said ranked highly on the list. 

“Let’s not,” she said. 

“Not what? I am afraid I do not understand you.”

If he started talking about her bosom, she’d just stab him, Wen decided. When she sped up, the assassin matched her. 

“Talk.”

“Pardon? I did not catch what you said.”

“I, ah—wouldn’t push your luck, there,” Alistair said, jogging for several steps until he drew even with the pair of them. “She’s got a short temper.”

“Yes, I had determined as much,” Zevran said. “And how lovely she looks when she is thinking of death.”

Wen stepped directly into his path and stopped moving, forcing the assassin to stop in his tracks or dodge to the side. He chose the former, still smiling broadly, though he stopped only an inch or two away. Arianwen met his eyes squarely, thinking. 

She didn’t think she wanted to kill him. The man was decent enough at what he did. Fighting him had been the best part of fighting any of the Crows. Actually, he’d been her favorite person to fight since they’d left Ostagar. There was something fluid about the way he moved that—well. Fascinated her, actually. She liked watching him. 

No—no, she didn’t want to kill him. What would be the point now? It certainly wasn’t as if she cared that Wynne, of all people, was annoyed. Actually, she should be thanking him. For once, the mage hadn’t been hovering over her shoulder and asking questions. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, to the dust in the air as much as she was speaking to either man, and turned to continue up the hill without any additional elaboration. 

“Yes, I see what you mean,” Zevran said behind her. 

“We aren’t friends, assassin,” Alistair said stiffly, but added in a quieter voice: “Best to avoid prodding at her when she’s already tired.”

“Mmm,” Zevran allowed. Wen gritted her teeth, irritated again, but he went on a moment later. “I shall take your advice very seriously, Warden.” 

Wen glanced behind her one more time, expecting the same cocky grin or perhaps another wink. Instead, she found a flash of something she didn’t expect: 

Exhaustion. Hiding in the corner of his eyes, in the subtle roll of his shoulders.

Ah. That was harder to ignore. 

Wen closed her eyes, willing herself to keep walking. It would be easy. It would be better. He was so annoying; maybe he’d stop talking if he was too tired to manage. 

As soon as she reached the top of the hill, she swung her pack from her shoulder and sat back against a fence. 

Not for him. Obviously not. 

But—maybe it was time for a break. That was all. Redcliffe was almost in sight and they’d probably be busy as soon as they got there. Best they sit and rest now before they no longer had the choice. 

She certainly, pointedly did not breathe easier when the Crow sat to her left with an audible sigh of relief. 

|

“Are you quite certain you are ready for this?” the assassin asked. 

Wen, who’d deposited the last of her armor to the side of the clearing, nodded curtly. She’d have to be a fool to think he had nothing to teach her. Whenever possible, she did try not to be a fool.

“I need to know all I can. Show me, if you want to.”

The outskirts of the Brecilian rose around them, trees already towering higher than she’d ever seen them before. This place was odd and old, breaking the monotony of carefully planted fields and abandoned villages. She didn’t feel like herself here. It was as if she’d slipped off her skin and found it ill-fitting upon its return. Or—perhaps something hung watching in the air here. Something that saw her, that waited and knew. 

She couldn’t say she liked it. 

“If I want to?” Zevran flipped the knife in his hand once, neatly. “And here you have been asking so politely, Warden. How could I say no?”

“You’ve just said it,” Wen replied, taking a slow, smooth step to the side. “Obviously you know how.” 

“Tch,” he began to circle with her—taking her measure, she thought. Some of the glossy humor fell away, baring the steel beneath. “So literal.”

Wen huffed, refusing to be dragged into a conversation. She’d get distracted by talking and then he’d strike. She knew exactly how this worked. 

“First and foremost,” he said, “I have seen you fight. You are very skilled, yes? But you are not careful.”

Wen felt her eyebrows climb. Zevran feinted, she sidestepped, and they resumed pacing each other. 

“Are you suggesting I get thicker armor?” she asked. 

He laughed, a deeper thing than his usual chuckle. Wen narrowed her eyes. 

“You have been spending too much time with Alistair. No—I am suggesting you learn to be quieter,” he said, and moved—it was like his body had become liquid for a moment, flowing so close that she was forced onto her back foot. A blow in the right spot and she was stumbling back, struggling to halt her momentum enough to guard herself. 

To her surprise, he did not press his advantage. He took a step back instead, watching her with an odd look on his face. Wen scowled and rolled her shoulders, loosening the muscles that had gone taut. 

“I’m plenty quiet.”

“Not quiet enough to be an assassin—and that is what you asked me to teach you, yes?”

Wen pursed her lips. She had asked him. She’d wanted to know how he moved the way he did, but she certainly couldn’t ask him for that. It had been plenty easy to imagine what he’d say in response. 

“Fight me, then,” she said, and dropped her knife. It sank into the soft earth point-down, which meant she’d have to be very thorough when she cleaned and oiled it later. At the moment, she didn’t really care. 

Zevran cocked an eyebrow at her, but stepped back to set his knife aside. 

“Are you quite certain? Surely you would like some sort of explanation first.”

“No,” she told him. “I’m too literal for that.”

Zevran tipped his head back and laughed. 

As soon as his eyes were closed, she struck. It ought to have been a glancing blow, only a soft slap to his shoulder to get his attention. The strike never landed. Instead, he flowed away from her and spun, planting a hand on her back and pushing. Wen was ready for it this time. Her weight shifted hard to her back foot, but she did not waver.  

“Good,” he said from behind her, but when she reached back to grasp his arm Zevran was already gone. 

Arianwen spun slowly, listening. He must have gone up; there was nothing closer than the branches to hide behind. Her heart thudded in her ears, distracting her. Where was he? That rustle in the bushes had the rhythm of a squirrel, the scratching at the bark to her right was certainly a bird, and the crunch in the leaves behind her—

Zevran dropped from above and locked her into his arms before she had a chance to strike back. 

“As I was saying,” he told her. “Not very careful.”

Arianwen tried to kick him to little avail. Zevran laughed into her ear, his mouth briefly brushing against the point of it. An odd tingling sensation spread from that point to her cheeks, burning as it went. What was this? Some sort of poison?

Arianwen planted her feet, gripped his arms where they wrapped around her, and flipped Zevran over her head. His eyes were wide when she straddled his chest, a knife already pressed against the hollow of his throat. She could feel his pulse against her knuckles, could feel his breath whenever his ribs expanded between her thighs, and—what was this? 

“What did you just do?” she snarled. Zevran’s brows lifted. 

“I caught you,” he said. 

“Not that. You—” 

She pressed her lips together all at once, her face hot, and climbed off of him. If there had been some way for Arianwen to scratch the sensation from her skin with bared nails, she would have done it immediately. It lived somewhere deeper than her skin, entirely beyond the reach of fingertips or knives. 

Had he ever touched her skin to skin before? She could not think. 

“Well? Teach me,” she demanded, taking several steps away from him. The distance, such as it was, did not help.

Zevran rose more slowly, dusting himself off. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It was—speculative. Like he was weighing her against something in his mind. 

“Or was that it?” she asked. 

“No, no—I was merely thinking how best to show you what I mean,” he said. There was some hidden meaning to his words. She could feel it. 

Wen frowned at him, eyes narrowing. What was he actually saying? 

“Let us begin again,” he said, spreading his arms. Wen took a deep breath, wishing away the odd burning at the back of her neck and the tips of her ears. 

“Let’s,” she gritted out, her heart beating curiously fast, and raised her fists.

|

“Are you awake yet?” Zevran murmured. 

“No,” Wen told him, hand skimming over his loose, night-rumpled hair. Zevran grunted and pressed his face more firmly against her bare chest. 

“It should not surprise me when you make jokes,” he said. His lips pressed against the skin over her heart. “And yet…”

“Oh, ha ha,” Wen said, rolling her eyes. “If you’re going to be a pest, you can get off.”

“Oh?” he angled his head until he could look at her, morning light glinting across one golden eye. “Can I?” 

“Andraste’s tits,” she muttered, squirming without any real effort to dislodge him. 

“Yours are finer by far, I assure you,” he informed her solemnly, pressing a kiss to the nearest of them. 

Arianwen rolled her eyes, but threaded her hand through his hair again. Some of the tangles smoothed under her touch, but not enough. He’d still need to comb it when he rose for the day. 

She tried very, very hard to pretend that she couldn’t hear the army moving outside their tent. 

“Zevran,” she began, her voice soft, and he lifted his head to look at her. 

What could she tell him? That there were even odds she would die today? That she was grateful? What more could she possibly tell him now? 

“It will be a very good fight, yes?” he said, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Your favorite thing.”

Tabris pressed her mouth closed, searching his face for meaning. She found none. There was only the warmth of his eyes, the comfort of his body pressed to hers. The clamor of steel rose beyond their flimsy canvas walls. Time was almost up. It would be a good fight, yes. If there was anything she loved, it was a good fight. 

Arianwen loved Zevran more.

She’d planned to leave him behind, where the fighting was less heavy, but she already knew she wouldn’t be able to bear it. How could she fight through the city, never knowing if he’d been struck by a stray arrow or felled by an ogre? She could not protect him and seek the archdemon both. At least if they were together—at least they would both know. At least neither of them would have to wonder.

Until the end, then, and perhaps whatever came next. At least she knew she wouldn’t be alone. 

“Yes,” she said, passing her fingers through his hair one last time. Her hand fell to a stop at his cheek, thumb tracing the bottom point of his tattoo. 

“You will remember what I taught you, yes?” 

He lifted himself onto an elbow and leaned forward to kiss her. It had been meant as a glancing thing, she thought. It ran deeper than that in the end, desperate hands on shoulders and teeth and tongues and heat. She didn’t want to lose him. She raged at the world, for giving them to each other right on the doorstep of ruin. 

“Always,” Wen told Zevran, and clutched him to her when he would have risen to go. He endured this for several moments longer, his breathing uneven, before he pressed a kiss to her cheek and moved away. 

When she pushed the blankets aside to stand, his was the hand that pulled her to her feet.

(For Zevwarden Week Day 6: Favorite Things and Pet Peeves. Thanks again @zevraholics!)

[thewebcomicsreview]

Oh hey, Homestuck 2 updated! I was expecting this to be an 11/11 update since that's a Homestuck arc number, but it's the least important of those by far.

Egads! What a despicable plan, devised by a devilish dame with a dastardly disposition. The wretched wiles of a wayward woman with a penchant for the wicked. A hullabaloo most hideous and heinous, hammered out by-

One of the biggest mysteries of Homestuck 2 is who's narrating Candyland with Calliope gone, and the more narration-heavy style of the new team is really calling attention to that. This is very flanderized Jake English dialogue. Also a dramatically more active Jake English than we've seen all...ever?

Under no circumstances can you allow her to get to The Point.

Gonna have fun with that MacGuffin name, huh, writers? It occurs to me that Jake was supposedly a spy the whole time but this is the first indication that he's actually been telling the resistance anything instead of just calling himself a spy as a cope.

I like this art a lot. But also what the hell is Meenah doing here? Last time we saw her, in the epilogues, she was out in space and stole the Ring of Life from John before escaping into a server beacon. Did it lead her into the black hole (lmao get owned), or is this an alternate timeline ghosts? Are her eyes closed in order to drag out that reveal?

JAKE: Shit, sergeant! Cant you add her to the groupcrab? MEENAH: groupcrab MEENAH: cod damn thats good MEENAH: i just been callin em prawnference calls

As fish puns go, "Prawnference calls" is excellent.

MEENAH: idk but hypothetically speaking if i was posted up in my big mean bitch pants just gettin my empress on and you told me insturgeonts were tryin to shore up on some kinda mythic skaian artifact

So, Meenah has her eyes closed to prevent me from knowing if this is the alpha version or a doomed ghost, and now she's dropping very vague hints about what the plot point is. This does feel very homestuck, in that it's teasing out the reveals to maximize speculation. Skaia is, of course, related to SBURB, and thus this is confirmation of the fandom assumption that they're going to start a new game, without actually saying much else.

I have no idea why this air vent is Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff style, but Vriska kicking the sound affect is still funny.

The comedy quotient has increased notably under the new team.

VRISKA: John, she's a Vriska. She can handle herself! I'm sure she can take anything this fake-ass timeline can throw at her! JOHN: what?

Wait, John doesn't know? I thought "Everyone 'knows' candyland is fake and that why they're acting so weird they're just LARPing" was kind of my headcanon for a lot of the weirder candy stuff.

VRISKA: This whole universe is like someone's shitty RP, and everyone's out of character! None of this reads! VRISKA: Like, who the FUCK is Yiffy!!!!!!!! Why should I or anyone CARE????????

I'm so meta even this acronym

JOHN: a long time ago i was supposed to go back and defea- VRISKA: SNOOOOOOOORE! VRISKA: Your ecto-human-guardian-si8ling or whatever is pro8a8ly sending a squad of 8ozos to apprehend your ex as we speak. So I say the less we talk and the sooner we 8low this gru8sickle stand, the sooner we can get there 8efore we lose access to our shortcut. JOHN: yeah when you spell it all out like that i can see what y- JOHN: wait, WHAT!!! JOHN: why didn't you just say that earlier?! VRISKA: John. That's what I've 8een doing this whole time! VRISKA: Now, c'mon! Race you there!!!!!!!!

I don't ship them or anything, but this John/Vriska dynamic where John is kind of the oblivious straight man to all this wacky nonsense is one that Homestuck has been very light on since Act 6.

That was a good update. It was funny, it moved the plot along, and it gave us stuff to speculate about! And the art was really good!

[autisticgirliesbracket]

What makes Percival "Percy" King from Epithet Erased the autistic girlie ever of all time? Here's what the people have to say:

-Allow me to direct you to this video. Percy-related asks/reblogs: x This post will be updated after each round!

Image ID in alt text and under the readmore.

[Image ID. White slide with a screenshot of Ramsey and Percy from Epithet Erased in the top left corner, Percy is speaking into her police radio. There is a text box next to her which reads,

"from op: ummm it's the everything about her. from the flat affect, to the inability to clock when someone is lying to her, to her strict adherence to the rules. and also just the way she says things - percy will often mispronounce words for comedic effect (a la Donatello from rottmnt) or overemphasise certain words like when she goes "Egads!!" to show that she is shocked. which reminds me that she speaks very formally no matter the context, using an advanced vocabulary even when talking one on one with Molly (a small child who is also very autism). all her interactions with Ramsey feel very ADHD vs Autism coded. she's big on routine and one of her trivia points is that she eats the same meal every day, at the same time every day. and that meal is plain bread because anything else would be too spicy for her. she's awesome and I love her, go watch Epithet Erased and buy the sequel story Prison of Plastic on Soundbooth Theatre to support the creators!!" End ID.]

[thinktankbigmt]

*Uh-Oh! An EVIL SCIENTIST has sent a message!*

DOCTORS OF BIG MOUNTAIN IT IS THE...uh...INTELLIGENCE STEALER! AND I WILL STEAL YOUR IQ UNLESS...

*To off screen voice*

Iris, what is it that they have to do again?

*Indistinguishable Feminine speaking*

Uh, Thanks Iris, ANYWAY

*clears throat*

IF YOU DO NOT GIVE ME THE TECHNOLOGY TO-TO UH...STEAL BRAINS, I WILL STEAL YOUR INTELLECT, YEAH, I'LL DO THAT

*Female Mumbling*

Uh? Oh, Yes, WE'LL STEAL YOUR INTELLECT! THE INTELLIGENCE STELEAR AND IQ OUT!

So, how did it?

*Female Mumbling*

What do you mean it's still on? FU-

*The Video cuts off*

EGADS! HOW DARE THIS INTRUDER MAKE DEMANDS TO THE GLORIOUS DOCTORS OF BIG MOUNTAIN! WE SHALL DEFEAT THIS VILE THREAT WITH OUR ADVANCED SCIENCE!

Such bravado... For an intellect stealer, that was a lot of bluster, and no actual intelligent statement. But, to humor you - go ahead, attempt to "steal my intellect." I will wait with bated, measured breaths...

I AM APPALLED BY YOUR LUST! WE MUST STOP THIS NOW!!

*Maybe you should invite it to a tea party and see if it responds positively to Earl Grey. Just a thought.*

AND IT IS THE WORST THOUGHT I HAVE EVER HEARD. AN INTRUDER INTO THE MOST PRESTIGIOUS SCIENCE LAB IN THE WORLD IS THREATENING TO RE-LOBOTOMIZE US AND ALL YOU WANT TO DO IS TO HAVE A TEA PARTY!!? BESIDES, YOU KNOW WE DON’T HAVE ANY!

*Jeez okay you don’t have to be a jerk about it..*

Perhaps a tea brewed from my biogel..

DALA NO THAT’S DISGUSTING.

— I say we let them have the technology! They are CLEARLY incompetent! What harm could come from it? For them to steal our intelligence.. why, that is UNPOSSIBLE! Also, who keeps letting the lobotomites into our networks?! —

@@[_>>>No clue, Borous. But yeah. They’ll probably just end up extracting their own brains.__^]

FINE. LET IT BE SO.

[After a minute of fussing around they uproot the Sink Autodoc]

Aw, what? This is freakin’ bullhonkey. I don’t get paid enough for this.

*..We don’t pay you at all.*

Exactly!

*So.. do we just, leave it outside the Dome, or..*

ENOUGH WITH YOUR ENDLESS QUESTIONS, O! GO WAIT FOR THE INTRUDER OUTSIDE!

*Fine! I’m going!*

[Gloomily, he floats out, dragging the Auto Doc behind him.]