#splat and blot

[sillyseaveerablogs]

Ah yes, Blot but he's a survivor in my AU (No injuries due to hiding in crates) @bridgemino, @antikittysocial Lookie, a survivor

[kyrolyx]

Guarding the goal

This Is my Main Artwork I spent the Majority of my 3 months working on!! Also, my first Splatoon art ^^

Posted using PostyBirb

[splatbitcabbit]

Welcome

This is a blog I made for Splat so I could perhaps flesh her out more

She is adopted by @agethath3silly

Also Splat’s lover is @cutielilcandy

Asks are open just don’t be too weird!

Anons are also allowed but again, don’t be weird!

Splat’s text sample

OOC will be solid pink with parentheses around it

(like this)

I am fully willing to also interact with other FPE ask blogs =3

I think that’s it

I’ll see you around!

~ Admin Keke

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

How would you rank the overblot transformations??

I can definitely share my thoughts on each boy ^^ It’ll be in main story order with my commentary first, then general thoughts, and finally my personal ranking.

***Spoilers under the cut!!***

Riddle

The way he drags his hands down his face is the exact same as how he does it in the Heartslabyul CM… And then I learned that basically all of the boys are doing the same thing so it lost a little of its charm.

His expression here reads as angry.

His Phantom appears behind him and takes him by the head/neck, tilting his head slightly back and dripping blot onto him. It feels like his thoughts and mind are being seized and controlled by another being.

Riddle tightens his hand (which is already curled into a fist), almost as if steeling his resolve or doubling down on his stance. You know, like how he's been pressing everyone about following the rules his entire book.

The blot that consumes his body looks like the constricting bandages you might see on a mummy… limiting his freedom.

Then it looks like the Phantom's hands close around him. It's really interesting symbolism for how his mom's parenting literally shaped Riddle to be like a mini version of herself.

At first, I thought that Riddle emerging from the blot hunched over like a limp doll would be something unique only to him because he is also the only OB to be "hanging". If you look at his deformed/chibi model, he looks like he's being puppeted by his Phantom, which mirrors how his mom controls so many aspects of his life. Unfortunately, this was not the case and it is just how every single OB exits their pseudo-cocoon of blot.

Leona

Something about the way the Phantom’s shadow is projected reminds me of Be Prepared.

Compared to Riddle, Leona's initial expression is more frustrated than angry. His face seems a little… not quite correct?

WHAT THE HELL, his Phantom's so scary??? The instant it appears, there's already a waterfall of blot gushing out from its head... so much blot, in fact, that it makes an AUDIBLE splat sound. (qweuyqweqwo Though I will say that Leona's shocked expression as goop lands on his head is sort of funny??)

Leona's blot becomes something resembling sand before engulfing his body, which makes sense given his UM.

I've seen people claim that Leona's Phantom chomps down on him (which is a scary thought in of itself), but to me it looks like it's just pulling Leona closer to its body by jutting its head + mane in front of him. It feels like a protective parent shielding its young or even grabbing it by the scuff and dragging it out of danger.

LEONA YOU HAVE A LOUD ASS CHUCKLE (and what's with the reverb... do you think it makes you sound sexy hot or something... CUZ IT DOESN'T).

Azul

We see Azul from the back. This is such a small thing to notice, but I feel that this was intentionally done as a nod to how Azul wants to put his past "behind" him and rejects his past self.

WHOA, bro's crazy laughing?? While dragging his fingers down his face?? Neither of these things would be that crazy on their own but together it gives Joker energy.

Not the Phantom doing a back flip... It's such a drama queen.

Blot gets onto him like a spray of water and Azul seems shocked by the impact, like he does not realize he is overblotting.

TENTACLES COME OUT FROM BEHIND AND YOINK HIM????? That's terrifying 💀

Quietest chuckle ever known to mankind...

Jamil

Remember what I said about Azul crazy laughing? Yeah, scratch all that. JAMIL takes the cake for having the most unhinged laughter.

THAT IS A FACE NOT EVEN A MOTHER COULD LOVE

Love that the Phantom moves like a genie just like its design implies.

Not sure why he took off his hood but hey, anything for dramatic effect. It gives the impression that he anticipates or accepts the incoming blot??

The blot forms in snake-like tendrils, similar to what we see in the Scarabia CM.

A little detail that I thought was really silly (but loved) was the little jingling effect of his golden accessories/ornaments.

Sorry to all Jamil Likers out there but I can’t take you guys seriously anymore after listening to your guy crash out so hard/j 😭 JAMIL FR WENT FULL CHUUNI MODE

Vil

Something about the way this Phantom takes its time smearing blot onto Vil's face (and how Vil SMILES through the entire process???) is unsettling. I guess he's truly dead set on making the whole world ugly so that his beauty stands out.

Nice touch of that huge blob of blot forming a poison apple shape as it descends.

Was not expecting violet sparkles??? I'm still not sure what those tendrils are supposed to be (blackened peacock feathers?) but they remind me of flesh ribbons since it seems to transition into a ribbon or fabric-like violet substance🧍

This could be me overthinking it, but I feel Vil's face at the beginning of the transformation vs the end of the transformation are not consistent and that thought is REALLY bothering me. He just has the kind of face that's extremely difficult to get right in animation 💦

Idia

Interesting that they decided to place Idia's transformation in 6-68 (when Pomefiore catches him opening up the gates to Tartarus) instead of 6-54, which is when we see his magestone turning black.

Not Idia's "fwee hee hee" as he's about to unleash the APOCALYPSE onto the world... His expression kind of has a quiet glee to it.

Oh my god, that pillar of blot 💀 and Idia moving toward it, with his arms out as if waiting for a hug as the wave crashes down on him... It's different than what we see in the Ignihyde CM (where the souls seem to be grabbing at his ankles/feet), but I love this interpretation too!

AYO, PHANTOM!ORTHO RISING UP FROM TARTARUS LOOKS SO COOL

I love the detail of OB!Idia emerging and then Phantom!Ortho connecting to him via a bunch of extension cables/tubes... It's hard to see in the deformed/chibi models, so I'm glad that the transformation animation calls attention to it.

THE SLOW TURN AND THE WAY IDIA NARROWS HIS EYES + THE LCD MASK'S WIDENS INTO A SMIRK/SMILE HNNNNNGH

I'm gonna say it... Idia Shroud, you are cool for once/j.

Malleus

The Phantom looks so much bigger than the others (maybe because the green fire enhances the shape of its shadow).

Awkward angle for Malleus's face... His face in general seems a little off.

The smile's not as wide as Vil's is, but it still comes across as sinister + having some degree of awareness.

Whoa, that rotating shot as the Phantom flies around Malleus + spills blot is very dynamic.

Of course his blot becomes thorns. What else would they possibly be?? It really suits his image.

Love how his cape and tail unfurl from his evil cocoon!!

That slight tilt of his head to one side has so much sass and arrogance behind it...

General notes:

Transformations all synced up super well with each boy’s individual OB battle music!

They all follow a formula (Phantom as a shadow behind them, blot splashing onto them, close-up of their eye, body wrapped up, exiting all hunched over, ending with close-up of the face + igniting eye, etc.) but they changed up enough for each boy to keep it interesting.

There’s no words spoken in the transformations but it’s the little things (like the crazed laughter or chuckles) that really enhance the scenes.

In all transformations, the Phantom appears first and it is the blot leaking from them that consumes each OB boy. Previously, I thought it was the transformation that happened first and THEN the Phantom formed from the blot that each OB boy has dripping from their transformed bodies.

They honestly went by so fast it was hard for me to process all the details so I had to rewatch them like 10 times each to get everything. Wonder if the anime will have more detail?

Honestly, I feel a little underwhelmed since it’s mostly the characters standing in one place (the actual transformation takes place out of sight/inside a cocoon of blot) and not a ton of detail, length, or super deep symbolism. Maybe they felt they didn’t have to do much because of the mobile nature of the game?? Still, I don’t feel that these were necessarily “don’t spoil for a whole month” worthy.

If I had to rank the transformations from my favorite to my least favorite (although I do like them all!!):

FAVORITE

Idia (animation works so well with his story, love the connection between him and Ortho + how he goes in for a hug)

Riddle (“mom ruling over/controlling him” symbolism of his past/upbringing here that simply isn’t for most of the other boys)

Malleus (face is a little wonky but the animators were very ambitious with this one)

Jamil (ridiculous laugh, insane expression, endless meme potential)

Azul (the opening laugh was the most memorable aspect for me)

Leona (generic motifs, almost silly vibes with the blot splat sfx and him drowning in the stuff, face slightly off model)

Vil (unsettling smile + face, weird feathers)

LEAST FAVORITE

[fizzyboy]

So, looking at your posts about how the blots 'mature'. Would ones that grow old enough acknowledge that they could "converse" with certain toons, some are less likely to stop a attack. But I can't help but imagine a old Chaser acting as a courier because that sorta... keeps it 'safe' (given human settlements proly have no way to stay in contact long range. They'd probably need something like that.) By safe, I should probably mean that it just... makes itself too useful to just up and splat. Curious question. Wasteland Tussle. How well would you say he is as a leader of a settlement?

Blots can't, or at least shouldn't, be able to "talk" to anyone until maybe the late game stages. They don't "age" normally. They still expire at some point, but I don't have the words for it right now.

They can have little herds and their own territories with certain more evolved blots in charge. That being said, they don't fw humans. Like, they're noticeably more aggressive with them than the toons. Even the more naturally friendly blots are on the default "ewwww" mindset for them if they don't gain their trust.

In regards to Tussle, he's the best embodiment of Tough and Fair. He's got discipline and routine in his bones, he commands respect without even meaning to, and he's not the kind of guy to sit on his butt and bark orders.

He gets shit done. Plain and simple. Even when Duke was still alive, he often took control of a situation naturally.

[sandsorghum]

Casual Wear

wc: 4k

tags: Higuruma Hiromi x Reader | Humour | Character Study

synopsis: What that mouth do?

Higuruma Hiromi’s mouth is magic.

No, not for its purposes in his legal profession nor even in the leisure of his licentious pursuits, but it’s impressive for a far more fundamental reason - the act of eating, and more aptly, it’s an act which really warrants the description of a Performance. 

You’re convinced meals with Higuruma Hiromi have both enough drama and tragicomedy to rival vaudevillian theatrics or Cirque du Soleil spectacles.

With him, menus transformed into playbills and lunches became matinées. 

Currently, you’re savouring your front row seat as he launches into a Shakespearan treatise on a hamburger and some crinkle-cut fries. He is in fact delivering some diatribe about his latest case, but you find your attention rather riveted by the single tomato slice half hovering between the buns, waiting in the wings of the thoroughly wrinkled wrapper clutched in Higuruma’s hand. 

All of his neatly pressed suit is a stage and these formerly sturdily assembled ingredients, merely players. 

“And now I’m going to have to file an extradition request to the headquarters in Setagaya which will take weeks…” he scowls, practically glowering at his food as he takes a large chomp of it.

You’ve perfected a perfunctory yet sympathetic hum, which you deploy now, patting Higuruma’s free hand so it doesn’t come up to restore order to his rapidly dilapidating burger. It’s not so much eating as it is an exercise in embracing entropy; with his Jenga tower of trembly lettuce leaves, melty cheese, slabs of streaky bacon, a double patty and the obnoxiously outsized hula hoops of grilled onions. And naturally, Higuruma had the hubris to include pickles. 

You keenly watch the egg wash bronzed dome and fluffy foundations of the brioche buns slipping and squeezing through the crevices of Higuruma’s fingers, somehow disappearing faster and shrinking back to further destabilize the stack as the layers jostle and jut ahead of each other at higgly-piggly angles. With each increasingly aggressive bite, Higuruma liberates rich rivulets of meat juices to dribble all over his knuckles, until inevitably, a dollop of sriracha mayo prematurely splodges a thick wad over his tendons. 

Oh, this was going to be good.

Without skipping a beat in the monologue bemoaning his chosen vocation, you watch Higuruma start to crane his head forward to lick his wrist but then he stops himself and you’re disappointed, resigned to the assumption that this fully grown man will resort to the much more sensible option of the serviettes, which have after all, been sitting on the tray by his elbows, untouched since the start of the meal.

But Higuruma doesn’t go for the tissues - and what happens next is so much better than you could have anticipated.

Realising his cuffs are in the way, Higuruma in a singular motion instead raises both his arm and the dishevelled burger ascending aloft his head, and then proceeds to lave his tongue across his wrist. He’s quite successfully, if unconventionally, mopped away most of the offending sauce when the magic happens.

Sschhhloorpplbt.

With slow-mo melodrama and grace, the tomato slops out of the burger, landing with a watery splat! on Higuruma’s face, before skidding across the starched collars of his shirt, then careens into its final resting place - his lap.

“Drat. Knew I should have gotten the wrap,” Higuruma mutters.

You attempt to drown your snort in the last shallow dregs of your strawberry milkshake but Higuruma looks up sharply at you, as he pinches the offending vegetable off his pants and tosses it onto the plate.

Your eyes are glimmering as he futilely crumples a tissue against his shirt, sweeping over the stretched cotton canvas where he’s also made a tribute to Jackson Pollock in mustard and ketchup blots.

“You’re such an artist, Higuruma.”

“What?”

You only grin at him, licking your thumb and swabbing it along the tomatoey streak on his handsome cheek, leaving a different reddish tint in your wake.

You didn’t always think his mouth was magic — frankly it had given you the ick in the initial stages of this courtship.

Or perhaps, grotesque fascination was the correct terminology. It was perplexing, how his clothes sustained that much collateral damage during meals.

You had to see it to believe it, otherwise it was simply too baffling, just how much debris accompanied his approach to dining; although ‘approach’ implied that Higuruma had some sort of strategy or logic in manufacturing these messes, and it just wasn’t conceivable that anyone could structure this level of disaster.

But even if you didn’t witness the havoc of Higuruma’s eating habits in real time, the aftermath sometimes stuck around, goading you to reverse-engineer the chaos. There was a litany of clues you got skilled at deciphering, piecing together the (quite often literal) trail of breadcrumbs to figure out what he’d eaten that day, and with what degree of ravenous recklessness, from shoyu speckled sleeves to smears of mayonnaise on his collar — courtesy of the cup ramen he’d scalded his tongue on, or his even more hastily consumed ‘lunch’ of two takoyaki sticks.

Of course, there was still an unanswered question at the crux of these guessing games, a mystery underpinning the habitual volatility of appeasing his hunger. Because despite all of these tendencies towards frenetic feasting, there was still a certain aura of poise to Higuruma Hiromi. 

Admittedly, it’s an assessment compromised by your aesthetic attraction to him; you could readily confess there was a certain case to be made for your bias, perhaps a subconscious conflation of the merits of his wit and style, both imbued with an effortless sharpness, each enhancing the overall effect; the innate elevating the deliberate. 

He dressed smart, in well fitting suits that were rarely rumpled, as unruffled and unflappable as his own presence. For a man for whom an adherence to dining etiquette seemed strictly conceptual, practically he still presented himself well, keeping his attire if not pristine, then still remarkably sleek and clean, considering the tribulations he subjected it to at least three times daily. 

How this was possible perpetually intrigued and mystified you, until the day you learned Higuruma’s secret. 

It had been an accidental discovery, on an afternoon when you’d made a lunch hour visit.

The occasion was already nominally noteworthy, as you’d finally persuaded him to try a salad, after months of gentle chastisements about his diet.

Your triumph however, left a scattering of sunflower seeds along his chin and when he was done stabbing through the arugula, his countenance more closely resembled a truculent teen who had raced face first through a hedge maze. 

“Do I really have to finish these lawn clippings?” Higuruma whined, prodding at the greenery with his prongs. 

“I don’t remember signing up to date a man-child,” you tut, even as you swipe a napkin along his cheeks, while Higuruma tucks his grin against your wrist. Before those lips can detect and further elicit the pitter-patter of your pulse, you move to scrunch the serviette against his tie where quite unfortunately yet predictably, there are several sizable splatters of balsamic vinaigrette dressing. 

“The smell is probably going to seep through this silk,” you say with a slight frown. 

“It’s not a problem,” Higuruma shrugs, starting to loosen his tie, sliding two digits into the triangular knot and tugging it open. The fabric seemed to practically melt around his fingers, parting without resistance till it slipped down his chest. You try not to track the motion too overtly, but there’s little else qualifying as worthy contenders for your attention.

So you watch as Higuruma smoothly, almost automatically, pulls open a drawer to reveal row after row of neatly rolled black ties, as well as a stack of white Oxford shirts. He picks out the corner-most tie, and feels your gaze shift as he uncoils it around his palms and starts to loop it around his neck.

Mistaking your quizzical, fascinated focus for judgment, he states, “They’re for emergencies.”

“A dozen tie-related emergencies?” you clarify, with that tilt to your tone which Higuruma finds himself wanting, increasingly often, to see mirrored in your lips - even if it’s at his expense.

“Yes, but would you believe it’s got space for 14.”

“I do believe that, Higuruma. I’m surprised you haven’t fit a tuxedo in there.”

Higuruma shuts the drawer before you can scythe your eye over their contents again, hoping the sound of its rolling snap eclipses the death throes of the mollified whimper tickling the back of his throat. (It doesn’t.)

“The drawer does leave me with one question though.” 

Higuruma glances up from making the final adjustments on his Windsor knot. The serenity in your expression belies the innocence of your inquiry. 

“What if you have pants-related emergencies?”

Higuruma suddenly finds his tie too tight around his throat, scarcely providing a barrier to the sickle of your mouth which he thinks must be pressed to his jugular, that arresting curve he traces up to your eyes with their wicked gleam, the one he’s only seen so far in his dreams.

Be careful what you wish for...

He responds, rather raspily, “Well, I had to be economical with the space. Could hardly turn this cube into a walk-in closet.”

“No I suppose not,” you say, brushing your fingers against his discarded vinaigrette stained tie. “So you chose to prioritise the shirts and ties, which are likelier to be scrutinised.”

“Yes,” Higuruma says, grateful for the familiarity of your shrewd common sense, “Not many people pay attention to the lower half of my suit.”

Too late he catches the glimmer in your gaze flickering downwards, and he’s incapacitated by the mere dip in your voice when you reply, ever so off-handedly, “Well, perhaps such neglect ought to be rectified.”

And Higuruma realises, right then and there with a mild throb of panic, maybe he really ought to invest in a separate drawer for briefs (of the non-legal kind.)

It might be magic, or it might merely be beyond the scope of scientific explanation. 

The way Higuruma’s mouth operates is a phenomenon to be studied, a riddle of the universe, its mystique obdurate against your observations. 

It didn’t matter what the texture of the food was - boiled, baked, fried, sautéed or steamed. Carnage reigned. It was the second law of thermodynamics, mandated by Higuruma’s mouth; Entropy will always increase over time. 

Or over the course of dinner and dessert.

Soba noodles dangled and tangled off his chopsticks like the most amateurish marionette attempts, sorbets slunk off of cones at strange angles despite his best efforts to corral them with his otherwise reflexively dexterous tongue (lightning quick with quips but not licks, in this situation) and at the movies, the first thing to emerge from the gloom of the cinemas were usually the puffy white popcorn kernels adorned to his collar. By the time you’d brushed them off Higuruma, on average you’d refilled nearly a third of the bucket. 

Once, at a carnival, you found corndog crumbs clinging to his cheeks even after taking the roller coaster (which had two loop de loops) and wisps of cotton candy in his hair, their pink tufts tangling with his ink-jet fringe. And later, in the shrieking whirlwind glee of the teacups, he’d swept right into you, chuckling and clutching your hips in a spun-sugar collision of your mouths and you’d tasted the sweet detritus of his off-kilter caramel-apple kisses, crackling saccharine on your tongue.

You ride the pleasant ebb and surge of this new romance over the next months, Higuruma’s presence both thrilling and soothing, intoxicating and relaxing. You cannot help but succumb to the allure of his juxtapositions, all that remains unsolved about him - typified by that first mystery around his table manners (or lack thereof); How could a man so put together, so composed in his speech and thoughts still leave such a trail of devastation in his wake? On occasion, you are tempted to wonder if it portends some secret character defect.

Yet you dismiss this as paranoia, even knowing paradise won’t last. 

After all, you and Higuruma were trying to keep things casual. You were both savouring that phase where ambiguity embellishes and relishes an amorous atmosphere, in all its tremulous, temerarious pacing. Dancing around definitions, sidestepping expectations; simply discovering a routine tenderness, and exploring the natural rhythm of fitting into each other’s lives.

That was easier said than done, however.

That first infraction comes when Higuruma has to cancel your weekend date, after two weeks of absence and only intermittent text exchanges.

The call comes just as you’re donning your platform sandals and heading out the door. 

“I am so so sorry I am so so swamped-” There’s the Shinkansen swoosh of his apologies over the speakers, far more profuse than the excuses, sounding more wretched than frantic. For a few minutes, you let Higuruma rattle on with that barely sheathed saber-edged vexation to his tone, venting about some idiot who’d “only gone and committed perjury”, resulting in the decimation of an alibi and the implosion of a plea deal, while you glance at your wristwatch, letting the second hand slip past the 12 for a third time before you firmly interrupt.

“And then the other intern quit because they wanted to summer in the bloody Bahamas while I’m in the office on a Sunday...”

“Higu-”

“...trying to stop this damn injunction which makes zero sense-”

“Higuruma.”

“Huh?”

“I said, it’s 2pm. Did you remember to have lunch?” 

“Oh.” Higuruma responds, as if the concept of midday meals was a novelty - telling you everything you needed to know.

“I’ll bring you something.” 

“You don’t have to bother yourself, I’ll grab a bite from the vending machine.”

“Except I already have gone to the trouble. I’m all dressed up, you see I was supposed to catch up with some cute guy this afternoon.”

You can practically hear his blush through the phone, and even though you aren’t face to face, Higuruma’s voice still turns gruff as if to disguise the rush of blood to his cheeks.

“Some cute guy?”

“Yeah, he operates a kushikatsu yatai in my neighbourhood. Always gives me a couple extra sticks for free.” 

“Oh, that place has been around for what, three decades now? And you’re referring to Kazuya-dono who refuses to retire, aren’t you? The balding guy in his 60s.”

“The tycoon in his 60s, yep. And he’s considering investing in a toupee I hear.”

Higuruma feels the fuchsia spreading to the shell of his ears, your smirk pressing close against them, even through the phone. Higuruma clears his throat.  

“I see. Well, if those exciting prospects as a golddigger don’t pan out for you, could you include some shishito peppers?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“I’ll see you soon? In half an hour?” You can’t help but smile at the tender inflection of optimism in his clarification.

“Of course. The queue shouldn’t be too long at this time of day.”

“Thanks for your generosity, Mrs Kazuya-dono.” 

“Goodbye, Mr Higuruma.” 

In the privacy of his office, Higuruma grins, lingering with his ear pressed to the screen even as the call tapers to its end, reluctant to hang up without hearing your chuckle fully reverberate over his name.

At this hour, when the final stretch of a weekend is lurching towards another interminable five day cycle of labour, the office is cloaked in a kind of velvet darkness, draping heavily over the afternoon. There’s a stifling stillness even as you stride past the empty cubicles, which makes the stubborn fluorescent buzzing coming from Higuruma’s office sound even louder in this oppressive atmosphere.

His door is ajar so you walk right in to see him barricaded behind towers of folders, the tousled strands of his crow’s nest upsweep barely jutting above the turrets of the piled high case files, as he fastidiously scribbles something in a leather-bound notebook, not noticing your entrance. 

“Delivery for Mr Higuruma,” you announce, closing the distance between you and his desk.

Higuruma’s head jerks up as if he’s startled, blinking owlishly as he registers your presence.

“You’re here,” he says, gaze softening and his shoulders sagging back into some semblance of relief, the pen drooping from his hand. He reaches towards you, then notices his biro-blue polka dotted palms and sheepishly starts to retract them, but you catch his fingers in time, scattering a kiss across his knuckles.

“Yes, in the flesh. Shishito peppers and all,” you say with a smile, setting the take-away bag on the side of his table.

“Well. Damn,” he exhales, reclining against his chair for a fuller angle, all the better to drink in the sight of you. You had assembled a cute, casual outfit; light-washed denim pants paired with a cream ribbed knit top, layered over with a V-neckline sage sweater vest and accessorised with a delicate, silver flat chain. But the way Higuruma is staring at you makes you feel like you’ve just sauntered fresh off a runway. 

“Need me to do a spin?” you tease, subconsciously taking a half-step back as he stands, gaze hungrily tracking over your figure and slowly approaching as if concerned the vision before him was delicate as a dandelion in its second, spectral bloom.

“Only a fool would object,” he responds and you laugh, obliging him with a quick twirl, but before you can even fully turn back around, Higuruma has pulled you into his arms, locking them around your hips and lodging his nose in the crook of your neck. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” he mouths along your nape, fingers twitching at the small of your back. 

“Hm?”

“You, coming here looking like this and I- I just tumbled out of the house,” Higuruma mutters, hands notching warmly at your waist to prevent you from moving away. But you push at his chest and his hold slackens, ever so slightly, so you can tip your head back to scan over him.

Well, it was true, Higuruma did not look dressed for a date, let alone the office. His attire looked more appropriate as the prized exhibit at a museum dedicated to the ancient history of textiles; a tatty maroon sweater, the brand logo emblazoned across the chest now faded and indecipherable as stone tablet etchings from an archaeological dig site, paired with crooked half-frame glasses. Plus, the piece de resistance, a pair of charcoal grey joggers with their drawstrings missing, patchy at the knees from only god knows how many spin cycles and planetary revolutions around the sun.

And were those, were those crocs? You make a mental note to give Higuruma an evangelical spiel about Birkenstocks at least.

“Well, you certainly look…comfy.” 

A small groan escapes Higuruma, as he tucks his warm face against your neck, all the better to hear and feel your laughter ripple over him.

“I swear I only meant to pick up some documents this morning but then…”

“But then,” you echo mockingly, gently tweaking Higuruma’s face. 

“Time just…keeps getting away.” He gazes up at you with those pits for eyes, shadowed by despair. You know he isn’t just talking about this date, or this case.

“There’ll be other flea markets,” you shrug, “But there’s only one workaholic I’m willing to put up with.”

You card your fingers through his raven-dark plumage, feeling Higuruma’s sigh settle over your shoulders as he leans into your touch. 

“You’re an angel,” he whispers, pulling you into him and starting to graze his lips along your nape. “You’re all I need-”

It’s at this point his stomach chooses to interject with a loud, rumbly burble of bLRRRggccLHHhh.

Snickering at his belly’s betrayal, you peel yourself away from Higuruma’s peach-tinted cheeks and fuss at him to sit back down, opening the take-away bag for him.

“I forgot how good these smell,” Higuruma remarks, eyes lighting up as he tackles the plastic lid on the sauce, its tangy-sweet and savory aroma wafting into the air.

He wolfs through five, six, seven sticks of shisamo and tsukune and so on, it’s not long before flecks of the rich, glossy dipping sauce paint his lips and chin, whilst a spray of panko scatters like shrapnel over his shirt, landing on the drawer where you knew Higuruma kept extra sets of his corporate attire.

You had contended with what that easily accessible work-wardrobe implied, what his so-called closet of contingencies represented. All those spare shirts and jackets and even boxers were really evidence of someone who rarely returned to his own lodgings, who regularly spent the nights at the office, slogging on till dawn. 

He was a man who was married to his job, to Lady Justice. You had no illusions or qualms about being the paramour in that equation. But these were early days, and while you aren’t entirely certain how permanent this addition to your life called Higuruma Hiromi would be, what’s indisputable is the undivided attention he gives you, when he is with you.

He brings that intense devotion, that focus to everything he does, mind and mouth in perfect exacting synchronicity, across all his feats of adoration, articulation and now of course, mastication. 

You settle back into your chair nibbling on some suginamo, prepared to enjoy the show Higuruma always unwittingly put on. 

What you’re not expecting is your epiphany, the stunning scientific breakthrough at last.

Sitting across from Higuruma, you study the way he hoovers through a dozen (and counting) kushikatsu skewers, and abruptly, you realise he must have his own gravitational field, one that flouted all principles of physics, of astrophysics. 

You lean forward, eagerly examining the evidence before you: the glistening contrails of oil, the constellation of crumbs, all being yanked towards that relentless black hole which is his mouth, hinting at the white dwarf core in his belly, depleted of its own nuclear energy, all-consuming to avoid its own collapse.

You couldn’t help it, being dragged into his orbit, being drawn to this voraciousness you’d witnessed in other aspects of his life, singular unto the entity that was Higuruma Hiromi: A homunculus in fractious fraternity with his humanity - Someone who couldn’t stomach unfairness, which made him a glutton for punishment. His dedication was a whetstone whittling its own blade away.

Just one of Higuruma’s many alluring contradictions. 

There are others you’ve discovered, chipping and chiselling the hours out of one another’s calendars till the days gave way to a more natural erosion of the edges around your selves, marble ceding to limestone: His words are deliberate, his quietness intuitive. Quick-witted, yet with long simmering ire. A sort of brazen self-deprecation. Brilliant arguments, stupid punchlines. An empiricist’s approach to empathy, a heart siphoning off its own sentimentality. 

You behold your lover shoveling in skewer after skewer, operating on some internal combustion engine, mere mortal with a mechanic’s approach to morality, an automaton chugging on and on as if he were indefatigable.

(He wasn’t, he’d told you one evening, half an hour late to the fifth date. Too exhausted even for guilt it seemed, the confession was almost in confidence. But maybe you can do better than a Mr Perfect, he’d snarked with his trademark wry smile which, to an untrained eye, could just about pass for invulnerability. You had stared him down, your silence dredging the apology out of him with a sincerity you could tell surprised the both of you.

You didn’t expect to hear something like that from the mouth of your Tin Man, whose shine was so often eclipsed by that mind like a steel trap, in lieu of a heart of gold - so he professed to everyone else.

But that inadvertently coerced admission of his burnished cavity stirred a flutter in your heart. You’d always known Higuruma was made of rarer stuff than gold, even if he didn’t.)

“You want the last of the okra? It’s your favourite.”

You blink, dispersing the reverie you’d been indulging in, to focus instead on Higuruma holding out the tray to you. You shake your head with a smile, noticing his spectacles already spectacularly smudged with a slick of grease.

He happily polishes off the remaining skewers while he works, baggy sweater incrementally hoarding more and more morsels of food. He rolls his sleeves up, utterly oblivious to the avalanche of cumulative detritus, disappearing down the canyon of his lap.

And as you observe Higuruma, sat in his plush leather office seat, practically dressed in pajamas but somehow hardly out of place, intermittently cramming a kushikatsu stick in his mouth, and another annotation into the margins of a file, you feel that same tug towards him again. 

And you suspect you will, over and over, regardless of how frayed or unraveled Higuruma’s threads become.

© sandsorghum. 2025

[strandnreyes]

thanks @whatsintheboxmh @ironheartwriter @three-drink-amy @emsprovisions @lemonlyman-dotcom !

When he cracks the leather spine, he’s met with Carlos’ messy handwriting filling the first page. It reads almost like a love letter, detailing his first day, the things he’s seeing, what he’d like to come back and show TK one day. When he gets to the end of the day, he writes about how he found the pictures and TK’s going to be in trouble for showing him those when it would be another 30 days before he could touch TK again. He calls him beautiful, and writes about how he misses TK’s wild heart by his side already.

TK doesn’t realize he’s crying until a teardrop splats onto the page, smearing some of the ink at the bottom.

“Shit,” he mutters as he grabs the bottom of his shirt and blots the page. He doesn’t want to ruin this.

The next page is much of the same. TK vows to read each and every word like Carlos wanted him to, but for right now, he needs to focus on what information here is relevant. He spots it on day seven.

I think I’m being followed.

tagging @alrightbuckaroo @basilsunrise @bonheur-cafe @chicgeekgirl89 @carlos-in-glasses @carlos-tk @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @freneticfloetry @heartstringsduet @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @nancys-braids @orchidscript @paperstorm @reyesstrand @rmd-writes @butchreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @theghostofashton @tellmegoodbye @welcometololaland + open tag!

[splatbitcabbit]

DA ZIPSTER

*Blot just staring at Splat like “wtf”*

*Zip has entered the building. All hell is about to break loose-*

[dandysworldconfessionbooth]

Blot rant here have fun reading lots of words

Known facts

Name Blot

Is apart of the circus trio with looey and yatta

Is a mime

(Update design and gender revealed)

Color theory

They and the rest of the circus trio have color pattern

That being the base color being yellow then two other color

Taking a look at the rainbow we can find what color blot will be

Looey took the colors green and purple

Yatta took pink and blue

The only colors left are red and orange since yellow is the base color

Even if they are a mime its a children's show for kids so a color full character would be better and to match the color theory with the other two members (well they were black and white color theory wrong)

Woke theory

Looey he/they

Yatta she/they

Blot they/them

Circus gone woke

Saying they/them for blot bc their gender isn't confirmed but they will always be nonbinary to me (they will be always non binary fuck gender)

Object theory

The ending of the word ballon and piñata both sound like looey and yatta

BalLON

PiñATA

that's a way to find blots object they are

The ink bottle design that was leaked was confirmed to be fake so thats one item out if millions crossed of the list

Or blot being confirmed a mime could just be a mime a humanoid toon like how Connie is a humanoid toon and is just referred to being a ghost toon not a human ghost toon (update blot was ink/a droplet)

Breakable theory

All the members are some short of a fragile item

Looey is a balloon easy to pop yatta being a pinata her purpose is to be destroyed

Qwel did state that the leaked blot design being the ink bottle was fake even so bottles if glass are easy to break and if they are just a ink splat it would be easy to make even more of a mess/even clean up and stan fabrics and other sorts but that nit really leaning to the fragile item idea

Ability guess

Both looey and yatta have a ability relating to being hurt

Looey gets faster per heart he losses

Yatta drops candy

So blot could be something like that

If blot is a ink dot (theory) then the ability could be sthm like

"If a toon hits blot a ink splat will drop leaving the twisted unable to move for 3 or sthm seconds"

Or they could even drop a ink slapt taking a heart away but it works the same a twisted walks into it they are stuck

This ability would not work on other toons tho

Stats theory

Seen alot of people say high stealth due to being a mime

And i see it

I see blot being a support if they have ny theory ability that being able to stop a twisted from moving and the high stealth could work with a support idea

So having five star stealth like most theorize could work

But all other stats would be small due to that

They probably wont be a main probably a common or uncommon due to looey and yatta also being commons

This is just a base idea only real theory is the stealth that i just talked about

Hearts: ♡♡♡

Skill check: ★★★

Speed: ★★

Stamina: ★★★

Stealth: ★★★★★

Extraction speed: ★★

We can always make the stealth four star and give a star to sthm else since the only other toons with 5 star stealth are astro and Connie both are special cases due to astro being a main and some mysterious moon rock cheese thing and Connie being ghost if blots just a normal item it would make sense since they wouldn't be a special item

The five star stealth would help with being a support

But overall made them a good all rounder the sticky ability would be good for team and solo runs

Role Idea

I think either a support toon or hear me out a healer (aka falls into the support category) if blots not easily breakable like Looey and yatta it would be cute if they where like the groups healer healing the two up after every performance but that would take away my ability theory so idk unless they throw ink at a toon to heal

Talking theory

Mimes

They dont talk

We dont know if blot will be mute but since flutter is mute i dont think there will be two mute toons

Thats why i think selective mutism

I see them only really talking to looey and yatta the rest of the toons they keep up the mime act not talking and stuff

Or they talk in wingdings or emoticon

The wingdings and emoticon would be a nice way to shownthe mime act when speaking with other toons

(Qwel said they talk in their own way)

Ideal theory (i got a theory for everything)

The trapped in a box mime act thats probably the most common act and most popular and well known

That i think it will be that

Just like a single version like blot putting their hands in front of them pretending to be a box/a wall in front of them simple but it fits the mime

Or a simple head turn to macth yatta and looey since they both have a head turn ideal

Requirements to buy theory

I think its going to be something like own both looey and yatta

But yatta is a pain to get so that will probably only be the case if blots like a ultra rare toon and not a common like the other two

Sticking with the idea of it being sthm looey snd yatta related it could be like have full research on looey and yatta twisted counter parts or like just 50% research on them

Looey was 1000 ichor and yatta was 2000

The most amount a normal non main cost is glisten at 2500 and i dont think blot will be that much

They could be in the middle between looey and yatta and be 1500

Or even 2000 like yatta

Personality idea

Blot being apart of the circus it would make sense for them to have a extrvorted personality but since they are also a mime it would make sense for a slight introverted personality but overall blot would most likely being an ambivert if thats the case

Qwel when asked anything info about blot she said "silly" that could tie into the extroverted side if their personality and their work with the circus

When will blot come out

As of writing this the Easter event should be leaving really soon (update i jinxed it) (update update its tomorrow)

The next update might be a quality to life update in the sneek peek yatta card qwel said there will be a re worked map thats why i think it will be a quality of life update

Yatta was also released during a quality of life update being updated maps and more dialogue

Following yatta blot could also pull a come out during quality of life update

Or next update will be without blot but after that update it will be a blot update

(TOMORROW EEUEHH)

Um design fact thing idk

Qwel did say blot is her favorite design from the trio but in her words "But than again Mimes are super cool to me" so it could just be favoritism

Ty for letting me send my rant

I love blot

-Evil Larry Anon

i have no words, im flabbergasted. this is actually awesome what the flipperdoodle,,, the dedication??

-🐴🧑

[kekeartzworld]

Character Sheet

+ Renders

Redesigned a couple of characters I already had and I also made 2 brand new characters

First off is Candy

Her personality has not changed much besides that she has aspirations of becoming a magician like her mother and I’ve given her a redesign giving her an outfit more closely resembling Vivian’s

This one was a fun one for me

Splat!

She’s the one who’s gotten more major changes to her design. I’ve always liked Agetha for their unique design and for a while, I wanted to try my hand at a similar design. I also remembered that I had a few characters that weren’t getting enough attention. Splat was one of those characters so I snatched her up and gave her a brand new digitalized design, turning her into a very shy, tall, and lanky little virus creature who is sometimes curious about what it’s like to live in the real world. I’m also thinking of scraping Blot entirely since Splat’s lore had changed to her being a little cabbit inside a computer that was taken in by Agetha

Before anyone comments that Agetha is a minor, their age is actually unspecified and in this context they are an adult

Now I can go on with the new designs!

Starting with Ølivia

She is Øl!ver and Trøy’s daughter, being named after her mother and boy does she live up to her name. She truly is her mother’s daughter, always getting herself into unbridled chaos

Finally we have little miss Tulip

Tulip is Vivian and Trøy’s daughter and she is always staring into someone’s soul with her huge void eyes

I should note that the idea for Ølivia and Tulip came from roleplays I’ve done with a Trøy bot I made on Chai

Full Lineup

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 19 || Chapter 20 || Chapter 21 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 20

“I see that after all this time, my lessons have failed to reach you. How disappointing.”

Mistyfoot looked up. She had been dreaming of the forest in the sunshine, stalking a mouse - but now, the sky was overcast, and the trees around her stretched up to the clouds, knotting their branches together to blot out the sun. Their leaves fell and rotted into dust before they touched the ground.

She stared at her mother, who was sitting on a large, gnarled root that had ripped itself up from the earth. Bluestar glowered at her with sharp blue eyes, not bothering to hide her disgust.

Mistyfoot stood up in shock, lashing her tail. It had been some time since she had seen her mother and part of her had hoped that she’d never see her again - but, as Bluestar herself had said, it wouldn’t be that easy.

“You interfered,” Bluestar went on, her tone scathing, “when you should have done nothing.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out what this was about. “Stoneheart isn’t a killer,” Mistyfoot insisted, “no matter how hard you try to make him one.”

Bluestar’s tail twitched. “Such a show of force would have ended ShadowClan’s troubles for good - now, the kittypets may return.” She curled her lip. “What good does that do them?”

“If Jacques was killed, their Twoleg might cause them more trouble,” Mistyfoot snapped back. “Worse trouble than the kittypets could ever cause.” She lashed her tail and hissed, “Unless you’re teaching Stoneheart how to kill Twolegs as well?”

“Twolegs mean nothing,” Bluestar dismissed with a flick of her whiskers.

Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes. There was the stone wall again, impossible to move, impossible to reason with. “I don’t know what you really want with either of us,” she meowed instead, “but I won’t let you make me or Stoneheart into murderers. No matter how hard you try, you can’t change who we are.”

“My only goal is to ensure that you can keep your Clans safe,” Bluestar insisted, her gaze glittering. “To make the right choices and be sure of them.”

Mistyfoot had no doubt that Bluestar had thought her choices were right and sure - every dead cat at her paws had to die. The Clans had to fall in line. Her kits had to become just like her. Mistyfoot blinked at her mother, wishing she had seen it sooner - why had she let this go on for so long?

“He’s done,” Mistyfoot told her resolutely. “I’m done. Leave us alone.”

“That’s not a choice you get to make,” Bluestar said. She spoke like Mistyfoot was a disobedient kit in the nursery. “You know nothing, Mistyfoot. Nothing at all.”

“I might not know everything, but I do know this was a mistake,” Mistyfoot admitted. Sighing, she said, “I just wish I had seen it sooner.”

Bluestar’s muzzle wrinkled. Mistyfoot saw a strong emotion pass across her mother’s face, a very rare thing indeed - her eyes sparked with fury, and a blazing anger rippled along her spine. The fire in her was cold, cold as ice, cold as the depths of the lake, and Mistyfoot could feel it icing over her whiskers.

Suddenly, Mistyfoot was thrust back as if Bluestar had leaped and slammed into her body. She flew through the air, crashing into the trees behind her, feeling their splinters cut into her body, tearing her fur and flesh like claws. Mistyfoot lashed at the air, desperate for any sort of purchase as Bluestar disappeared and the forest shattered to pieces around her.

Then she was falling down, down, cold air pounding her back and whistling in her ears. Rain poured from the sky, which was dark, full of churning black clouds that flashed with lightning in their bellies. Thunder rippled through the air like the sound of a boulder cracking in two.

She hit the ground with a wet splat.

She wasn’t dead. Mistyfoot fought for breath, her heart hammering in her head. The smell of blood was everywhere, stronger than the rain. When she rolled to one side, she saw a pool of it that nearly touched her nose. Looking up, she gagged at the source - Sharptooth’s body.

It lay beside her, the shape broken to fit around the boulders that the horrifying beast had landed on. Bones pierced through the skin, blood oozed from every crevice, and its head, so massive that it could swallow a cat whole, lay crushed into a disgusting, mortifying pulp, its single eye staring at Mistyfoot, empty and lifeless.

Mistyfoot’s wavering wail turned into gagging as bile rose in her throat, and she writhed, her body protesting each movement as she turned away from the horror as quickly as she could. On her other side, though, was something far worse:

Stormfur.

His body was no less broken than Sharptooth’s - it was worse, because he was so much smaller. She could only recognize him now because she had had this nightmare so, so many times. Of course it was him.

It was always him.

She could hear his voice, so faint over the pouring rain, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

The bile in her throat burned. Demanded to be released. Mistyfoot closed her eyes and covered her face with her paws, wishing for it to be over. She wanted to be anywhere else. She tried thinking of the sun-drown place and that peaceful moment she had spent with Stormfur so long ago. She could almost smell the salt on the water and feel the press of his fur. She could almost hear the words he was speaking...

But the rain pounded on, and on, and on.

———————————————————

Mistyfoot finally opened her eyes, her heart racing. She tasted bile in her throat, and the smell of blood was stuck in her nose. She shivered, trying to tell herself that none of it was real - but she could still hear the rain, droplets of water landing on the stone that surrounded her, and the faint whisperings of Stormfur’s voice.

She blinked. Reality closed in. This wasn’t the mountains in the pouring rain - it was the medicine cat’s cave, with the steady trickle of water into a shallow pool in the back. The whispering was Brackenfur and Tinystar at the back of the den, their shapes blurry in her tired eyes. The sharp smell of herbs touched her nose.

Flashes of the night before came back - she had come here after her fight with Susan and Stoneheart, bleeding and too exhausted to speak, let alone keep her eyes open. Now, she pricked her ears. Mistyfoot raised her head, feeling stiff and sore. She yawned.

“Ah - you’re awake!” breathed Tinystar.

Both he and Brackenfur abandoned their conversation to come to see her. Mistyfoot’s flank twitched reflexively as Brackenfur sniffed her fur, checking on his poultices and cobwebs.

“You had a rough night,” Brackenfur remarked quietly when he was done. “A lot of thrashing.” His gaze flickered up to meet her eyes. “Bad dreams?”

Mistyfoot nodded. If she closed her eyes, she knew she would see Stormfur and Sharptooth. “Am I okay?” she wondered softly.

“You will be,” Brackenfur reported confidently. He raised his muzzle. “You fought hard, but your wounds seem mostly superficial. You’ll have a few new scars, but I’m not worried about infection.” His whiskers twitched. “That doesn’t mean you go and take matters into your own paws again, mind you.”

Mistyfoot glanced at Tinystar. “Was Russetstar upset that I stopped Stoneheart?” The ShadowClan leader had seemed more than okay with her warrior confronting the kittypets as he had. Perhaps that had been part of her plan all along? Either way, Mistyfoot hadn’t heard that particular discussion because she had been busy with Stoneheart.

“Only a little,” Tinystar admitted wryly. His whiskers twitched. “As much as everyone there wanted to see the kittypets pay for what they did, I don’t think they wanted that - not as much as they thought they did, at least.”He grimaced. “There’s a reason why we don’t settle things that way.”

In the back of her mind, Mistyfoot recalled the last story that her father Oakheart had told her - in his youth, he had challenged Mudfur, a senior warrior of RiverClan then, to a one-on-one battle for Sunningrocks. The fight had greatly affected them both, with Mudfur deciding he no longer wished to be a warrior and taking up the mantle of medicine cat and Oakheart finally asking Bluestar to be his mate.

It showed them what really mattered, she recalled. She supposed it had done the same for her, too - and she knew she would do it again if she had to.

“I ended up telling Russetstar that we were repaying her for how she helped us against WindClan,” Tinystar meowed, breaking through Mistyfoot’s thoughts. His tail-tip twitched. “It seems we’re even again.”

Mistyfoot hummed in thought. “I’m sure that made her feel better about asking us for help.”

“Yes, well,” Tinystar eyed her, his pale eyes flashing, “she wouldn’t have asked at all, I think, unless someone had pushed her.” His eyes softened on her. “Thank you, Mistyfoot. You had to make choices that should not have been put on your shoulders - but I think you made the right ones.”

Mistyfoot’s pelt flushed. It meant everything to hear that after Bluestar had said otherwise. “Thank you, Tinystar,” she murmured.

Tinystar dipped his head to her and then to Brackenfur, getting to his paws. “I’ve handled patrols for the day,” he meowed. “Get some rest.”

He trotted out of the den, his tail high. Mistyfoot watched him disappear into the sunlight, sighing. The horrors of her dream were fading, and she could feel hunger in her belly now. She wondered what Nightfrost was doing.

“Can I go and get something to eat?” she asked.

Brackenfur, who had ambled back to the pool, looked back at her. He answered, “You can get up. Just don’t go running across the forest.”

Mistyfoot thanked him with a purr and rose to her paws. Her limbs felt stiff, especially the leg that Stoneheart had bitten - she looked down, finding that the teeth marks were wrapped up in a cozy bunch of cobwebs. When she put some weight on it, though, it barely hurt.

She took it easy as she left the den and was glad she did - if she hadn’t, she would’ve rammed right into Spiderfang as the black she-cat skidded into the lichen screen.

“Whoa!” Spiderfang huffed, her neck fur fluffed, “You’re up!”

“I am,” Mistyfoot mewed. She noted the rushed look that the young warrior had. “What is it?”

“Someone to see you, actually,” Spiderfang answered.

She flicked her tail to the camp entrance, and, curious and confused, Mistyfoot leaned out of the lichen to look. Her ears pricked in surprise - there, sitting beside the thorn tunnel, chatting with Nightfrost, was Stoneheart.

“He says he just wants to talk,” Spiderfang mewed as Mistyfoot padded past her. Her eyes narrowed, and she wondered, “You think it’s safe?”

Mistyfoot scoffed, flicking Spiderfang’s nose with her tail. “Of course it’s safe,” she mewed back. “He’s my brother!”

She made her way across the clearing before Spiderfang could protest, lifting her tail in greeting when Stoneheart looked her way. She passed by her Clanmates, most of whom were murmuring about the presence of a ShadowClan warrior in camp:

“... shouldn’t have let him right into our camp!” fretted Whitewing. Her tail was twitching nervously. “What if he tells ShadowClan all about it?”

“You know he’s been here before, right?” Brightheart reminded her gently. “And besides, he’s Mistyfoot’s brother. He was once a ThunderClan cat.”

“Once,” grunted Dustpelt. The dark tabby sniffed as he joined the conversation. “He’d best not be wanting to come back...”

“Don’t you have some mice to catch, Dusty-dear?” chirruped Cinderpelt.

Dustpelt stiffened as Mistyfoot passed. “Yes, yes,” he grumbled. “Let’s go...”

Mistyfoot ignored them. She reached Stoneheart and Nightfrost and touched her nose to her brother’s in greeting, purring and stepping away afterward to look him over. She had expected him to be just as beat up as she was, but he had only a few patches of poultice on his pelt, and he must’ve been cleared to leave camp by Littlecloud.

“Mind if we chat?” As usual, Stoneheart wasted no time. He glanced at Nightfrost and added, “Alone?”

“It’s okay,” Nightfrost mewed before Mistyfoot could protest. He flicked his tail against Mistyfoot’s flank. “I’m taking Daisy out for some hunting practice anyway. Misty’s all yours, Stoneheart.”

Mistyfoot looked up at her brother. “We can go to the lake,” she offered. That would get him far away from camp and settle the nerves of the ThunderClan warriors.

Stoneheart nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”

———————————————————

They walked down to the lakeshore together without a word, with only the sounds of the breeze in the trees and the birds accompanying them. When they passed the treeline and headed for the glittering waters of the lake, their paws scattering the little pebbles on the shore, Mistyfoot breathed deep the clear air and let it stir her whiskers.

It had been such a long time since it had been just the two of them. As they chose a spot with more sand than pebbles to sit, Mistyfoot reflected that they really hadn’t had a time like this since they were apprentices - together in the same Clan, with Mosspaw and Oakheart.

So much had changed. Mosspaw was dead. Stoneheart went to ShadowClan. Oakheart’s fate was unknown in the old forest. The Great Journey, representing their Clans as they found this new home. They had done so much together, but through none of it had they just sat together, only the two of them, with nothing else going on. As his fur brushed hers, Mistyfoot supposed this was their only chance at that kind of moment.

She glanced his way. As always, Stoneheart had his chin high and his gaze stoic and unreadable as he stared across the lake’s surface. Always trying to be ShadowClan to his core. She wondered if he was thinking the same things she was. She would never know, she supposed - he had always been like Bluestar in that way.

“I came to say thank you,” Stoneheart rasped, finally, “for stopping me. You kept me from doing something I would’ve regretted for the rest of my life.”

Mistyfoot shifted on her paws, pushing away a stone that was annoying one of her pads. “It’s nothing, really,” she mumbled. “I just couldn’t watch you do it.”

Stoneheart blinked. “I should’ve been smarter,” he mewed, his tone grating against buried frustration. “I should’ve seen what Bluestar was trying to convince me of.” His claws scraped the pebbles. “I went into it knowing exactly who she was, yet she still found a way to pull me along by my whiskers...”

Mistyfoot shivered at the thought. “It’s what she does,” she murmured. She stared at the lake, watching the waves ebb and flow with the wind, gentle as a mother’s tongue - not theirs, though. “No matter what, it’s just in her nature to manipulate others.” She sighed. “The wind blows, and Bluestar manipulates.”

“When everyone was captured - when Twolegs took Rowanclaw - I just... Something snapped in me,” Stoneheart admitted. “She used it against me - used him against me.” His muscles tensed. “She made me think that I was the only thing keeping ShadowClan from teetering into the abyss and disappearing forever.”

He slapped at one of the pebbles, sending it clattering down toward the water’s edge. “And I believed it!” he hissed.

“I don’t blame you for believing it!” Mistyfoot pointed out swiftly. She looked at her brother, how rigid he was - the fur along his shoulders was bristling. “She’s evil, Stoneheart!”

“But I should’ve known that!” Stoneheart growled. His paws churned the ground. “She’s always been able to use me,” he murmured. “Ever since I was an apprentice. Even when I felt her words begin to change me, it was like I was outside my own body, watching some other cat use my claws. It was so humiliating - but when I disobeyed or fought back, I would see Rowanclaw in the back of a Twoleg monster, screaming my name, begging for help as he disappeared.” He gasped, breathless. His eyes shimmered with sorrow. “I just couldn’t live with that.”

Mistyfoot’s ears pricked as Stoneheart’s words sank in. Bluestar would make him see Rowanclaw suffer to keep him in line? It brought to mind her constant, violent dreams of Stormfur and his death, especially the one that very morning, which had happened after she had spat at Bluestar.

Has she been doing the same thing to me? Her heart thudded in her ears. The dreams had kept her scared, paralyzed, and anxious in the day. Then, at night, she would see Bluestar again, and she would offer her advice. A sick feeling grew in Mistyfoot’s stomach.

Stoneheart turned to Mistyfoot, his expression broken - sorrow and anger and frustration, all mingling on his face. It was so rare a sight that she had to put her thoughts to the side to grapple with it right that instant and prevent herself from flinching at her own brother.

“Thank you, Mistyfoot,” he expressed earnestly. “For snapping me out of it.”

Mistyfoot struggled for words. All she could manage was, “Any time,” which seemed very weak for the occasion.

Stoneheart seemed to accept it, regardless. He shook some sand from his paw as if trying to shake off his burst of emotion. “I don’t know if I’ll see Bluestar again, but if I do, I’ll make her wish she left me alone,” he decided, determination in his mew. His gaze flickered to her. “I suggest you do the same, Mistyfoot.”

“Agreed,” Mistyfoot murmured. “I just wish we knew how to break it off for good.” She sighed. “Anytime I’ve tried to leave on my own, she’s told me that there’s no escape from her.”

“Tch,” Stoneheart snorted. “She says that like we haven’t been living our own lives for seasons at this point. Like we haven’t made lives for ourselves, by ourselves.” He shook his muzzle. “She’s just a dead cat now - how much power does she think she even has?”

Mistyfoot flicked her tail. How much power did Bluestar have, all alone in that light-forsaken forest? She certainly seemed to act like she had quite a bit - but perhaps that was just that, an act?

I don’t want to find out, Mistyfoot thought, shivering beneath her pelt. I’m done with her.

“Anyway, I’m not here just for sappy littermate-talk,” Stoneheart grunted. He lifted his muzzle again. “While I was out trying to track down Jacques and Susan and learn their movements, I discovered something interesting about our territories.”

“Oh?” Mistyfoot tilted her head. “What is it?”

“Don’t let Russetstar know I told you this, but,” Stoneheart began, “I found out that the kittypets were using tunnels beneath our territory to travel around the woods and ambush us - that’s why they always kept away from the marshes, because there aren’t any there.”

Mistyfoot’s eyes widened. “Tunnels...?”

“They looked to be hollowed out from old prey dens,” Stoneheart went on, oblivious to Mistyfoot’s shock. “I followed a few of them, and they seemed to go all around the woods and into the forest, too. Some even went towards RiverClan territory.” He nodded to Mistyfoot and mewed, “You should keep a lookout for any entrances on your side of the stream. If they go into WindClan territory, too, that means someone could walk all around the lake without even having to set paw aboveground!”

Mistyfoot’s heart hammered in her chest. “Did you plug them up?” she asked.

“Most of them, but I’m sure there are others,” Stoneheart answered. “Might even be some in the Deep Woods.” He sighed. “It answers how they managed to ambush us, but I still have no idea how they learned about how Clan cats fight or our patrol schedules. None of the tunnels had exits close to our camp.”

“Did anyone from ShadowClan tell them?” Mistyfoot wondered.

Stoneheart narrowed his gaze. “Absolutely not!” he insisted. “We kept well away from the kittypets until they started attacking us.” He sniffed. “Maybe they were more observant than we thought.”

“Maybe,” Mistyfoot mumbled.

Stoneheart chuckled weakly, “Maybe Bluestar trained them, too!”

Mistyfoot rolled her eyes and pushed at her brother with her good paw. “Please,” she scoffed, “Bluestar, lower herself to teaching a kittypet? She would never!”

“Hey,” Stoneheart chided, “she’s done it before!”

“And she regrets it every moment, I’m sure!” Mistyfoot purred.

Stoneheart’s purr went rusty, fading into a low rumble. “I should go,” he sighed. “Your Clan is probably wondering whether or not I’ve eaten you.”

“That or they think you’re coming back to ThunderClan,” Mistyfoot joked. She honestly wasn’t sure which one they would think was worse. She got up and stretched, extending her forepaws toward the water.

Stoneheart shook his muzzle, sighing. “ShadowClan is my home,” he said softly, warmly. “It’s where I belong.”

“I know,” Mistyfoot purred, coming up from her stretch. She touched her nose to Stoneheart’s shoulder. She had long since stopped wishing he would return to ThunderClan. He was right where he wanted to be, and she figured no cat deserved that more. “Take care, Stoneheart.”

“And you, deputy of ThunderClan,” Stoneheart said, smiling at her. He licked her around an ear. “See you at the next Gathering.”

And then he was up and gone, trotting along the pebbly shore. Mistyfoot watched him melt into the shadows of the treeline, keeping himself on the agreed-upon path two fox-lengths from the lake. She breathed in the clear, open air and sighed.

Her brother was safe, and so was ShadowClan - but Stoneheart bringing up the kittypets being trained dug its claws into her mind and wouldn’t let go, questions that she might never have the answers to:

Who trained the kittypets, and what did this have to do with the tunnels that seemed to span the whole lake territory?

[splat-inkrusted-blog]

~About one month after knowing each other~

Four: *Holding Eight's face* EIGHT. OPHELIA.

Four: You and me are BESTIES. We are TOGETHER for LIFE. We are BLOOD SIBLINGS. I would PERMA SOMEONE for you. Do you understand that? Do you understand that I would end the life of another person for you? If you pointed at someone and wanted them gone, they would go missing in under an hour. GONE. NADA. If we were in a room and someone threw a splat bomb in as revenge for making me OFF them, I would jump right onto that bad boy to SHIELD you from the blast. Not a drop of Ink would even touch your octoling Stature. I would EXPLODE. I would be BLOWN to ONE KATRILLION INK BLOTS For you. I will become MIST for you Ophelia.

Eight: ... Okay ... Uhm.

Eight: So would you Accompany me to the Food Store?

Four: Yeagh.

Agent Four/Quartz is not exaggerating. She is Rider or Die with no in between.

~After one month of Knowing Each other~

Captain 3: Nea. Did you eat my Cake?

Neo 3: I didn't see your name on it, Trixie.

Captain 3: It's Trixtiermont. And You will be repaying for that.

Neo 3: Really? How much do I owe you then?

Captain 3: *Throwing a Hero Shot at them* Ink. Three Splats worth.

Neo 3: okay Trixie~

Captain 3: MAKE THAT FOUR SPLATS-

No one gets under the Captain's skin like Nea/Neo 3.

[kekeartzworld]

I’ve sketched a concept of what this “blot” creature would look like

It has a very strong resemblance to Alice’s full form ngl

OOC Talk Real Quick

(Lil fun fact: If Splat ever did use all of the abilities of the colored paints from her brush arm together, it would create something similar to the blot from Epic Mickey and leave destruction in its wake

Splat does not want this to happen so she avoids using the full potential of the paint’s powers because she knows that it’s only for the best for herself and everyone else around her)

[return-to-twisted-wonderland]

If The Ramshackle Boys Were Together On Earth [60]

[Vargas' Class]

[Marcus & Jayden used hand-to-hand combat and their magic with their gauntlets when they felt something surfacing within them: Suddenly: Jayden's Mage Sone turned Crimson (Like Scarabia's), his Gauntlet took the color scheme of the Scarabia Dorm as a small print of the Scarabian Crest appear in the middle of his mage stone out of blot. Marcus' Mage Stone turned Opal, his Gauntlet adapted Octavinelle's Colors, and the crest appeared in the middle of his stone out of blot.]

Jayden (Looking at his Gauntlet): What the...? Ngh... *Tiger Stripes seep through his skin - made from the Blot he absorbed* What the hell is happening? I feel...so much power. *The white of his eyes turns black & the gray turns red* Whoa...

Marcus (The White of his eyes turns black & his gray eyes turn blue): Whoa... You're not kidding. This is a serious power buff.

Darius: What is happening to them?

Yuu: Don't don't seem to be in distress.

Grim: Myah! That's the stuff that spilled on your guys! That Black Stuff!

Darius: Black Stuff?

Student: It's Blot! They're controlling Blot!

Yuu: What the hell is Blot?

Vargas: ...Where did you get the blot from?

Grim: They went to the mines and killed a giant monster! It splatted them with blot and then it disappeared.

Vargas: ...The closed off mines with the blot monster?

[thekimspoblog]

Fantasy of the Day: Strawberry Milkshake

Inspired by @somethin-stupid-67

It's 2023. Not sure what state Jimmy and Kim are living in, but they decide to take the kids out for ice cream. Out in the parking lot, Jimmy notices some teenagers pointing at him and whispering. They are on their phones to make sure they are seeing what they think they see: Sure enough, it's that guy from YouTube. He grew a mustache, but it's still definitely him. Isn't he supposed to be in jail? One of the teens gets a bright idea and his friend pulls out his phone to start recording.

*Splat!* Something heavy and cold hits Jimmy right in the face. Pink drips down the front of his coat as he recovers from the shock. "Wooo! Did you guys get that? I hit Saul Goodman with a milkshake!" the boy screams, dancing around in front of the camera.

"Hey!" Jimmy yells, having to stop to make sure his nose isn't broken, "I'm just trying to have a nice night with my family here! How long am I going to be paying for something I did a lifetime ago?!" Usually Jimmy just tries to take this harassment in stride; society needs a scapegoat. But that cup easily could have hit Kim or his children instead, and that was enough for him to momentarily lose his temper. The comment was a mistake though, as now the hooligans' attention has been turned to the wife and kids. As the other teen continues to scroll through YouTube, he recognizes Kim as "That weird Jesus lady from basic cable". Kim tries to hide Iris behind her as the jerks begin to circle like vultures and ask more questions, but Iris has decided to handle this confrontation themself.

"Leave my dad alone! You think you're so tough?!" the five year old barks at the older kids in their pathetically squeaky voice. The boys just laugh at Iris. If nailing a minor celebrity in the face with strawberry ice cream wasn't enough, now a toddler is trying to threaten someone three times their size with the confidence of Bruce Willis; this is YouTube gold!

"Don't! Film! My daughter!" Jimmy steps between them. He doesn't want to get the law involved, when that's never worked too well for him in the past, but he'll do it if it comes to that.

"Everyone calm down!" Kim interrupts, "Alright. You got us. Very funny. But do you really think it's fair to put a child in the public eye without their consent?" The boys continue to posture with cavalier intimidation, but eventually the camera man breaks eye contact with the matriarch, realizing he might have started something he isn't prepared to finish. "We were leaving anyway," the other teen says, and the boys disperse.

Kim breathes a sigh of relief. She retrieves some paper towels from the car and begins blotting the milkshake off the front of her husband's coat. Jimmy keeps grumbling that the coat is probably ruined; his wife tells him he's worried over nothing; it will come out in the wash. Iris, however, has a good deal of questions what all that was all about. "Are you a movie star?" Iris skips around their parents in a circle excitedly. "Sure... I'm a movie star..." Jimmy sighs. This isn't the first incident which Iris has noticed their parents are apparently infamous. But they're still too young to understand why.

[the-ratcl0wn]

I have 3 uh—

Mignonette, they/them, blot

Ruins Corp branch: Harmony

Ability:

weapon morphing - ability to change themselves and/or parts of themselves into a weapon

Drawbacks:

full body - they get stuck into said weapon for hours at a time, unable to shift back into their regular form until they feel themselves loosen, even afterwards it’s followed by dizziness, disorientation, and motion sickness

Partial/limb - their limb essentially is unable to shift back for up to 3-4 hours, when it’s able to be shifted, the limb is essentially stiff and sore, aching like it’s been overused

Personality: chill and laid back, unbothered by most things (including being used as a living weapon <3). It’s obvious once things really start to bother them, then the situation is dire and needs to change. You could literally splat them against a wall and they’d go ‘sweet’/silly

Adhara, star/starself, Stuffby

Ruins corps branch: syndicate

Ability:

Bag of holding - can hold ~10 items inside of their head, can hold up to 1 toon inside as well.

Drawbacks:

Massive migraine, it tends to make star feel more sick as things are removed. If a toon is inside, star is more irritable, and prone to bucking nearby toons, and is practically passed out when said toon is removed.

Personality: snappy, practically a spicy kitten. Star can be a bit intimidating and hissy, but when you get more and more close to star, star’d essentially loaf on you and make you late for things because star wanted attention </3

CRT, it/they, yatta(Astro dna as well)

Ruins corps branch: Revolt

Ability:

essentially can fill a target’s eyes and brain with static, making it hard to see or think for up to 2 hours. It is essentially a stunning move <3

Drawbacks:

experiences exactly what it gives out to others hours later, perhaps even worse, going numb and unresponsive.

Personality: quiet, ‘I have no mouth yet I must scream’ type vibes. It wishes it could speak their pure intentions and wishes, but the signs it gives are too quick. When off guard and alone, it’s practically a tired person, allowing to be shoved around with ease.

Yes I copy and pasted from the discord shhhhh

So about another competition…

This one ends 6/30!

For those who entered last competition and won I kindly ask you not to enter this one to let others have a chance!

Ruin Corp is a mercenary group, so uniforms vary and is up to your mind to create.

6 toons (2 for each faction) will be chosen and they will be co leaders for the ruin corp Apexes. Some characters not chosen can show up as background characters.

OC TOONS ARE ALLOWED!

Good luck! Ask questions in the comments if needed.

You can submit multiple as long as its in one reblog please.

Use either #operationichorcontest, @ me or reblog (I prefer you reblog this post with submissions)