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rbbrbikerthorp · 9 months

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Meeting Mick

In the centre of London, a 22-year-old junior office clerk named Gareth found himself trawling through his email inbox once again. For such a young lad, he was already fatigued with the tediousness of routine.

He had been conventional all his life, descending from a lineage of monotony. His father was an accountant who was coming up to retirement - a greyish man who wore greyish suits, his grandfather had been an accountant and he was pretty sure his great grandfather had also been in the profession. “It’s in our DNA, numbers run in our blood,” the words of his dad would echo around his head.

As a teenager, Gareth tried to rebel, well he put a bit of effort in to trying to rebel. First of all he let his hair grow, then he got a number 2 at the barbers. He bought a pair of DMs with some of his savings but never wore them for fear of what his mother and father might say. Once he came home ten minutes late for dinner, which was enough for his father to take him on one side and lecture him on the importance of timekeeping.

Anyway, let's get back to the present. Gareth got home early evening after another dull day in the office. He prepared a nice healthy meal of grilled salmon and steamed vegetables. After washing up, he decided to check his social media feeds, not that he was a prolific user of social networks, but at least they were a doorway to 'other worlds' that offered some escape.

As he was scrolling through Tumblr one profile in particular caught his attention. The profile belonged to someone calling himself 'Mick', an older man who proudly identified as a Skinhead Boss.

Gareth just stared at the profile picture; he studied it from top to bottom; his overarching thought was that this was an older guy who didn't give a f**k. He lost himself staring at the shiny black boots, which contrasted with the white laces and the arms covered in tattoos. Gareth then clicked on the profile and immediately pressed the 'follow' button.

He scrolled through Mick's blog and found himself getting more and more aroused at the pictures, which included from videos of lads getting their heads shaved, pictures of skinheads in full skinhead gear, groups of skinheads drinking and even photos of skins getting pierced and tattooed. The posts included many skinhead transformation stories as well as a few articles about skinhead culture, which Gareth read with interest.

Gareth really wanted to message Mick, and he pointed the cursor but kept hesitating because, to be honest, he felt a bit stupid. The voices in his head told him not to bother, Mick is a hard, tattooed skinhead and why would he want to chat with someone as boring and vanilla as you, Gareth?

After deliberating for many minutes whilst continuing to look over Mick's blog, he managed to silence the voices momentarily finding the resolve to send a message. He clicked on the icon and noticed the green dot, so Mick was probably online. After a lot of thought he decided to keep the first message short, "hey there, love the blog, love the gear," and pressed the send icon. No, he thought in a moment of regret and as the voices reasserted themselves, why did I type that? After a few minutes, and much to Gareth's surprise, the number 1 appeared on the messages side-menu. Expecting a "get lost" or "Eff off back to your boring, mundane life," he clicked to see what the reply was.

“Oi oi m8 thx. I didn’t think I’d be your type. Just seen your profile pic you look like just a conventional clean-cut lad." Reading this, Gareth was rock hard. He’d never spoken to a skinhead before and the thought of chatting with one was already driving him crazy. He thought very carefully about what to type next. “Ha ha, well yes, but skinheads - they're something else,” and he pressed send. Mick replied straight away “Thanks. I know you’d look good with your head shaved, wearing a nice tight pair of bleachers and all booted up lad.”

Gareth had often wondered what his life would be like if he had taken a different path maybe as a tradesman or a workie, even a punk or skinhead but it would never work, plus what would his parents and friends say. He quickly typed a reply, “Ah, I’d love to but I don’t think I could - I’d be a terrible skinhead,” and clicked on the send icon.

Gareth was starting to feel stupid again for initiating the conversation with Mick - but before he cold wallow in his foolishness he received another message, which had a much firmer tone to it “Listen lad, you WILL make a perfect skinhead. I CAN make it happen m8. I'll be in the White Hart pub on Grange Road at tonight 8 - be on time. If not, we won't chat again. It's a one time offer."

Having read the message, Gareth noticed the green light disappear - Mick must have signed out.

Gareth didn’t know what to do. This skinhead he’d spoken to for all of five minutes was willing to take him 'under his wing' and make all his dreams come true. Was this a set-up? Was it all one big joke? Was he being foolish turning up in a pub some stranger had mentioned

In that moment Gareth was 'paralysed' Should he carry on as Mr Conventional or take this opportunity to escape the monotony and drudgery of routine? Well there was only one way to find out.

After nearly an hour of procrastination he decided it was worth the risk and he would go and meet Mick. After all nothing was going to happen in pub full of customers? With a mix of excitement and apprehension, Gareth put on a pair of jeans, a plan blue t-shirt and a his coat. He opened Google Maps and searched for The White Hart and followed the directions.

After a twenty minute bus ride and ten minute walk he arrived at The White Hart. He paused for a moment. This looked like any other pub he'd seen in the city. Was he really going to enter a pub frequented by skinheads? Was he about to meet the man he'd been messaging on Tumblr? He was about to discover that this pub, adorned with memorabilia reflecting the skinhead subculture, would become the backdrop for his transformation.

He walked through the double doors and entered the tap room. He was immediately met by the sight of three skinheads standing at the bar. He checked them out; they all had shaved heads, some dressed in green or black bomber jackets, some just in t-shirts or Fred Perry polos and wearing skinhead boots; some black some red/brown.

Standing for a moment, just inside the doors (close enough to make a quick retreat should it be necessary), he took in the atmosphere. He looked around the room, trying not to catch anyone's attention. However, a few of the skins had noticed the new lad enter. Gareth was aware of several faces looking in his director, some seeming to sneer at him in contempt. He imagined they were thinking "what are you doing in our place?" After all he was a normal looking, average 22 year old in the middle of a pub occupied by tattooed, pierced, and booted skinheads.

Gareth got a sense that tension was building, but at the same time he was very aroused. He'd never been so close to one skinhead, let alone a pub full of pretty hot looking skins. He glanced at his watch - it was almost 8 o'clock - so finding Mick was his priority.

Gareth was feeling intimidated by the many eyes focussed on him. Believing Mick would be somewhere in the pub meant he was able to dig deep and find the courage not to run out through the door through which he entered. As he walked around, he noticed a skinhead standing at the bar smoking a cigarette. He always thought that smoking was banned indoors - and that included pubs - but this skinhead didn't seem to care. "You look out of place my lad - don't think you want to be in here!" he said taking the cig out of his mouth.

"Well, erm, I, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here." Gareth stuttered a reply taking in the sight in front of him.

"Oh, is that so?" The skinhead started to smile. "And who is this person you're supposed to be meeting or do you just like being in a room filled with skinheads?"

Gareth was getting even more aroused. "No, erm Mick," he initially replied meekly, then getting his confidence back, "he's called Mick".

Suddenly Gareth heard a booming voice to his right, which he knew was aimed at him. “Boy, I've been waiting."

Gareth headed over to where the voice originated, very aware that the skinhead he'd just been talking to was still staring at him as he walked away.

"Good job you turned up lad." Gareth was mesmerised at seeing Mick in person - as if in a trance, he walked towards the man that would permanently change his life. With each step forward, he took in Mick's weathered face, shaved head, tattooed arms and, holding a metal baseball bat in his left hand. "Boy, I thought you might chicken out." Finally standing next to Mick, he laughed nervously; he actually was scared-stiff but at the same time he was so turned on by this older skinhead. “You wanna be a proper skinhead - just like ALL the lads around you, don’t you?"

Gareth turned around and looked around the pub - no one was staring at him now. Everywhere he turned he saw skinheads laughing, chatting, getting the beers in and even playing pool - it was the camaraderie that caught his attention.

All his life he'd been a 'lost sheep'; he'd been desperate for the kind of kinship he was witnessing. Yes this is what he wanted, and he would do whatever it takes to be accepted. He turned back to Mick, and more certain than he'd been about anything in his life, "Yes, YES, I want to be a skinhead."

"Good lad," Mick cracked a smile for the first time since they'd met in person. "I can make it come true boy. First, I should warn you that once you say yes, there’s no going back. So, you're absolutely sure about this?”

Gareth had never been more certain in his life, oh and had never felt like this before (not to mention the forming bulge that was hard to miss). “Yes, I really want this”.

Mick was relieved, he made it a mission to bring new lads into the skinhead world “good choice, I’ll make a proper skinhead out of you boy. When I'm done with you, you'll be a proud skinhead, following the skinhead code.” Gareth nearly erupted in his trousers, he couldn’t believe this was happening. Right seat yourself down, I'll get the beers in an we'll talk about your skinhead transformation.

In a matter of minutes, Mick returned accompanied by two other skinheads who sat down alongside Gareth. "This is Charlie and this is his boi Chris. Chris once had a boring life - he was a going to be a lawyer but he hated his life. He met first Charlie on Grindr and now they're inseparable; Chris now works for the council in the cleansing department. Lads, this is Gareth," he said, nodding in Gareth's direction."

Gareth nervously picked up his glass that had been put in front of him and took a big gulp of the beer. One gulp turned into two, three, four and in no time, he'd almost finished his pint. In doing so he'd plucked up the courage to initiate a conversation about what life would be like as a skinhead.

Mick was about to start waxing lyrical about his life when Charlie jumped in, having just finished his pint, "tell the lad how long you've been a skinhead Mick," turning to Gareth, "Mick also knows what it means to be a skin and how we watch out for one another. C'mon Chris let's get the next round in."

As they chatted over three more pints Mick regaled his life experiences and the subculture he had embraced since he started secondary school. He shared stories of camaraderie, rebellion, and talked affectionately about the unique sense of identity that exists within the skinhead community. Despite the age gap, a connection had formed between the two. Mick decided it was time to begin Gareth's transformation. "Right lad, follow me."

Mick put on what Gareth would learn is his black Harrington, he picked up his baseball bat and headed through a set of double doors. Gareth followed a few paces behind Mick heading down a short dimly lit corridor.

They walked through the door and entered a room with black and white tiles on the floor, three sides of the room had walls covered in pictures of skinheads, the other wall was simply a floor to ceiling mirror. In the middle of the room was a barber's chair.

"Right lad, take your top off"

Without a second thought Gareth complied. "Get in the chair." It was an order, not a request, which had to be obeyed. Gareth was about to take the first step and most symbolic stage his transformation to a skinhead.

Sitting in the old barber's chair, Gaz could only watch as Mick walked over to the shelf and picked up a set of clippers. Mick removed the guard that was covering the cutting end and turned to Gareth, ""this is it lad; in a few minutes Gareth will be gone. I'm going to transform you into Gaz - my Skinhead boi."

With that Mick pressed the on button on the side of the clippers; immediately he heard the familiar 'clack' sound echo around the room. Mick pressed the clippers into the nape and worked his way up the lad's head. With a deliberate slowness, Gareth's hair was stripped away. With each stroke, inches of hair fell on his chest and on the floor around the chair until it was all gone.

Gareth was more turned on than he'd been; at any time in his life. Nothing he'd done in his 22 years to date had resulted in the mild sweating, butterflies and raised heart-rate that he was experiencing as he stared into the mirror watching this tattooed thug denuding his head.

Mick could tell Gaz was enjoying the experience as he heard a little pleasure moan escape from his mouth. He ran the clippers over Gaz's head at least three times, ensuring there was only stubble left. Mick noticed Gaz staring in the mirror - it wasn't all he noticed. "Like what you see boi?"

Gareth simply nodded - his brain simply couldn't process the combination of his feelings and the sight of his shaved head in the mirror. He was about to touch his head when Mick interrupted, "No you don't boi. I'll tell you when you can touch your head."

Mick then walked over to the sink and turned on the hot tap. When the water was steaming hot, he grabbed a towel and wet it thoroughly. He squeezed the towel removing the excess water and placed the very towel on Gaz's head; leaving it for a few minutes.

This gave him time to grab a can of shaving foam. He completely covered his boi's head in foam. He grabbed a new Mach III razor and started the next stage of the transformation. It took a few minutes to shave away the stubble from his boi's head and make him as smooth and shiny as a baby.

Gaz sat there frozen in disbelief as each stroke of the razor revealed another patch of scalp completely void of hair. As Mick finished up, he produced a handheld mirror to show the back and sides: “what do you think boi?”

Gaz didn’t recognise the person staring back at him - he was starting to look like a dumb thug who’d grown up on a council estate and spent years getting in trouble with the law. Not some twenty-something who had grown up the perfect, but very boring, nuclear family. “Yeah, this is perfect, just how I wanted to look”.

"It's only the beginning of your transformation lad. Now we need to get you dressed. Stay there." Mick ordered and walked over to a cupboard ar the back of the room.

Gaz didn't want to move. He was transfixed by the skinhead he saw in the mirror - so much so that he didn't hear Mick calling to him.

"Get over here boi!"

Gaz came back to reality and jumped out of the chair. He walked over to where Mick was standing. It was a cupboard full of boots, jeans with bleach splashes, t-shirts, polo shirts and bomber jackets.

For the second time in as many hours, Gaz was enthralled by the content in the cupboard - as he stared at the many pairs boots on the shelf he was almost drooling. "Right lad," Mick said jerking Gaz out of his boot gazing, "we can get you started with what's in here. You'll need to get more in time but that can wait till you start yer new job."

With that Mick began to outfit his boi in classic skinhead attire. He started by handing Gaz a t-shirt wich the boy slipped over his head, then came a pair of very tight fitting jeans with bleach splashes - bleachers as they are generally known. As he put them on he could sense blood rushing towards his groin area. Seeing this Mick smiled; Gaz smiled back sensing he was blushing. As he finished buttoning his bleachers, he saw the jeans had been cut off just below the knee - he would soon find out why. Next, Gaz was handed a pair of white(ish) football socks. "Get them on your feet."

As Gaz was putting his socks, he looked up when another skinhead entered the room. He was a bit younger than Mick but older than Gaz; his arms covered in tattoos and a huge ring in his nose and both ears pierced, "is he ready Mick?"

"Not quite Al, he's got his boots to put on an lace properly." He turned to Gaz, "for now you need to pull your socks over your knees." When Gaz had done as instructed, Mick put a pair of black 20 hole boots with white laces in front of him. He sat down and began talking him through tightly ladder-lacing his boots, first the right foot then the left.

In no time at all Gaz had ladder-laced his boots.

"Stand up lad - look in the mirror!" Mick instructed, "how does that feel?" He didn't need to ask - the lump in the boi's bleachers was there for all to see.

"i...," Gaz was stuck for words. After a few moments he spurted, "I can't believe what I'm looking at," as Gaz found himself feeling a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Mick was pleased with the transformation so far. He offered Gaz a cigarette. “Sorry, I don’t smoke”. Mick threw Gaz against the wall “lesson one, you don’t get the choose what you do and don’t do anymore. Skinheads smoke and now you're a skinhead so that means you're a smoker too. I want you to smoke a pack a day boi”.

For the first time since he walked into the pub Gaz was intimidated - especially knowing there was another skinhead in the room watching. Gaz gingerly took the smoke from Mick and lit up. It tasted awful and he was trying his best not to cough after every inhale.

“You’ll get use to it boi. Give it a few weeks you won’t be able to get out of bed without sparking up” Mick laughed. This is Al by the way. He's a tattooist - he's going to make your transformation more permanent.

"Right Al, he's ready for the next stage."

Al smiled, "come slong me boi."

Gaz followed Mick and Al out of the room, and out of a side door in the pub. Even though he'd worn his Doc Martens on a number of occasions, walking in 20-hole boots felt so different. To start with the leather was new and the soles of were solid and heavy. Mick and Al were heading off and Gaz had trouble keeping up. Eventually the two older skinheads arrived at a tattoo studio, with Gaz arriving a few seconds later.

"Right here we are. It's time to finish the job. Al's gonna give you your ink and we'll get some metal into you too,"

"Yes boi," interjected Al, "in the chair, take your shirt off and we can get started."

Gaz took off his shirt and sat in the chair.

"I think you should light up boi," Mick instructed, holding out a pack of cigs. Gaz took one and lit up. Even though it was only his second cigarette, he was doing better at not coughing every time he inhale.

"Right Mick, so just as we talked about earlier?" Al asked.

"Yes, just the ones he can't hide - the ones on his knuckles, hands, neck for today, then over the next few visits he can get his sleeves done and then you can work on his back.

Gaz's heartbeat was rising rapidly as he was listening to what was about to happen. The transformation so-far was reversible, but the moment the tattooing started there would be no turning back. Then all of a sudden he felt a wave of calm as he realised he wasn't forcibly being transformed. His lifetime wish was become a reality and Mick and Al were facilitating his deep desires.

Al set up his equipment and began. As the needle buzzed, skinhead symbols etched themselves onto Gaz's skin – a commitment to a lifestyle that was rapidly becoming his own. The letters S-K-I-N and H-E-A-D were tattooed onto his knuckles. Next, a swallow was tattooed on the back of his left hand, followed by his right hand. Then Al began the more painful and time consuming work of tattooing a spiderweb onto the left side of Gaz's neck and a pair of red DMs on the right hand side. Both would be positioned too high for Gaz to cover them up - even if that's what he wanted to do - and he didn't, ever!

Piercings followed suit, adding a further edge to Gaz's appearance. His ears were adorned with small gold hoops, then his nipples were pierced - wincing at the pain as the needle went through the sensitive skin.

"One more for today boi and then we are done. If you thought your nipple piercings hurt, then you'll really feel it when we get your septum done."

Mick wasn't wrong. However, compared to the continuous, vibrating pain of being tattooed, Gaz would describe the septum piercing as a quick, sharp pain. In no time at all he had a 14 gauge septum piercing with a gold ring though it.

"Your nose is going to be tender to touch and will probably take a couple of week to heal." Al told Gaz. We'll look at changing to a slightly bigger ring as Mick wants in a couple of months, that's provided it has healed well."

Mick walked over to Gaz and grabbed him roughly. Mick pressed his body up against Gaz and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then he thrust his tongue harshly into Gaz's mouth. Gaz had never kissed a man before, in fact he hadn't kissed many girls before. So he just let Mick take charge. Gaz found he loved the smokey taste of Mick's mouth too - imagining that his would taste the same as he become a 20-a-day smoker.

In that single moment Gaz felt a sense of liberation that transcended his previous life. There would be no return for once ordinary office worker. Instead, with Mick's guidance, Gaz secured his first manual job. Being a workie on a building site was a fitting occupation for his newfound identity.

In the end, Gareth's (now Gaz's) transformation went beyond skin-deep. He found a sense of purpose and community that resonated with him on a profound level. Mick, the seasoned skinhead mentor, had unwittingly become Gaz's Alpha guiding the 22 year old through a journey of self-discovery that led him to embrace a life that, just weeks before, had been unimaginable.

#ranger boots #tattoos #bleachers #conversion #skinhead #smoking

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splatoon-edits · 7 months

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Salmon Run Icons

Free To Use, Likes and Reblogs Appreciated <3

#mod shiver #splatoon #splatoon 3 #icons #splatoon 2 #salmon run #salmon run next wave #salmon run splatoon #splat3

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splatoongamefiles · 7 months

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Pinned Post

Other places i'm at:

@ranidspace (my main)

@splatoonsongpolls

my github

my ko-fi

the splatoon tumblr community

general hangout discord server (17+, come join!!!)

Before you send a request, check to see if it's already been ripped:

The google drive:

Stuff I didnt rip but check it out:

Lean's Database

(Gear icons, tableturf stuff, ink colours, nearly everything)

Models Resource (Splatoon 3)

(please check this before asking me for a model)

The tagging system i use:

Things of note:

I forget to tag things. often.

I'm intending to go and redo the tags on all my previous posts, so some of these tags are currently pretty empty

I'm canadian. i may spell things like "colour" instead of color

Often things are plural. for example i tag things as "textures" instead of "texture"

searching for text on tumblr sucks, but you can search for posts tagged by making sure you add the "#" at the beginning. Searching for two tags at once seems to be broken :(

Rip Medium:

"#game rip" Rip from a video game

"#website rip" from a website, like the official nintendo sites or stuff like that

"#music rip" rip specifically from a music release, like Splatune. not all music, see "#music"

Rip Type:

"#textures" textures of various objects and things

"#images" anything which is meant to be it's own image, in universe graphics and such

"#symbols" like images but, symbols. May also include symbols in textures

"#models"

"#UI" Any ui like screen elements. also may include in-universe UI, like marina's laptop screen

"#audio" any and all audio

"#voice" voice lines

"#particles"

"#music"

"#sound effects" (currently very empty because i forget to tag it, i'm working on it)

"#text" any in game text, note it's usually in english. most of all ripped text in splatoon 3 in all languages can be found in here. also see "#typeface"

"#maps" entire stages or areas.

"#animation" any animations or poses of models

Game:

The game and series is tagged, so all splatoon rips are tagged "#Splatoon" and then the game as well: "#Splatoon 1", "#Splatoon 2", "#Splatoon 3" etc.

Game Mode:

If it's from a story mode i'll tag it:

"#Octo Valley", "#Octo Canyon", "#Octo Expansion", "#Return of the Mammalians", "#Side Order"

I always remember to tag the story mode, so if you're having trouble finding something your best bet is with this

Splatoon 2's salmon run is tagged "Salmon Run", while Splatoon 3's is tagged "Salmon Run: Next Wave"

other tags like "#Splatfest" or "#Tableturf" also exist

Characters:

rips of the character models are tagged "#characters", but character tags can be used for anything relating to the character

I often do full names, "#Frye Onaga", "#Marina Ida", "#Pearl Houzuki", "#Shiver Hohojiro", though until i get all my tags unified and checked through them again it would be good to check both

apparently i genuinely tagged something as "Manta Tarou Kizaemon Munekiyo" once, but i'll usually just tag "Big Man"

General enemy names like "#salmonids", or "#jelletons"

Specific enemy names like "#Griller", or "#Octodisco"

band names, like "#chirpy chips"

Location:

rips of the location itself are tagged "#maps", but location tags are for anything inside, or relating to the location

If it's in a normal battle stage, that will be tagged, like "#MakoMart" or "#Inkblot Art Academy"

Other locations like "#lobby", "#alterna", "#the crater", "inkopolis plaza"

things like "#credits" also may be tagged

Objects:

Probably the thing i forget to tag the most. I'll work on it

"#clothing"

"#weapons", "sub weapons", "#special weapons"

specific things like the weapon or gear name, maybe includes the brand as well

"#posters", "#graffiti",

Other important object like "#NILS statue" but more likely it'll be tagged with the character or location it's relevant to

Meta Tags:

"#request" a rip that was requested from an ask or my discord server.

"#ask" and "#username"/"#anonymous" any asks and the username who sent it

"#not a rip" anything thats not a rip. if i remember to tag it.

"#not my rip" things ripped by other people, if i remember to tag it, but i usually mention i didnt rip it in the post itself

"#megapack" anything that contains a bunch of stuff. Most have migrated to the google drive

"#splatfilesqna" asks i get not relating to ripping things

"#edit by me" sometimes the textures or things get some working to look presentable or even legible,, so if i edit something i tag it with this

"#commentary" old tag from when i didnt used to yap as much. yapping on what the rip is

"#file upload" contains an uploaded file, like on the google drive, or through filegarden

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dr-spectre · 1 month

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Ranting about Salmon Run...

As someone who loves this mode and thinks it's the best multiplayer mode in Splatoon 3. The scale system in it is dogshit and needs to change in the next game. It's genuinely awful and terrible game design in my opinion.

In order to get scales you must encounter a King Salmonid, the amount of scales you get is determined by your current rank and if you win or lose. Now to even get to a King Salmonid, you must do several matches to increase the chance of encountering one. Guess how long each Salmon Run match is... 300 seconds/5 minutes. Actually it's a little bit longer than that because you have to take into account queuing times, the wait time at the start of the match and the 10 seconds you get to prepare in each round.

Let's say you need to do 5 matches to even encounter the King Salmonid, you have to go through a little over 25 to 30 MINUTES to get a CHANCE to fight the king. AND GUESS WHAT! EVEN IF THE ICON IS FULL! THERE'S STILL A CHANCE YOU WON'T EVEN GET TO FIGHT A KING!!! WHY!??!? WHY IS IT LIKE THAT!??! I WENT THROUGH 5 MATCHES WHEN THE BAR WAS FULL AND YET I DIDN'T ENCOUNTER A KING AT ALL!!!! IT WAS A GIANT WASTE OF TIME!!!!!! (aside from ability chunks i guess) I GOT OTHER GAMES TO PLAY!!!!!

This icon is a fucking lie, a god damn lie i tell you! Even if it's full, your other teammates have to have theirs full as well apparently. So.. YAY! AWESOME! ughhhh........

Now let's talk about when you actually get the scales, there's a very high chance you will get barely any scales because you lost and you're in a low rank, OR, you won't get a single gold scale for several Xtrawaves. Meaning you have to go through the process of building up the meter again and again AND AGAIN to get a chance to get a single fucking gold scale. Do you see the issue here? The insanely long grind? It's fucking horrible.

Oh yeah and by the way, the chance of you getting a gold scale gets higher when you're in a higher rank, however this becomes an issue when you realise that the higher ranks are REALLY REALLY hard and it's near impossible to make it to the Xtrawave unless you have an amazing team. So yeah, good luck trying to maintain a high rank and actually beat the King Salmonid to get a chance of getting a gold scale!!!!!!!

Man... This is giving me a god damn headache.

Now, let's talk about the rewards you get. I'm gonna come right out and say it, you are never EVER getting any of these rewards.

Unless you actually hack the game or you abandon every aspect of your life just to get a bunch of fucking pngs for your splashtag, you will never EVER EVER EVER GET THEM! They are flat out impossible and if you see someone have any of these, they are a hacker and need to get reported.

And the gear that people actually want, well... LOOK AT THIS!

WHY ARE THERE SO MANY 800 BRONZE SCALE ITEMS!??! WHY?!?!?! WHYYYY?!!?!? Sometimes in Xtrawaves you may not even get 10 OF THESE! SO WHY MAKE IT TO WHERE MOST OF THE GEAR PEOPLE ACTUALLY WANT 800 GOD DAMN SCALES??!? If you got like 30 or 50 each time then maybe it would make sense, BUT NO! IT'S LIKE 5 TO 12!! WHYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have been playing this game since launch and i only have the Octoleet Armor. THAT IS IT! There is a difference between rewarding the player and just doing monotonous grinding.

I am glad that Splatoon doesn't do what other games do nowadays and just has microtransactions to skip through grinding and pay an insane fee for currency. But like... Overwatch 2 is less grindy than this, you can comfortably get skins in that game for characters you like just by doing challenges and playing a bit of the game every day, and that game has SKINS THAT COST 58 BUCKS AUD!

That's all i wanted to say, I'm getting a headache just typing this because my god man, this is just awful game design and a poor way of rewarding the player and keeping retention time. Truly awful.

#splatoon #splatoon 3 #salmon run #salmonid #king salmonid #rant post #anger #long post #text post #overwatch #callie cuttlefish #callie splatoon #frye onaga #frye splatoon

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allwaswell16 · 2 months

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[4 pics, 4 quotes, 4 iconic 1D fics]

Iconic Fics by... - LadyLondonderry -

[1]

When the moon finally reaches directly overhead (which Louis mostly notices because Niall grabs his hand and squeezes it like he’s trying to pop the eyes off a trout), Lady Oich swims up before them and recites the ceremonial vows, her mermaid tongue twisting the words into a haunting song about being bound for life to one’s lover. Louis shivers as the words wash over him, at the magnitude of their meaning.

When she ends her speech, Louis suddenly realises he wishes badly that he wasn’t one of the best looking omegas here, because he really doesn’t want to be first.

But then Lady Oich makes eye contact with him and raises her hand, and Louis’ heart nearly stops in his chest. She’s signalled that he’s first, and that his choosing begins now.

[2]

He’s been up at the Help Desk for about half an hour when someone in a fireman uniform who is not Liam comes up to him.

This man, this not-Liam man, is probably the most attractive man Harry has ever seen. Did he say the other day that Liam was hot? That was a lie. No one could hold a candle to this perfect human specimen right in front of him. He’s got soft chestnut coloured hair that Harry would like to run his hands through, a bit of stubble that defines the set of his jaw, the cutest button nose Harry has ever seen, and the curve of his neck… This man cannot possibly be a mere human. Perhaps this Christmas is the second coming of Christ, because this man is compact perfection.

“Hello,” Perfection says when he reaches the counter.

Harry squeaks, and tries to cover it up with a cough.

“I’m Louis,” says Perfection. He sticks his hand out and… shit, is this what Liam felt like? What hand does Harry use? Which is the right one?

[3]

By the time Harry gets back to the office, Louis’ arrived and is sipping coffee from his signature fox mug. He waves at Harry. “You’re not dead!”

“I’m not dead,” Harry agrees. “Just had to go rescue my roommate.”

“Ah,” says Louis. “Nick said you had one hour vomiting sickness.”

“That too,” Harry says. He sits down and goes back to his stack of plans that he had barely started copying. His head still hurts. He doesn’t want to have to go stand at the copier for the next hour fighting with it, so he takes the six that were successfully copied and brings them up on his screen, indexing and archiving them.

The plans that Harry copies are supposed to have no paperclips, no staples, no sticky notes.

The people who create these packets are what Mitch likes to call “incompetent nutters”.

On the wall behind him, Harry’s started a collection of sticky notes that he’s pulled out of the copier when the pages jam. He cuts them up to protect privacy information which makes them unique and wonky and wonderful. He takes a moment to flip through the six on his desk, and adds two to the collage; Please add blood and dissenting opinion. That’s satisfying at least.

[4]

Now trying to distract himself from the faint salmon smell that seems to be growing stronger, Louis starts people-watching with a purpose. There’s a woman with a young child in her arms who has a stuffed bear in her arms, and all three of them are in matching blue dresses. The person now sitting opposite him has purple hair and earrings that hang past their shoulders in a tangle of tiny glinting beads. Louis wonders how often they get stuck on things. He can see what he thinks is a soulmate tattoo just below their jawline, something short. Good for them.

There’s a man at the far end of the tube who is wearing a chunky oversized sweater, colourful knit squares patched together like a clown outfit made for winter. Louis isn’t sure, but he thinks it might be hideous. The guy is turned around, though, so he can only see the back of it.

- answers below -

[1] Moon Dances Over

Louis knows that his tail is, frankly, stunning. His iridescent blue scales shimmer in even the slightest sunlight, and his fins have grown since he presented, delicate and almost transparent in their webbing.

He also knows that that means he’ll be one of the first to pick tonight, as the most beautiful omegas are blessed to pick their mates first. It’s considered a huge honour, since the guppies they’ll eventually birth will certainly be beautiful as well, bringing favour on the whole clan.

Louis has a stubborn streak, though. He’s always been rather a fan of mating for love, and there’s someone he’s had his eye on for a long time now.

[2] Frankincense-ational

Harry Styles works at the Hillsyde Library with his friend Zayn and best mate Niall. It’s December, which means Christmas, which should be the happiest month of the year…

Except Niall just broke up with his boyfriend, Zayn needs to let up on the rules a little, and the library is getting their fire alarm system replaced, which means that for the next few weeks there are going to be firemen patrolling the library ‘looking for fires’ while the system is down.

Harry almost hits one of them with his car right off the bat - and of course he’s the hot one.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

A 2017 Advent Fic

[3] Give A Little Sing To The Singles

Harry Styles is an adult now, with a real adult job (and benefits! Whatever those are!). He spends his days at the copier. Copying things.

That being said, no one told Harry that being an adult came with a confusingly chaotic boss, a copier machine that would be hell-bent on ruining his life, and a coworker so good looking that Harry might just have to quit. After all, Christmas is coming and if their office doesn’t win the decorating contest, Louis has threatened to break several laws and kneecaps in retaliation.

Happy Christmas, here’s to many more.

[4] Things Unsaid

"That chunky oversized sweater is like a clown outfit made for winter."

It feels like time slows down.

Those words echo in his mind, familiar. Why are they familiar? The— the sweater he saw last week. The one with all the knit squares.

The train slows to a stop and Louis just— he doesn’t move. He feels frozen in place as people surge around him. Suddenly everyone is moving too fast and then just as suddenly the car is near empty, taking off again.

The man is gone.

His soulmate is gone.

Or, where you have a tattoo of the first thought your soulmate has when they see you.

#ficrec #hlcreators #hljournal #1dsquad #1dficvillage #ladylondonderry #londonfoginacup

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