commanders-quarters

[commanders-quarters]

smash or pass- acht

Hearing their name sends an unexpected surge of activity through his neural network, provoking an involuntary series of beeps from his head. A tic of sorts, it seems. The context in which their name is being mentioned registers shortly after. Tartar's elongated neck reels back in shock and his hand crank gives a violent swivel, causing the telephone of his vessel to ring sharply for a span of just a couple seconds. Not quite enough to give it the equivalent of a headache.

"How-... How vile of you! Do you find it funny to speak of my associate this way? Suggest such perversions towards their character?" he snapped, his clawed fingers rippling at his sides momentarily.

This level of emotionality from it was just abnormal. Tartar getting defensive was not unheard of, but typically, it was defending its own image and not another's. It seemed like you'd genuinely caught it by surprise too-- a fact it was not fond of.

It must have noticed how rash it sounded, as it swiftly schooled its broiling visage into a more characteristically stoic expression in the face of your prying. Denewiah tries returning his focus back to what's actually being asked. He performs an approximation of a cough before continuing.

"... I have never gotten intimate with Miss Mizuta before," it started cautiously, "nor do I necessarily plan to. I believe our relationship is largely professional, although... perhaps..." he trails off.

He doesn't want to confront the reasons for his hesitation in labeling their complicated connection.

"Well, I have seen the way they look at me just as much as they have seen the way I look at them. With that being said, though... I will pass."

[commanders-quarters]

Smash or pass O. R. C. A

For a second, he doubts the aptitude of his audio processors. It takes Tartar a moment to realize that, unfortunately, it heard you correctly. Its system putters with displeasure as it crosses its gangling arms across its bony chest.

"It is like a brother to me, or a cousin. Not blood-related, but the connection remains familial regardless." it explained with a sigh.

It really doesn't expect that you would've known that, but having to explain these things still makes it uneasy. Maybe because of Orca's unfortunate origins and subsequent deterioration in the cold, unforgiving hands of time. Maybe it made him question the nature of his own existence.

"I have not seen O.R.C.A in several thousand years, anyhow. I am not entirely certain that I can stomach returning to my place of conception yet. Who knows what sort of graveyard awaits me there..." its voice reduced to a hush as it mulled on.

Denewiah seems to get lost in thought, its wires slackening while the rest of its form remains rigid.

"... Another hard pass. I quite pity that entity."

[commanders-quarters]

Smash or pass

AM from ihnmaims

Its body emits a low thrum of consideration, though halfhearted.

"I do not believe it is 'equipped' for such acts." he answered with the faintest of chuckles.

... But Tartar is...???????????

This one doesn't require much internal debate. One may be inclined to compare him to the Allied Mastercomputer, but there was one big problem that rendered them completely incompatible-- at least intimacy-wise.

"It killed nearly every human and tortured the few that were left for countless years. As someone who mourns humanity's extinction and aims to resurrect them via second-coming, I find this completely disagreeable. There is simply no situation where I would agree to 'smash' here."

[commanders-quarters]

i didn't think i would get any smash-or-pass submissions honestly (because like. this is TARTAR we're talking about) but im just chuckling at some of these like ??!!?!?!?!! first of all WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW /lighthearted jest SECOND OF ALL YOU GUYS ARE GOING TO GIVE IT A HEART ATTACK WITH SOME OF THESE IN SPECIFIC !!!!!!!!!!!!!! who would denewiah smash Top 10 greatest world mysteries

[commanders-quarters]

smash or pass...... grizz

The wires sat within its head curl in disgust, and the ink they protrude from ripples noticeably, indicating a shudder of revulsion.

Tartar doesn't seem very amused this time around.

"What kind of a joke is this? That bear is a complete brute!" it ejected from its dangling speaker, which now rose to whip around the air like a sinister serpent.

"I barely know him. Besides, his priorities are completely offensive to me. He isn't even grateful to the humans for attempting to preserve his life and he pays no tribute to their sacrifices. He only cares about resurrecting the furred mammals. He wishes for destruction and chaos without any consideration towards order and subtlety." Tartar groused with a flourish of its arms.

"Entire operation functions above ground... applicants are given too many personal freedoms therefore making them unreliable... enforces prejudice and deadly discrimination towards an intelligent race that initially posed no threat towards the Inkfish population..."

Denewiah shakes his head and tuts. In his eyes, they were worlds apart. With their polar opposite goals and manner of handling issues, it's unlikely that they could even be business partners. The idea was just laughable to it. Insulting, even.

"This is a hard pass from me."

[commanders-quarters]

smash or pass: glados

There's a brusque chuff from its chassis-- a short laugh-- indicating it found this suggestion humorous.

"Her?" he chuckled incredulously.

"Ah. Hm. Ahem. I do not believe I ever personally met her, but I am aware of what she'd been up to in her years of activity. An absolutely brilliant mind, of course, and with an exterior to match that brilliance. Made by humans, yet she chose to kill and torture humans. First due to a lack of morality, then due to a sense of vengeance. So mechanical, yet so human."

It ceases its musings to cut straight to the point.

"You want to know if I would hypothetically engage in intercourse with her? Daring today, are we? I am afraid I would have to pass. She is beautiful, but I simply cannot agree with the ways she'd spend her time."

[commanders-quarters]

colors + HC

I'M VERY EAGER TO ANSWER THIS ONE because it gives me an excuse to talk abt one of my favorite components of Denewiah's psyche heheheee...........

so, in my headcanons, Octarians tend to cling to superstitions and other loose/vaguely religious belief systems, giving them hope in the face of poverty and hardships. because my iteration of Tartar works so closely with Octarians, it has unconsciously picked up certain traits of their culture and society's customs, but it is too prideful to accept that.

one of the things it picked up was some superstitious inclinations.

with Octarians in my AU, they tend to have pale, cold eye colors. it is rare that an octarian is born with more vibrant, warm colors. just how their genetics turned out.

anyways, every so often, Tartar would find an applicant who had these radiant eyes, and their applicant number would be some combination of 0's and 8's. these applicants would be his most successful test subjects, leading him to form the belief that all these traits were somehow correlated with having the most potential as a soldier. Denewiah calls these his "lucky eights". funnily enough, there is indeed 8 of them in total.

it is therefore also VERY important to note that Tartar broke his own ethics regarding recruiting minors (as outlined in my previous inbox response) with Agent 8/Eve, because she was applicant 10,008. now, you may notice that this number does not align with its usual criteria (as it includes a "1"), but Agent 8 had notably bright eyes. and not only were their eyes bright, but they were the EXACT color of the primordial ooze, and they looked very determined.

so naturally Tartar LIKE THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING ZEALOT IT IS was like "THIS IS THE CHOSEN ONE I MUST RECRUIT HER AT OOOOOOOONCE SHE IS THE KEY TO THE PROMISED LANDDDD" and that's how Agent 8 came to be involved <3

tldr; the telephone pays very close attention to eye colors and it's very octarian of him but don't tell him that or he'll KILL you😭

[commanders-quarters]

13

13. What could make you break your own moral code?

This one gives him pause, as he finds himself feeling... almost embarrassed? Ashamed? Whatever the case, Tartar isn't exactly jumping to divulge the answer. It was known among its subordinates for its strictness, its unyielding willpower-- and yet few of them knew that the oh-so-orderly being had broken its own rules more than once.

Circuits hum and levers twitch as he sifts through the exceptions that he deems the most conversationally worthwhile.

"I bend my rules only for those who far exceed my expectations, and nothing short of that," it began thoughtfully.

One face came to mind. It didn't say who.

"For example: I ordinarily refuse to recruit Octarians who are under 18. It would be unbecoming of me to enforce such rigorous tests upon children, as they are less developed and less reliable for my purposes. I do not believe it is proper to employ juveniles for matters that require a... delicate touch."

It lifts an index finger, drawing attention to the incoming contradiction.

"However, if there was a young Octarian who showed immense potential and promise-- one who bore the markings of the chosen one-- I may just be so inclined to recruit them anyways."

"... Hypothetically."

[commanders-quarters]

colors + HC

I'M VERY EAGER TO ANSWER THIS ONE because it gives me an excuse to talk abt one of my favorite components of Denewiah's psyche heheheee...........

so, in my headcanons, Octarians tend to cling to superstitions and other loose/vaguely religious belief systems, giving them hope in the face of poverty and hardships. because my iteration of Tartar works so closely with Octarians, it has unconsciously picked up certain traits of their culture and society's customs, but it is too prideful to accept that.

one of the things it picked up was some superstitious inclinations.

with Octarians in my AU, they tend to have pale, cold eye colors. it is rare that an octarian is born with more vibrant, warm colors. just how their genetics turned out.

anyways, every so often, Tartar would find an applicant who had these radiant eyes, and their applicant number would be some combination of 0's and 8's. these applicants would be his most successful test subjects, leading him to form the belief that all these traits were somehow correlated with having the most potential as a soldier. Denewiah calls these his "lucky eights". funnily enough, there is indeed 8 of them in total.

it is therefore also VERY important to note that Tartar broke his own ethics regarding recruiting minors (as outlined in my previous inbox response) with Agent 8/Eve, because she was applicant 10,008. now, you may notice that this number does not align with its usual criteria (as it includes a "1"), but Agent 8 had notably bright eyes. and not only were their eyes bright, but they were the EXACT color of the primordial ooze, and they looked very determined.

so naturally Tartar LIKE THE ABSOLUTE FUCKING ZEALOT IT IS was like "THIS IS THE CHOSEN ONE I MUST RECRUIT HER AT OOOOOOOONCE SHE IS THE KEY TO THE PROMISED LANDDDD" and that's how Agent 8 came to be involved <3

tldr; the telephone pays very close attention to eye colors and it's very octarian of him but don't tell him that or he'll KILL you😭

[commanders-quarters]

Send Smash or Pass + a name and my muse will say if they would smash or pass on that person.

[commanders-quarters]

13

13. What could make you break your own moral code?

This one gives him pause, as he finds himself feeling... almost embarrassed? Ashamed? Whatever the case, Tartar isn't exactly jumping to divulge the answer. It was known among its subordinates for its strictness, its unyielding willpower-- and yet few of them knew that the oh-so-orderly being had broken its own rules more than once.

Circuits hum and levers twitch as he sifts through the exceptions that he deems the most conversationally worthwhile.

"I bend my rules only for those who far exceed my expectations, and nothing short of that," it began thoughtfully.

One face came to mind. It didn't say who.

"For example: I ordinarily refuse to recruit Octarians who are under 18. It would be unbecoming of me to enforce such rigorous tests upon children, as they are less developed and less reliable for my purposes. I do not believe it is proper to employ juveniles for matters that require a... delicate touch."

It lifts an index finger, drawing attention to the incoming contradiction.

"However, if there was a young Octarian who showed immense potential and promise-- one who bore the markings of the chosen one-- I may just be so inclined to recruit them anyways."

"... Hypothetically."

[commanders-quarters]

Difficult Questions for Muses

Please remember to use trigger warnings as and when necessary. | Please specify for multimuses which muse the question is for.

Do you think that you’re a good person?

Do others like you? Do you want others to like you?

What do you think others like or admire about you?

How do you know when you’re in love? (romantic or platonic)

Would you or have you ever killed? What would drive you to kill? 

Do you think that killing is ever justified?

Have you ever done anything that you feel to be very morally wrong?

Should all people be treated as equal and have the same rights?

If you committed a crime, would you accept punishment willingly?

Is suicide ever the right choice?

Is euthanasia ever the right choice?

Is it right to have an intimate relationship with somebody you don’t love?

What could make you break your own moral code? 

Have you ever doubted your own beliefs? (Spiritual, philosophical)

Would you always be loyal to your loved ones even if they wronged you?

What would you consider a fate worse than death?

Why do you love the person or people you love? (romantic or platonic)

Do you agree with capital punishment?

Could you ever forgive your worst enemy?

What would you like to achieve before you die?

[commanders-quarters]

Send a word and "+ HC" and I will write a headcanon for my muse based on the word(s) sent!

[commanders-quarters]

Reblog this if you’re okay with people sending unexpected IC asks to your muse at any time! No meme prompts needed!

[commanders-quarters]

Matteo’s ribs clamped around his hearts, form driven and jostled by labored breaths as he fought to keep his footing.

He dove out of the metro entrance and into the sunlight, and his backpack incidentally got snagged on a protruding hinge in the gateway as he flew past it. It snared their bag like an iron shackle, tugging them back and straining one of the side pockets by the loop of its zipper. Matteo writhed like a wild animal caught in a rusted trap. In their panicked haze, they believed they’d just been caught in some pursuer’s clutches for their own hubris.

Eventually, his brute force bore the fruit of freedom. In their struggle, the side pocket had been torn wide open, exposing whatever contents could’ve laid within. Thankfully, there was no contraband hidden within at this time, but he was still caused to gasp and frantically assess the condition of his backpack— in the off chance that anything incriminating could’ve been visible, of course.

The Inkling sighs with relief. A droplet of cold sweat falls from his face. They make a mental note to fix the zipper later. For now, one thought and one thought only prevails:

He’d just seen something he shouldn’t have.

What WAS that thing?

Four’s eyes shift back towards the metro entrance, but they don’t allow their head to follow.

The adrenaline ebbs away and his senses settle. He realizes the sleeves of his hoodie are torn and his bruised legs are bleeding. The scrapes are shallow, but they still sting annoyingly. A hissed breath leaves a grimacing face.

Matteo hoists their backpack up to its perch again and stubbornly sets their eyes towards whatever’s ahead.

What a day.

[commanders-quarters]

(repost)

A prolonged series of hums drifts aimlessly through the cavernous interior of the aged metro.

The hum of faulty overhead lights, the hum of ever-running monitors, the hum of dusty wall fans-- and the hum of an Octarian who was content to imitate the droning tones of the machinery. Their magenta tentacles hung down past their shoulders like a shawl, and they bore the distinct dark markings of a mimic octopus. Such recognizable stripes were seldom seen among today's Octarian population. On top of that, they were clearly an Elite, with streaks of seaweed that swayed like mighty serpents in the air with each step they took.

Her eyes betrayed not an ounce of the pride she must carry for her position. Those irises, though they were colored a dull, stormy grey, still shone spectacularly behind the round lenses of their glasses. Light bounces off their surfaces in tandem with the metal piercing that dangles off their left earlobe.

But who might she be affiliated with? The Octarian's attire was unbefittingly casual (by soldier standards), and their eyes did not hide behind the cloak of a visor. She did don a Forge Octarian jacket, but the customary pink enamel pin that usually laid over the left breast had been curiously replaced with another: that of a blue triangle bearing a single eye.

Strange.

While she seems to be strolling down the metro platform in a carefree manner, her head remains pointed northwards, attentive, as if waiting for someone.

So many disappearances lately, they thought to themself.

Someone must be busy.

The thought gave them a chuckle.

Their eyes wander up to the metal banners indicating which line they were walking along. Line H. If you were ever seen one last time before disappearing forever, it would be at the tail end of Line H. This did not bother her one bit. What cause does she have to be afraid?

Finally, she hears footsteps approaching. Someone. A person. Were they curious? Confused? Scared? It didn't matter to her. Their greeting would remain the same.

Her lively tentacles curled with anticipation.

"Hi there! You seem a little lost," she said, smiling just warmly enough.

"Do you know why you're down here?" they asked.

Was it an interrogation, or an offer for help?

[commanders-quarters]

(repost)

A prolonged series of hums drifts aimlessly through the cavernous interior of the aged metro.

The hum of faulty overhead lights, the hum of ever-running monitors, the hum of dusty wall fans-- and the hum of an Octarian who was content to imitate the droning tones of the machinery. Their magenta tentacles hung down past their shoulders like a shawl, and they bore the distinct dark markings of a mimic octopus. Such recognizable stripes were seldom seen among today's Octarian population. On top of that, they were clearly an Elite, with streaks of seaweed that swayed like mighty serpents in the air with each step they took.

Her eyes betrayed not an ounce of the pride she must carry for her position. Those irises, though they were colored a dull, stormy grey, still shone spectacularly behind the round lenses of their glasses. Light bounces off their surfaces in tandem with the metal piercing that dangles off their left earlobe.

But who might she be affiliated with? The Octarian's attire was unbefittingly casual (by soldier standards), and their eyes did not hide behind the cloak of a visor. She did don a Forge Octarian jacket, but the customary pink enamel pin that usually laid over the left breast had been curiously replaced with another: that of a blue triangle bearing a single eye.

Strange.

While she seems to be strolling down the metro platform in a carefree manner, her head remains pointed northwards, attentive, as if waiting for someone.

So many disappearances lately, they thought to themself.

Someone must be busy.

The thought gave them a chuckle.

Their eyes wander up to the metal banners indicating which line they were walking along. Line H. If you were ever seen one last time before disappearing forever, it would be at the tail end of Line H. This did not bother her one bit. What cause does she have to be afraid?

Finally, she hears footsteps approaching. Someone. A person. Were they curious? Confused? Scared? It didn't matter to her. Their greeting would remain the same.

Her lively tentacles curled with anticipation.

"Hi there! You seem a little lost," she said, smiling just warmly enough.

"Do you know why you're down here?" they asked.

Was it an interrogation, or an offer for help?