&& ABSOLUTION.

can't be canon divergent if you were never canon dash only sideblog. twin agent eights.

[briar-ffxiv]

Run Little Hero - LeGrand

Little hero’s not afraid of the danger Little hero’s gonna go and save the day Everybody’s so impressed by his strength Everybody doesn’t see that he’s actually not that brave Some people fight for the noblest of reasons Some people fight for their wives and their rights But little hero’s bravery has a secret Little hero only fights cuz he wants to run— run— run— run!

[awfulsquad]

its saturday rb saturday shorts (x)

[awfulsquad]

its saturday rb saturday shorts (x)

[octoporos]

it was inevitable. anyway saturday shorts coming up on saturday

[awfulsquad]

its saturday rb saturday shorts (x)

[mollymauklesbian]

last saturday shorts of the decade

[that-kangaroo-fish]

first saturday shorts of the decade

[bioshockey]

IT'S THE LAST SATURDAY SHORTS OF THE DECADE!!!!

[raudrfox-remaking-deactivated20]

[octoporos]

Suddenly, giant ray smothers him. With a muffled " Press F. "

      Would he receive points for a hasty recuperation? His stumble doesn't persist, though that's likely a result of his inevitable flopping onto the couch. Attempting to shift under the belly of the beast, he seeks a tummy in turn to blow and tickle with fluttered lashes.

❝ You can't make me. ❞  

[biggum]

[octoporos]

------﹙MOTHER.﹚

Lifting a hand to rest on the back of his head and stroke down is something of a second nature at this point. So is disguising the aching of their heart—a telltale tension strains their smile, but it stays, brows knit together almost apologetically.

“ I ain’t torn up about it. I’unno about you, but I like bein’ tolerant. ”   His cheek’s pinched and pulled gently to prove a point.   “ I don’ see a reason ta go fixin’ t’ fix it, s’all… ”   — God knows they’d spent enough time in hospitals —   “ but whatcha thinkin’ of? ”

      ❝ That is not tolerance, ❞   he grumbles, mangled words managing to escape the interference of malleable cheeks.   ❝ That implies that you are cognizant of the pain --- able to feel it --- but withstand it all the same. What you are doing is damaging, and it will be an inevitable downfall come not realizing your body has long given out. ❞  

But he supposed expecting anything less from them was foolish on his part. How frequently they ignored their problems, disguising them as whatever would satiate their situation... a pitiable methodology, but he'd digress for the sanctity of running mental laps to refute otherwise. After all, they'd likely give him some sort of spiel that their body has already done just that.

Or that it made them "strong." Preposterous; there is no strength in ignorance.

Whatever begets his exasperated sigh, it is dispelled with a soft shake of his head.   ❝ I see reason, but as you wish. It's just... Tartar had a room designed to make you feel... of course, it was how he wanted you to, but... for a while, my sister and I believed we were in Inkopolis... and that's why we wanted to see it so badly. We had what we believed was a glimpse.

He wasn't lying... his projection was accurate to reality. It just so happens that he was stringing us along for the sole reason of turning us into green and blue paste. Still, such a machine is replicable in a world outside of his slaughterhouse. A human's tried it before --- it was a therapeutic endeavor. I believe such a device could be beneficial to us. ❞  

[octoporos]

There's two pale purple octopus plushes (octoplushes?) perched 'pon their pillows, waiting peacefully, patiently, for pets.

      Zach is the first to bear witness to toy twins, the siblings' comforter a fine divider of their sleeping spots, as the fabric boasted a shade of two brilliant blues on opposing sides.

Not only did the sheets define their halved shares, but the room, too, harbored an invisible barrier: the left side boasted an affinity for scientific literature, old technology, board games, and legos --- all displayed in organized perfection. A spotless floor allowed access to a drawer decorated by figurines and bottles, likewise ordered by height and color, and approved by their musical housemate.

The right, however, was a sort of structured chaos: yarn strewn about like crime scene tape, roughed up toys positioned in the middle of a historical re-enactment   ( though, in all fairness, she'd not done that ),   books leafed through and haphazardly left open to dubious pages, or "luckily" noted through the clothes being used as bookmarks, and pans that deceived you, proclaiming cookies on the lid but holding pins and needles instead.

So while he had the time to himself to coil up around his own plush, his twin sister's arrival, subsequent squeal, and body slam onto the bed sends her smaller sibling flying into the left-side desk, and the unfortunate screaming begins --- ones of pain and ones of glee. It doesn't take long for them to glare at one another and see who can scream the loudest, though Zacharias' demands for an apology are significantly more justified than Annabelle's sheer desire to overtake him.

[octoporos]

There's just. A singular yellow rose, in a plastic cup filled with tap water, sitting on the counter. A bubble envelope yawns open next to it, Zach's named scrawled in black sharpie across the front. Someone was late to mailing it—and then forgot to put it away.

   He’d grown begrudgingly accustomed to his pillow and sheets, a ritual he’d not anticipated prior to the inclusion of a certain someone in his life. While he’s not complaining, rousing from slumber leaves him groggy, his normally hyper-aware senses taking a moment to piece together what has made the room different, and thus problematic to his survival instincts.

Granted, it’s only a few more seconds than the usual, but it’s still a flaw he aims to ameliorate.

With his performance left to the wind, the intruder instead garners his attention, only to warm his drowsy face with a smile as rolling head examines the rose through all angles. A florist of sorts lived here—she does not sell her work, but she engaged in designing and cutting as much as one did—and while he could ask her to decrypt it, he already knew.

He’s ecstatic to take the rose into his room, fiddling with the envelope as he does, a large yawn splitting his smile temporarily. There’s an amusement tickling him—the Germanic language didn’t quite translate the color well. The sender, he presumed, knew well of the Gothic era of writing—and their perception of the flora to be both pungent in the past and evident of jealousy.

A tidbit he’d find interesting, Zach hoped—but for now, he’d bask in the sunlight of mutual affinity.

[octoporos]

——﹙MOTHER.﹚

They’d expected… a whine, maybe, not an entire monologue. They’re just as glad to link their arms around him, though their expression’s a little more forgiving, featuring two bewildered blinks and a drawn mouth.

It’s reminiscent of another, ah, verbose philosopher, but they’re not as eager to fire back point-for-point this time; rather, they relax into a slouch again, one brow raised.   “ You might be a walkin’ thesaurus but I ain’t a dictionary, darling. Has this got t’ do with yer bite, or’s somethin’ else on your mind? ”

     His arms are content to rest along theirs, pressing their hands into the hug. In turn, they receive a few slow blinks, face softening and eyes closing as his lean brings him comfortably into their chest. 

❝ It’s nothing, mama. I just worry about how you perceive yourself, sometimes. I wonder if there’s a way to help you feel things --- I know something from the Metro that might, so surely its equivalent exists up here. ❞

[bee-stim]

💛 blue and gold shiny stimboard for @bashfulmusician 💛

sources: x x x - x x - x x x

[gromphadorhina]

@starteas 

[octoporos]

------﹙NESS.﹚

Oh, he sees how it is. And he doesn’t seem all that amused — less so with Zach’s… flourish, if the curl of his own lip is anything to go by. Nor does he deign to retort, despite the flicker-flash of a thousand different responses in the back of his mind.

He shifts his gaze from the tv to Zach with a languid sort of deliberation, lingering on the cup, the curl of his tentacle, the — er — uh — the curl of his tentacle. Ah, but words could be misleading; the semantics of connotation could write the same conflict two entirely different ways, and no one ever said he had to be objective.

But he cracks a crooked smile and has to laugh beneath his breath, heart skipping on the beat Zach’s hand closes around the remote   ( why? oh, no particular reason at all, he could say; no one would believe adrenaline, now would they ).   It slides off his face upon the rise of Zach’s own, of course, and he covers the color of recognition with a half-assed dark glare.

“ Hmph, ”   He draws his chest up haughtily, chin inclined and shoulders pressed back, all convex to Zach’s concave.   “ Well I don’t see why I wouldn’t have time or energy for sleeping. You’re quite… ”

He twists, and flops backward into Zach’s lap. With a yawn. All cherry-on-top.

“ …Cozy, after all. ”

And it’s not until a beat too late, after he’s closed his eyes, that he realizes that didn’t have quite the punchline he was aiming for, did it. RIP to the whole… semantics thing.

      The beanstalk falls; scrawny and yellow, indeed akin to the desolate appearance come the unfortunate dissolution of flora. His mourning is brief, abridged by blinks sluggishly rising and falling before bemused eyes.

And though sun cannot rouse flower from grave, he beams with cordiality challenging, cheeks rosen with a warm violet, hue basking along the horizon of tanning freckles. Asymmetric fangs frame the peeking tongue amidst his growing grin, ears pricked gleefully.

He daren't say he's laughing at Ness, but the jollity enlivening his breathy chortle has little else to blame.   ❝ You're being lazy. ❞   he manages 'tween guffaws, his leg opting to jostle the dead. It's only when his final bounce sends Ness' torso hurtling higher --- right into Zach's anticipating arms, right fore cradling his shoulders while allowing him to lean into his face.

  ❝ I was suggesting we go to the park. I wanted to go back on the swings, and I've found a way to get you to go around the bar if we swing with enough force. ❞   It was hard to hit someone with a punch when the line you aimed for is well over their head, but there's an innocent amusement painting those ears an honest lilac.

[octoporos]

——﹙DUSTIN.﹚

     Despite the teasing, this pompous fellow was one heck of a rare breed of strange, he quickly felt ears lower at the correction to Zacharias. No amount of flair nor exuberant showings would ever have Dustin want unintentional disrespect. He’ll poke and jab until the manatees came home, but at the revision, the air was disregarded. “Oh, sorry then, Zacharias, it won’t happen again. That’s all y’gotta say, man.” 

     The comeback was as fast as the fall, though, a wild, toothed grin filling up every corner it could. “’Lest y’wanna say some final words? Bud, you’re sealin’ your fate, you know that, right?” Already, limbs were stretching, shoe dragging itself against the ground to test traction, coughing up smoke the entire time he did. “Alright, but what’m I gettin’ ‘if,’” spoken with more quotation marks than Inkopolis could hold… “I win? Do I become the hero of the city? That come with benefits, maybe? Tell me there’s at least a big n’ fancy ceremony~.”

    Life returns, sown into the warmth of his smile and the gentle curvature of eyes nudged closed by rising cheeks.   ❝ Yeah, no --- you didn’t do anything wrong. I, uh, haven’t the need to introduce myself in a while, that’s all. Save yourself the mouthful; Zach’s just fine. ❞

His coiled tentacle tip flicks, a yo-yo in all but visage, as folded arms cross blades along his chest. Blue eyes greedily watch those limber legs, taking note of the shoes scuffing ground like a bull awaiting its charge.   ❝ Nah. I’m not one for finales. I like the crescendo most of all. ❞

Finger and thumb caress his chin, narrowed eyes pondering the path ahead with a devious grin.    ❝ A hero isn’t speed, my man. You’re useless if you get to the crime scene faster than everyone else, but can’t do anything to stop the delinquency afoot! ❞

There’s a click to his brain, and the steady parting of his lips to reveal teeth clamps down on the possible key.   ❝ Are there rules, then? I don’t want to easily usurp Splatterdash’s leader, after all. ❞

[octoporos]

——﹙SODA.﹚

He gets a palm run up his back and a short chuckle for his trouble, “injured” hand falling back to wrap around him in turn.   “ I don’t think I got a say, there… An’ it might if you tried jus’ a li’l harder. ”   Another titter.   “ I got thin skin, aftah all… but I ain’t seein’ anythin’ to get checked out jus’ now. ”

     They’d not the pleasure of his back for long, as an instinctual arc frees him from the contact, a shiver ensuing shortly after. There’s no qualm indulging in their coil around his person, but closed eyes avoid the near poke of his eye when a lone digit presses into his temple.

❝ There is an astounding amount of solutions to daily problems found only by inquiring further. Did you know that? The little things we feign unawareness of are within grasp at any moment; it’s just taking the initiative that impedes progress. ❞

His blink is slow, as is the steady turn of his head to face them with an unwavering gaze.   ❝ In other words, how often do you find yourself submitting to reality only because you deem it immutable? Why is it that we seek to change things beyond our comprehension and capability, but overlook that which we have in our control? ❞