why are u such a poopoo
i got these poopoo genes from you, grandpa

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@temporalistic-blog
why are u such a poopoo
i got these poopoo genes from you, grandpa
      â âoi, synsĂŻenneâ ! aâhrĂŚl ven, fir ? â
   ßl sran ĂŚreugath; dher Ăźl hygrihst, ihn sourildr dvĂŠnct aâeurhtae Ăźem.    a kokuam, mĂśertel sran nihliht⌠virgant ? dyangrus ? ⌠ouh.Â
   â auh, uhn! âsynâ hrĂŚl vin. gwah, tun ven? â
   whiiiiis! srynhild Ăźl Ă ihn selfr myneath? aâhrĂŚl srynhild yu aidern, berrenoko aghethe rinwurkt. rin. wurkt. o, uneheros, liht synsĂŻenne erndellen.Â
     â  heyâ! this is an expression of myself and iâm n o t disgusting. â
   a fur covered hand, gloved in what resembled to be a paw, came to place on his hip. he was scowling, but his expression was masked by the sculpted fox head he wore. heâd spent a long time working on this costume and he wasnât about to be belittled by a child because of it.
     â why do you have such an issue with it? whatâre you gonna do, beat me with your boot or somethinâ? â
   â woah! for a grown guy in a fursuit, you catch on pretty quickly. â
   a grimace is plastered onto his face at the otherâs pathetic show of wanting to be one of those... anthropomorphic things. itâs replaced with a cunning smirk when he makes his remark, and the leather boot is suddenly off.
   without warning, the youth tackles the furry, colliding with (most likely very expensive) minky fur, legs pinning him to the ground. the boot flies up and down as he tries to make an effort to utterly decimate the cursed costume.
   â can your yiff gods help you now? huh??? â
      â hey ! i did a bunchâa growinâ up ! anâ not tâ mention iâm still       a whole year older than ya; greenbean, if ya wanna fight, youâre       welcome tâ anytime. â
   heâs standing on the tips of his toes, straining his fingertips to brush    against the cool leather of his scabbard. upon the (heartbreaking)    realization that, like time said, he was extremely short, sun snorts    once.
       â okay, fine. but this doesnât mean iâm short ! â
   â sorry to break it to you sunshine, but youâre absolutely tiny. â
   time chuckles lightheartedly with a rather puerile grin visible on his face. he easily towers a whole head over his counterpart, and with a grunt, he snatches the item from its occupied space. how it managed to end up there, he had no idea. still, it made an opportunity for more jokes about poor sunnyâs height.
   â here ya go, shortstack, â he remarks coolly, acting as if he were handing it to his companion then quickly drawing his arm back. with a smile, he continues, â you just have to reach it first. â of course, time conveniently holds it over his own head.
       â âcourse i did, nya ! your food is mine me-ow ! â
   â ... uh... sure. and quit knockinâ my junk offâa stuff or else iâll use the spray bottle! â
   and he meant it; from a satchel he pulls the windex bottle in all itâs golden glory, completely full with water. time gives it a hard shake to emphasize the noise of the sloshing liquid. â be a goodâuhâkitty, and just go eat cat food or whatever you usually eat. â
   â youâre absolutely disgusting. â
   of course, heâs not making a remark towards the fursuit (which happened to be well made, if he had to say, yet heâs not a furry), but to the disgusting little man inside of the bundle of faux fur. fingers itch and they tug at the pull strap of one of his boots, threatening to remove it and chuck it immediately at the wannabe-animal.
   â i canât believe youâre wearing that? in my presence? do yâ wanna get beat up exclusively by me? â
   â did... did you jusâ knock my plate off the table? â
   â  yâknow small fry, itâs not a matter of how tall i am, but how exceptionally short you are. itâs been what, seven years? anâ youâre practically the same height as i was back then. so do you need help reachinâ for it or not?  â
       â thâ hell were ya thinkinâ ? â
   when he is incensed, grammar would lose its value; his speech    would become slurred with frenzied vowels & his native accent.    & this time, in particular, rage decided to hold his reigns. with a    sharp intake of breath, glowering spherules simmer with a brief    light. theyâre directed towards his working hands.
   weaving intricate ties of strips linen cloth around a muddied arm,    he nips his bottom lip with pointed canines. he couldnât quite    focus on the task at handânot with his fingers quivering everytime    he tried knotting the darn fabric. the youth exhales deeply.
       â jusâ âcos yâ have a dumb mask, doesnât mean yâ can try tâ       take on enemies yourself ! ainât thâ word teamwork somewhere       in your vocab ? â
  â  hey, cut me some slack! âsides, itâs not that big of aâowowowow! watch where youâre pokinâ your fingers there, sunshine!  â
   he grits his teeth in pain, exasperated. if time couldnât heal his own wounds at thirteen, how could the little feline-kid do any better at a yearâs senior? ...not that he was trying to invalidate both their separate experiences, but the kid hardly seemed to be doing a decent job at working with gauze. he frowns.
  â  anâ, wellâduh, oâ course it is. you just werenât lookinâ out for me like the general bozo said to, so itâs your fault weâre lagginâ behind.  â
  itâs simply childish to be playing the âblame gameâ, especially considering the fact that they had wasted a good half hour trying to patch up, and that the hyrulean forces were no longer in sight. time sighs, eyes fluttering shut; he yanks his arm from its captor but not without a consequence of throbbing pain. and in that moment of defenselessness, he had to admit, he was being a bit of a hothead on the battlefield (and to try to take on three lizalfos at once? unbelievably reckless).
  however, not wishing to amuse the other by admitting his wrongdoing, time nods his head towards the northern vicinity.
  â  letâs go catch up.  â
Hey! Donât play with that!!