#being an amalgamation of all of them i think

[wanderingblindly]

lestappen + 12?

grief is such an interesting one. I tried not to go the obvious route (character death, trauma, etc etc) and instead tried to think of like. What would feel like loss without being something tangible? Anyways, here's Max struggling with his 2024 dry spell. Thank youuu!! Prompts!!!

Faithless

For all that he's been in Max's shoes – and maybe he hasn't, really. Maybe he hasn't been as close as he'd like to think – Charles doesn't know what to say. Laying together on the sofa, legs intertwined and Max's face pressed into his chest, Charles isn't sure there's anything to say.

Max doesn't either, hand gripping Charles's shirt so tightly that it makes him wonder, passively, if the wrinkles will ever come out.

His tears are hot and cold against his skin, seeping through the cotton, but they're not easy. Max fights them, breaths coming in ragged gasps and teeth clenched so tightly that each exhale sounds like a hiss.

Charles's hand strokes Max's hair in lieu of words, waiting until he figures something out. He stares ahead, uncertain. A little useless.

"It's over." Max's voice shakes so hard that the words are almost unintelligible, so lodged in the back of his throat that it's like he's choking on the admission.

"It's never over," Charles whispers, hand continuing its gentle passes. "The season, it's not even halfway –"

He's never heard Max's laugh sound so cold, haunting like a death knell; he grips Charles's shirt tighter, more urgently, as the tears continue. "Not the season, everything. It's all over, they're not…"

The air goes still again, Max fighting himself for the words, Charles fighting his shaking hands. He can't force himself to look down, can't handle seeing Max look so unlike himself. It's selfish, really.

Max takes another shuddering breath. "They don't think I can do it."

Now Max doesn't sound like himself. Charles's hand pauses. "Since when are you caring what others think?"

He moves quickly, letting go of Charles shirt, shifting to sit up and look at him with red-rimmed eyes – a red-tipped nose.

He looks, somehow, reduced to a single thread. Worn thin.

"I never needed to care, Charles, it's…" Charles reaches for Max's hand on the sofa, resting his on top. He's running hot. "I always knew they believed in me, so I never even thought it could – I never had to consider –"

His voice is crumbling as he pushes on, tears streaking down his cheeks and catching on the corner of his lips. And Charles makes himself look, makes himself take in the nearly childlike blotchy red on his cheeks, the fearful set of his brow. It eats at him, not because it's not the Max he knows; it eats at him because he understands, at least a little.

The feeling of being faithless in a sport built on some indominable human spirit to defy the odds.

Spiraling from the loss of it all, Charles knows that feeling.

Charles moves, untangling their legs and sitting to face Max; with steady hands, he grabs the sides of his face, feels the impossibly wound-tight tension in his jaw as he tries to keep himself together.

"You will win without them." Charles says with a hushed fervor, like it's imperative that Max not misunderstand him. "You are always proving people wrong, Max. Because that's who you are, a winner."

Max tries to jerk his head away, tries to hide his tear-stained face from Charles's fiery eyes. But Charles doesn't let him, filled with the urge to speak to some amalgamation of their present and past – young and isolated Max, the version of himself that almost let Ferrari break him, the Max shaking in his palms. Their lines are blurred.

"It's…" Max stops fighting it, looking deeply into Charles. "They gave up. On me."

"But I won't." Charles pulls Max's face closer, their foreheads touching. He can feel Max's pulse, blood running close to the skin. "You may lose them, they may come crawling back. But I'm here. And you're here."

Max's eyelashes are dark, nearly black, as he blinks rapidly at Charles's desperate words.

"You'll never lose me, ok?"

Max nods, the gesture small in Charles's hands. "Ok," He moves slightly, lips seeking Charles's; seeking the comfort of home, seeking the comfort of family that – for once in his life – isn't conditional.

Max's lips taste like grief, taste like anger and sorrow and betrayal. And, as Charles hesitantly glides his tongue against tear-wet lips, he tries to wash it away – if not just for a moment.

[gamecube-stims]

fracture ( oc ) stimboard with pink mineral stims , black rock stims , arcade stims / fnaf stims for day 1 of @ / vampire-bat-stims anniversary event

x - x - x / x - x - x / x - x - x

[esotericdogboy]

okayokay YES Needles is made of needles, but what kind exactly?? hypodermic, darning, tapestry, knitting???

wrong. it’s these actually

[mechazushi]

Fortitude Privilege {Staring Yu/Na and Base Inspector} (A short story)

After everything had settled down, they let Kafka do what-the-fuck-ever. That also includes snuggling on his boyfriend at anytime during work hours.

Vice Captain Hoshina was the first to leave the training room when Iharu passed by with a new recruit. He was showing her around the expansive base when he was presented with an opportunity to have a down to earth meet-and-greet with the base's second in command.

"Hey! Vice Cap! Good timing. Yunna, this is our Vice Captain Hoshina. Vice-Cap, this is Yunna. She's a transfer from Division Seven." Iharu took the lead on the introductions while the two of them were exchanging salutes. They all began trading questions with each other, busy distracting themselves with platitudes to not notice another person turning a corner and coming up behind Hoshina. A tall, burly, and clearly tired individual shambled up behind the vice captain and slumped over his shoulder unceremoniously, almost knocking him over.

"Oof, Kafka! Is everything okay?" Hoshina said calmly at the intruder. The man he called Kafka just wrapped his arms lopsidedly around Hoshina's left shoulder as he dug his face into the crook of his neck on the right.

" 'M fine. Drained" He mumbled incoherently, sacrificing vowels in his state of exhaustion. He nuzzled his nose affectionately in the curve of Hoshina's neck and took a noticeable whiff. "New cologne's nice."

Yunna, the new recruit, became visibly flushed as she continued to stare on. Iharu was already completely desensitized to this and just continued his conversation with the Vice Captain. Noticing the state of shock on the newcomer, Iharu took a second to explain what was happening.

"This is Kafka Hibino. He's the Captain's and Vice Captain's boyfriend. Everyone has learned to just let him get away with this bullshit." Iharu smiled cheekily at Yunna after he had finished.

"What am I supposed to do when he's like this? Tell him 'No'?" Hoshina said as he crossed his arms. He felt the rumbling of deep throated laughter coming from the man on his shoulder.

"Conveniently leaving out the fact that I'm also a kaiju." Kafka said as he lifted his head a little just to speak clearly. Yunna made a small squeak of surprise as the revelation made all the pieces click into place.

Down the hallway behind Iharu, everyone could hear another person aggressively shouting as they came down their direction.

"Aw, shit." Hoshina whispered under his breath.

"Who's that?" Iharu questioned as he turned around to look.

"Base Inspector. Probably looking for me to bitch about something inane." Hoshina continued. Iharu took that as a sign to whisk the new person off to a different location, sensing a need to disappear before he got themselves caught in possible corporate crossfire. Hoshina prepped his best Resting Bitch Face as the lanky inspector approached viciously.

"Afternoon, Inspector." Hoshina said in a deadpan manner. He took a longer look at the man coming toward him and noticed he recognized none of the man's features.

'Hmm. I wonder if he's new?' Hoshina thought. His hopes were raised a little, thinking that this possibly new base inspector wouldn't have the same stick up his ass like the last two did.

"Vice Captain Hoshina. Just the person I was looking for." The inspector called out. He opened his mouth to begin what was most certainly about to be a mindless rant concerning some slighted offence over some breach in paperwork or protocol, but quickly shut it when he noticed Kafka making no move to acknowledge his presence.

"Well, I was going to bring up your continued disregard to execute less leniency toward how officers structure their reports, but now it seems I should take over instilling basic officer conduct as well." The Base Inspector straightened his square framed glasses and leveled the most demeaning glare at the tired, hairy, lump that had made its place on Hoshina's shoulder.

"Oh, lay off. He said he's tired." Hoshina countered. He was beginning to wonder if a mightier-than-thou attitude was a requirement to being an inspector.

"Lethargy is no excuse for blatant indifference to higher authority." The stringy looking man sniffed haughtily. A threatening, rolling, and loud inhuman growl emanated from Kafka, still not looking up from his place at Hoshina's side. Hoshina chuckled as he ruffled his hair while he talked to him.

"Mind being a dear and head up to Mina's office for a bit? The only adult in the room needs to discipline this child, apparently." Hoshina spoke in hushed tones, sounding incredibly loving into Kafka's ear. Only a more disappointed growling whimper was heard in response.

"You could beg for more cuddles if she's in there." Hoshina sang quietly as he nosed Kafka's hair. The slacked-spined man lifted his head to stare disapprovingly at the unwanted interloper before planting a smooch to his Vice Captain's cheek and walked away, radiating an irritated aura all the way down the hall. The two that were left followed his path and waited for him to turn around a corner before continuing the discussion.

"You do know that having a relationship between a higher authority figure and an officer is prohibited, correct?" The inspector said as he turned back to face Hoshina.

"You know that man has a fortitude rating, correct?" Hoshina snarked.

"Don't you mean an aptitude rating?" The inspector returned wearily.

"No, fortitude." Hoshina reiterated firmly as he stepped closer into the inspector's personal space, " Ya'know, because he's a kaiju and all." The inspector tried not to express it, but he seemed taken aback. first from the clear hostility, then from realizing what Hoshina meant.

The inspector's lips flapped open and closed for a moment before letting slip a small, simple "oh."

"Were you not made aware that we had such a person within our ranks?" Hoshina asked poignantly.

"I was made very aware of such personnel." The inspector said as he adjusted his glasses again, "What I wasn't made aware of was how much leniency he seems to be permitted to have because of such an obscenely paltry standing." The inspector spoke with baseless higher authority, attempting to recover from finding himself on the back step. Hoshina could feel his lips being stretched thin over his teeth as he felt the need to use them to rip the throat out of this obstinate and unwarranted trespasser.

"Then you should have also been made aware of how that man had not only saved the lives of millions, but also saved the planet six times over consecutively." While being shorter than the inspector, Hoshina did a fine job of making it seem like he was towering over the other man.

" As... notable... as those achievements are, it shouldn't take away the fact that a relationship between an officer and a Vice Captain is unconducive to to the workplace since it could be used to unjustly gather sway in one's ranking." The base inspector held his position in the conversation, but was forced to slink down in height as he cowered under Hoshina's invasive presence.

"Ohh, trust me. The higher ups have made it very clear that he's already achieved the highest ranking they'll allow him, and that's being an exploitable weapon." Wrath tinged the edges of his words as he managed to climb higher over the base inspector.

"There is nothing in this world that he hasn't earned by not working his ass off for. So excuse me for thinking that the least he's owed is the right to express some fuckin' PDA." Hoshina could feel the tips of his lips curl into an unfriendly smile with an uncanny amount of teeth showing.

"If you really want to drag rank over this and piss off a man who's capable of leveling all of Western Japan for no decent reason, be my guest. If you have nothing drastically important to talk about, like something that's impeding the health and wellness of my officers, then I bid you farewell and hope your day is as wonderful as you are." Hoshina reclined back onto his heels and crisply marched away from the inspector, who still wasn't recovered from the invasion of personal space and was stuck being slant backwards, even as Hoshina moved out of eyesight.

Minutes later, Hoshina had found himself in Mina's office. Hoping to join in on Kafka's sudden bout of needed physical closure, he slipped past the threshold and quietly dumped his gym bag next to the door. Taking up most of the center of the room in front of the desk, was Mina, sandwiched between Bakko and Kafka. Reclined against the tiger formed monster, Mina looked silently overjoyed to have an asleep Kafka nestled between her legs as he rested his head on her stomach. Laying tilted on his side, the left portion of his face was buried in Mina's clothes while his arms had dug a hold around her midsection, framing his head. A low vibration hung in the air, getting louder as Hoshina snuck over.

"Need me to pry him off?" Hoshina lovingly muttered into Mina's forehead as he planted a small smooch as well.

"Later. Now, I need you to grab my phone!" Mina tried to contain her excitement as quietly as she could while gently brushing her free hand through Kafka's hair, the other being trapped under his heavy shoulder.

"Yes, he looks adorable, doesn't he?" Hoshina playfully rolled his eyes as he made moves to stand up.

"Well, yes, but you can't tell me you can't hear this?" Mina's smile was wide as she looked up at Hoshina. He took a second to listen as he processed the low rumble in the room.

"Is... is that not Bakko purring?" Hoshina questioned.

"No, he's awake!" Mina harshly whispered in joy as she jabbed her finger behind her, "This is all him!" She pointed her finger again at Kafka, emphasizing her revelation.

Hoshina made a quiet, deep throated cackle as he comically tiptoed around her desk to grab the phone and pull up the camera. He managed to settle onto the floor and shimmy his way under Mina's free arm as he held the camera close to Kafka's face. They got at least a good minute of audio, starring his purrs before Hoshina decided to end it there, not wanting to push their luck.

"It's a shame he can't purr all the time. Instead of the sleep talking, I mean." Mina commented as Hoshina made himself more comfortable in their embrace on the floor.

"We wouldn't be able to get out of bed in the morning if he did." Hoshina muttered sleepily as he finally stopped shifting when he found a good spot to settle into. Mina brushed his hair for a second while she returned the forehead kiss from earlier before relaxing into the warm and heavy pile she had unintentionally made for herself.

@iceclew

I hate to ask this from ya, but... Have you seen this yet? If you didn't have an opinion one way or another, that's fine. Just wanted to ask.

[theotherrichardpapen]

...because any moment may be our last. everything is more beautiful because we're doomed.

[markantonys]

day 71 of asking why reddit has suddenly become convinced that the 'finn and mat's rhuidean trip are a waste of time and easily cut, and that season 3 will obviously feature him splitting off from the friends he just reunited with in order to spend the entire season dicking around with thom and getting into shenanigans, as that is much more important to his overall character arc than his 2-book waste arc

like there have been SO MANY posts like this lately and all of them are filled with comments of universal agreement! am i having a stroke? what the hell is going on???? i'll admit mat doesn't have a huge amount of specific stuff to do in the waste aside from rhuidean, but rhuidean is crucial to his character and s2 had Mat-Finn Connection Foreshadowing out the wazoo, plus the waste plotline is MUCH more fertile ground for creating additional Specific Mat Stuff and enhancing his character development & relationships with other main characters than his TDR plotline of dicking around with thom is.

[ratatatastic]

a man contemplating how to feasibly knick a 35 pound tincan from his captain without getting the shit beat out of him by said captain

and hes about 10 seconds away from reenacting raccoon stealing catfood shenanigans

absolutely hysterical hes giving the cup that look after he stole it from sasha and had to give it back beforehand

LIKE GIRL BE A LITTLE MORE SUBTLE

[abyssembraced]

Making You the Patron Saint of Something

Patron Saint of Creation

Patron saint of explosions. Patron saint of More. Patron saint of something new entirely. Something unfamiliar, something you can't recognize. Was Frankenstein's monster an abomination or had his like just never been seen before? You're the patron saint of all those new, beautiful things. You're the patron saint of the monsters, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Patron Saint of Bones

Patron saint of frameworks. Of structures. Of solidity. Patron saint of things that break. Patron saint of things that are left behind. The bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest is gone? What do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? Who holds the bones?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagged by: @distrxst (thank you!)

Tagging: Back at it again with tagging Everyone <3 And again, if you have multiple rp blogs, absolutely feel free to do it for one other than the one I tagged!! @bladesfromthedark , @legalbrats , @tazmilyxfamily , @pri-rp , @hopeful-hugz , @quillheel , @musescfmusic , @interdimensional-ship

[yeonban]

Elijah considers people as "cool" based on two qualities:

1) How nice of a person they are. I cannot stress enough just how much this one matters to him. It's even more important than the second quality. Someone who's rude, abusive and/or egocentric could have the best outfits, greatest looks in history, all the talents in the world and be wealthier than anyone else and Elijah would still think they're the lamest person he's ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with. He's met more than his fair share of horrendous people in his life, both before arriving at Wammy's House and especially after starting his work in espionage, and while he is capable of keeping a straight face in front of them, he feels disgusted every time he meets someone who shows blatant disregard for other people's lives and goes out of their way to do others harm (verbal, physical or otherwise) for no valid reason. In this same vein, he also has tons of respect for kind people because the majority of people he meets aren't well-off or they wouldn't have crossed paths with him; so for them to have gone through who knows what sort of life-changing experiences and remain kind despite everything is something he really appreciates. Plus, he feels safe around these kinds of people, which is rare in his line of work and in his mess of a private life (<-if he even has something that can qualify as private life).

2) Their self-expression. Meaning, the person expressing themselves as they are instead of taking on every trend and trying to fit in with the masses at every step; whether that means through donning something visible (having markings, tattoos, piercings, wild hairstyles, uncommon outfits etc) or through personality (standing out in the crowds by voicing their opinions even when they're different from that of the majority). This one is mostly due to how his own life is shaped. Elijah cannot present himself in the ways he'd like to thanks to his job, so he deeply respects those who can and regularly do. He cannot have any sort of distinguishing traits unless they're specifically for a job and in that case it's not even for him, it's for whichever identity he must take on. He must always remain a blank slate, someone you wouldn't remember in the crowd nor think twice about when passing on the street. For this reason, he cannot tarnish his skin or appearance in any way, neither intentionally (tattoos, piercings, hairstyles that take time to fix afterwards) nor accidentally (scars from fights, hence why he prefers to only fight directly as a last resort) which is why he's very fond of those who can and do show the world who they really are.

[istherewifiinhell]

banging my head against the wall. does anyone wanna go insane and read TMNT Mirage #37 with me? An emotionally fraught jouney of faith and family and battling for or against your roots of eons past? You should. But if your not in for reading a 40 page comic I have a condensed visual/textual moments and summation for you! You might enjoy it!

[Mirage 37, Rick McCollum and Bill Anderson]

ID: Turtles walking through a forest with full camping bags. Mikey has his mask around his neck and wears a bucket hat: Well..." Raph wears a wide brimmed fedora type hat, he balances one sai by its point on his finger: "You do got a point, buddy." Leo is shadowed in the back with a straw hat. END

[In this comic the turtles are depicted with understated beaks and look lankier than Classic Mirage style. Their skin is usually in the darker of the 2 toners, and their masks are left without toner.]

ID: From behind the group, Don and Mikey in silhouette up front. Behind them, Raph is throwing his sai in the air. Leo is saying "I believe you Don, but... Spiritual meaning? Maybe you're reading too much into it." Close on Don's face, frowning "No, I'm not." END.

[See Donatello: The Ring, in Turtle Soup #2] Here's what you missed: Don went on a spiritual journey by himself. Now he wants them all to experience it.

ID: Three turtles and Splinter in the farm house living room. Raph and Mikey on the couch with books, Leo on the floor polishing his sword. Splinter standing to the side. Raph: Yeah, but Casey's car's on the blink. Mike: I hope its doesn't fall apart while he's out with April. Leo: Don will fix it when he returns. Raph has one leg up, is tossing some shuriken in one hand, his books says "Fun with sai". Mike slouches and has a drink can, his book is "Life of Bruce Lee" END

ID: Three Panels of Don explaining his experience in front of a large fire, fiddling with his bo staff, the flames curl around him as he speaks. A brow raised: But it wasn't the trees- It was one of us! The Father of All Reptiles Looking contemplative: He was a turtle. Or a ghost. Some kind of spirit... With a sheepish smile: And I'm glad I met him. He said I was special... END

Splinter reprimands the other turtles for not taking Don seriously. His lecture:

"Your lack of respect is unbecoming. Have I so failed you that you have no feel for your heritage, your roots? Reptiles ruled this world for uncounted eons, your people strode the land, slipped through the warm seas, and skittered about the sky. Though gone, their blood is your blood. And their spirit should be yours! They are your elders, with their bones left in the rock, lasting forever in the skin of the world. Respect them, and honor their spirits as you do me!" "Recall the time you spent, eons past, with your friend Renet. How you spoke of it once you'd returned! Did you not feel a sense of unity with that time? Did you not resonate to the heart-beat of the archosaurs? Your enthusiasm lingered for weeks."

[See Tales of TMNT 7] They went back in time and met dinosaurs, amongst other things.

ID: Panels with a close up on each character. April in profile, with a solemn look: You babbled on about it for days. Mike smiling wide: Yeah! It was warm! Leo, clutching his sword, looking away: I felt so free! Raph, his mask pushed up to his forehead, an eyes closed smile: Three months of fishing! Don, holding his staff, looking down: Yes, I was... Happy. END

Splinter continues to speak.

"Happiness…Ah, Donatello, it is so ephemeral. As was the time of those reptiles. Everything is a ring, and the ring turns. The world grew cold, small, furry creatures came out of the shadows. The dinosaurs died. The age of mammals began."

Raph, upset, gets disparaging about what the predominance of mammals has done to the earth.

ID: Three panels. Raph, shocked, hand over his mouth: I can't believe I said that. Splinter looming over Raph, who jerks back. Splinter: ~Think~ before~ you~ speak~ Raphael! Raph: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Splinter: Need I remind you that your best friend Casey Jones is a mammal? Close on Raph and April. Splinter off panel: Not to mention myself? Raph: Eep! April grimacing: I'm feeling warm-blooded and hairy also! END

ID: Four panels. Caption box: And look they do— Raph looking at two trees growing diagonally, thinking: I don't even know what I'm looking for. Leo, partially hidden behind foliage, thinking: Something's up. I feel... something. Mike, looking at a tree that's grown a loop in its trunk, thinking: Is this a "spiritual experience?" Don, walking through the trees in silhouette thinking: Why can't I find the place?" END

After a day of searching, they camp, but Mike goes missing during his watch in the night.

ID: Two panels, each showing Raph and Don and they face off and argue, their speech bubbles placed between them. Raph is backed up against a tree, angry, clenching his sais tightly. Don has his bo like a walking stick, and seems calmer.

Raph: Why? Mike needs us! Don, with an irregular speech bubble: Either he is alive or he is dead. The quest is more important. R: What are you talking about? What's wrong with you? D, normal bubble: Nothing. I had a dream last night. If we give up the quest, we've lost. R: Mike is more important! D: That's what the adversary hopes you think. R: What adversary? D, irregular bubble: Have Faith. R: Donatello! D, regular bubble: Remember when you devovled? We kept faith. R, yelling: AAARGH! END

[See Mirage 24-26] Raph was de-mutated into a regular turtle, his brothers had to go on a journey to save him.

ID: Leo, mask off, scowling "This is what we'll do. Break camp. Consolidate our gear. Bury what's left. We're on a combat mission now. We'll keep faith, Don, but--. A narrow panel of Don, drawn small, gripping his staff: What? Leo getting in Don's face, displeased: I hate leaving Mike. -- Just make sure you're right. END

Raph goes missing on their second nights watch, Don becomes stranger and more convicted about this quest.

ID: Leo, furiously, points in the direction of the viewer, accusing Don. "What's with you? Why are you so out of it?! -- What's wrong with your voice? [Larger text] Don't you care about Mike or Raph?! END

ID: Don sits facing away from Leo, gripping his staff, angry, speaking towards his hands. Leo looks on from a ways back, dramatically lit. Don: [Large text] Of course I do! [Normal text] But... I don't know what's wrong with my voice. I don't know who the Adversary is. And yet..." END

ID from alt: Two panels, Leo glaring, getting in Don's face, pointing at his beak, grabbing Don's staff. "Who told you this?" Don has brows raised. Don, with a wincing smile: "The Father of us all." END

ID: Multiple panels. Close on Leo, "Remember what I said about being sure?" Don holding his staff in front of himself, seemingly scared, "Leo, please." Mid on Leo, more neutral frown, "Don..." Full body, Leo turns away, the wind picks up. Leo facing away, pulled back shot. "Let's keep going." END

Narration as they travel further into stranger and stranger territory.

Leonardo: What was to be a relaxing romp has become a grueling death march. Sweating and hacking through the threatening undergrowth, he understands that he is hopelessly lost. As lost as Donatello seems to be, following an Unknown pull, mumbling to somebody only he can hear Donatello: while Leonardo must fight the wild landscape, he slips easily through the thorns. And he listens, and talks. Hair is better than scales? The birds are traitors, having stolen the secret of hot blood? Giants, brought low by small, furry ones? As he pursues the silent beckoning, he learns...

They have a run in with a foe in pitch black forest. They take many hits but score one back, severing one limb, hairy and clawed, then retreat. Don garbs himself in some make shift religious fair, using his blanket, mud and ash. The two sleep, they dream.

And they dream the same dream. They see their blood rise and rule. The ring is turning. The reptiles differentiate, and claim the seas and air. They see their family as it might have become- If the ring hadn't broken. They feel contempt for their children, the birds, as they invade the skies. But it is nothing compared to the fear which the small hairy ones bring. The furry horde had been around since the reptiles beginnings- swarming… unstoppable.

ID: Three panels. Caption Box: The morning brings questions. Leo and Don sit with their backs to a tree. Don's taken his mask off, made a dark markings on his face and body, and wears a hood. Leo: Did you dream-? Don: Yes. Leo looks upset, gestures with a hand in front of himself. "I... felt grief. Anguish. They must be let loose. -- But why? And how?" Don's face is completely shadowed by his hood, his eyes and teeth stick out in far too much detail. It is an unsettling smile. "You're starting to learn." END

Another fight, Don's leg is broken by the mammalian Adversary. Leo, with all the weight of the loss of his brothers, takes position to make a last stand protecting him. But Don urges him to continue on, to find and aid the Father of all Reptiles.

ID: Many panels, Don injured, propped against a tree. Eyes closed in pain he says "Can't you hear?" Leo looks behind them. A strange voice says "Come." Close on Don, crying, yelling at Leo "Go! Please! I have faith in you!" Leo's eyes, frowning. Leo's hand, offering his sword. Leo's eyes, he's crying through his mask. "Take this." Don's hand taking the sword from Leo. Narrow panel, Leo walks away, remaining sword drawn. "Fight well." END

ID: A cut off panel with dialogue, and a close on Leo, framed between two rocks, crying heavily. The says: You have become one with sorrow. You are sad. I am glad. Now we may speak. END

Leo climbs and the conversation continues.

Narration: There are sounds behind him, as he climbs. Voice: Your brother Donatello gave me joy when we met. I thought it would release me from my grief. Narration: Following him as he scampers every higher. Voice: I tried to go. But joy is ephemeral-- Narration: Leonardo reaches the top with haste. Voice: While melancholy lasts forever.

Leo sits at the mountain peak, thinks of his brothers, contemplates the sounds of the Adversary below and the Father of all Reptiles speaks to him more, as he falls into sleep.

This is my nexus, my holy spot. This is my prison, where I am trapped by my sadness. Dream of extinction. Dream of death. Once we were, now we are not. You and yours are what we could have been-- Had not the hairy ones come. All the scaly brethren are my children… But they hairy ones killed them-

Leo wakes slowly to a growl, then all at once with a yelp.

ID: Full page, the Father of all reptiles finishes in a yell. "THEY ATE MY EGGS!" The mammalian Adversary's loud growl just under the speech bubble. It looms in the panel, over Leo at the bottom, his sword drawn. The Adversary, large and rodent like, fur dark, eyes gleaming, foam dripping from its mouth. One arm severed and still bleeding, implanted in it are the weapons from Leo's brothers. Raph's sai in its leg, Mike's nunchaku in the stub of its arm, Don's staff and Leo's other sword in its chest. Other small rodents cling to its form. Surrounding the image, marginalia in the corners. Cracked eggs up top, rodents in the bottom. And a border of text, listing eras, genera and species of or relating to early mammals. END

Leo's brothers, injured, wounds wrapped and broken limbs braced, are following his trail. They see signs in the sky, Mikey thinks it looked like a massive turtle. Don is assured with his faith that this means the Father of All Reptiles is aiding Leo, and that they should rest. Mike and Raph leave him to sit at the mountain base (offering him another weapon for protection), and make their way up.

Narration: At the pinnacle, a warm, fresh breeze wafts downward. The trees below grow normal. Throughout the world, fossil Mesozoic eggs break apart, as fetal reptile souls are let loose. Paleontologists will find no more intact eggs. EVER.

ID: Full page panel, Leo sits at the base of the giant cracked egg of the Father of All Reptiles. Sword dangling, he's exhausted, blood splatters him, his sword, and the mottled surface of the egg shell. The Adversary's head and remaining hand are laying to one side, the dark mass of fur on his other. His brothers cresting the peak see him, and he says "We freed him. The wheel is moving again. The ring is whole." Caption box: And whole, the ring moves on. A Marginalia drawing in the corner shows a small rodent, the front of its body inside the cracked shell of an egg. END

[dutybcrne]

Me BSing hcs like: The fact that Kae is not only able to create a shield when he is dangerously low HP but also the fact that he is able to regenerate HP when he hits opponents with Frostgnaw is definitely due to him receiving his Vision when Diluc had tried to kill him in their Confrontation...but could it be possible that his familial ties to the Abyss Order could have influenced that HP drain of his-

[feluka]

i love to imagine that auldrant physicists argue whether sound is a particle or a wave, the same way in the real world we have this debate about light

[prompt-master]

I think you're a Leo kinnie

What you mean by this changes DRASTICALLY depending on which version you mean

[arolesbianism]

I need to find new eternal gales songs right now I cannot keep living with most of the playlist being shit I listened to in 2018

[birdantlers]

A heartfelt and grievously expanded-upon update to this—please, please read the whole thing if you can. reblogs much appreciated.

(DISCLAIMER, for all who are saying reasons like abusive parents/legal stuff/toxic ex/triggering memories/page got deleted/job/stalkers/bullying/[[insert any other shitty life thing]], This is not concerning that—personal safety & health ALWAYS comes first, and is worth more than any media ever could be. This is my biggest reason for defending that autonomy. I would be a hypocrite to say I hadn’t deleted triggering posts of mine or ones that got me in trouble with my family.)

it genuinely makes me sad and kinda upset when someone purges all their old art off the internet like. barring harmful content what if someone liked that. What if someone would have. And now nobody will ever know and it's just gone. even people's old invader zim askblogs or whatever getting deleted feels like a micro alexandria to me and that's just something I made up. I wasn't even thinking of a specific one it just stresses me out. Is this the autism I don't get why nobody else seems to freak internally abt it like I do. I see artists whose blogs I've never even looked at go like "man so glad I deleted all my old stuff it's so clean" or saying they throw out art from when they were kids I'm like. how are you not hurling. How is that not distressing that is literally your tree rings why would you do that. I want to see what's out there. people want to see it I promise someone out there likes it

...don't they??? Does everyone get quietly irrationally upset by this as me, or is this just hyperfixation/autism/some amalgam of the two. I'm not a hoarder or obsessive compulsive or anything like that so i wonder..

Anyways. reblog if you had a favorite amateur youtube animator in your childhood whose channel got nuked without a trace one day that you still think about.

I wanted to attach this video because it condenses my point very well. A TLDR of sorts. Please watch the whole thing, it genuinely changed the entire way I think about art as a concept.

(2nd vid is "Subjectivity in Art")

“The moment your art touches an audience, the ownership shifts in an irreversible way. [They're] not having an art experience with you and your intentions. They're having an art experience with the art object.

“You can't just burn your past; it's not even your past to burn anymore. It's other people's history as well. Whether or not you like it, that art is already bonded to somebody's soul, and if you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it.”

The digital age makes it very easy to distance or detach yourself from the impact your work has—be it art, fanfic, videos, even memes. Online content is as important to people now as any other media, if not more. But it's also by far the easiest, fastest, and most effective form of it to erase from public access. Media so unbelievably important to people and in general. Yes, you—with the 2010s purple sparkle dog speedpaint. I still think about that speedpaint all the time, because it was the first time i learned that you could draw on a computer, and I thought it was cool as hell. I still do.

I do wish there was a stronger culture of preservation and consideration for this, because every time I see people talk about snuffing their stuff because it doesn't personally resonate with them anymore, I just think ...what about all the people it did?

I've seen lots of people saying "get over it, it doesn't even matter," but it fucking does. It does matter. Even if I didn’t make it, even if I don’t have to deal with being the one who made it, even if I'm naturally inclined to be distressed by it—It still matters. And there’s nothing you could ever say to suddenly make it not matter, because there’s nothing you could ever say to make it not matter to me.

Don't devalue the act of creation. Don't dismiss something you made. It's out there, in people's thoughts and hearts and souls, and that is real. Even if you don't know it. Especially if you don't know it. Especially in a world where physical media is being snuffed out, the internet is constantly dying without any physical remains to recover, social isolation is rampant, and simply because independently produced content online is still media.

Fanfiction can hold equal or greater significance to someone as a book, but you can’t unpublish a book. Authors don’t have a button that can vaporize every copy of their work across all time, but fanfiction authors do. I’m not counting people who download fics either—when you buy a book, that transaction is over. But online, you have the power of unending transaction that can be terminated instantly at your will. The process of publishing fanfic vs. publishing a book may be different, but people’s connection to the art is the same intensity.

So yeah. I do get depressed about the Internet being a constant Alexandria, but the times I get the most depressed is when I click someone's page and see that all their work is gone because they're ‘curating a new aesthetic’ for their page or some shit. Or weeding out all the "ugly" art. Or just went on whatever the hell 'thrill deleting' is, because they just get a kick out of it.

Fuck it—yeah! It upsets me! I’m not wrong to say that. I’m saying it!

Under the cut, because it got long as shit! Also don’t worry the ending is way sappier and more ‘beauty of human nature’ vibe so it’s not all doom and gloom lol

What if that was someone's favorite art of that character. What if someone read that 'cringe oneshot' on the worst day of their life. What if that Warriors meme vid is still burned into a college student’s mind despite being gone for 10 years. What if it's actually not just you and the ones and zeros you rent out to the world—secure in knowing the original will always be on your computer for you to do whatever you want with it.

I really, deeply wish there was more of a general awareness of this, because even though social media can be used like a diary, that’s functionally the opposite of what it is. It’s social media. When you post, it’s no longer in a vacuum, even though you can’t see the real humans that content touches—often deeply.

Media is history. You shouldn’t burn that history just because you personally believe it isn’t worth saving.

Because it’s no longer just your personal opinion. It’s no longer just your personal work. it’s. history. Memory of media is not a suitable replacement for the media itself. If it was, we wouldn’t save anything at all. Nostalgia is an agent of that. The definition of nostalgia is grief for moments of the past that are inaccessible, and the biggest balm for that pain is accessing a physical reminder of those moments. That opinion of yours is no longer personal. It’s weighed against uncountable people across all time that your thing is ALSO personal to. People who would, and will mourn its absence.

How many times have you joined an older fandom only to discover that some of its most popular works are gone? How many times have you routed through random blogs looking for scraps people hopefully reblogged? how many times have you used Wayback machine desperately praying that a fan fiction or a YouTube video will be there? How many times do you look up crunchy old vines or YouTube videos or anime AMV‘s? How many times do you remember old fanfic.net sex that impacted you in middle school, only to shake your head and go ‘probably no point even looking.’

i mourn the absence. No, people can’t and shouldn’t have their agency over what they post revoked, but they should be conscious of that weight. If you’re reading this and getting extremely annoyed, and you’re not in the pink text above,,,, good.

I honestly do hope it gets under your skin. I hope it sits with you. I hope you feel it every time you hit that button, and whether or not you do hit that button—if you hesitate, if you remember this, even spitefully, I’ve done my job. I am howling into the void. And I may not want an answer, but I do want my anguish to be heard and remembered. Because it isn’t me just being melodramatic.

I know I sound that way writing so much, but if my favorite writing YouTuber can drop trow this week and go, "yeah, sorry, all my video essays from less than a year ago that you listen to in the car all the time? I'm "rebranding" my content so i deleted them. besides, my personal views don't really agree align with the analyses i did, or the techniques i taught in them anyway. Sorry if some of the literal tens of thousands of you used them, but I don't want to feel shackled to having youtuber "classics" tied to me”

….then i guess I'm just going to have to sound dramatic! That fucking sucks! Hours of work and knowledge gone! This was a new channel too. It’s very likely there’s no archive of any kind, because who would think someone who worked hard enough to write, record, and edit hour-long videos, would just turn around and nuke it all? I definitely didn’t see it coming, but I did just start a new screenwriting class a few weeks ago, so I’ll tell you at least one person is REALLY missing those fucking videos right now. Because a lot of them were about specifically screenwriting, which I know jack shit about. and that specific person’s pace, editing, and style of breaking down information was the best suited style I found that I could focus on and absorb. There’s no replacement for that. No alternative for his individual perspective. his jokes. his opinions.

No, they may not resonate with him now, but in this decision, he’s put up a big middle finger to everyone who might have. And he has like 100k subscribers! Those are confirmed supporters! Imagine how many silent and untethered observers are feeling this loss right now. Imagine how many will not have it in the future.

If he never posted them at all, we wouldn’t know we had it. It wouldn’t be a loss. But we did. We did have it. Until he decided that no, we didn’t, because he just happens to be the one out of millions of individuals holding the button to burn it in a hundredth of a second.

His personal work, the attachment I had to it, and the ways that it helped me are now just ripped away. I am one person out of millions, literal MILLIONS of people who saw and liked this content before it vanished. The soul has been ripped, the access severed, and by CJ’s (and my) definition, the art is functionally dead. Not for the YouTuber or anyone else lucky enough to save a link or download, but everyone else. From this point until the end of time, even if people even two weeks from now don’t know it. Even if someone who stumbles upon his channel today, doesn’t know it.

We only mourn the concept of Alexandria because we had some kind of scope for what was inside. Yes, maybe you got self-conscious and deleted your 12 year old deviant art account. Do you know who else is doing that?? THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS of other twenty somethings who ALSO feel self-conscious about their old socials. Art. Fanfic. One direction fan videos. anything.

Suddenly, an unquantifiable amount of information from your age group—an entire age group in 2012, is. gone. And we will NEVER know what’s been erased from that history. We will NEVER know what could have been significant to us ten years from now. Twenty years from now. A hundred years. A thousand.

You could have deleted a fanfic that would have been someone else’s new go-to panic attack distraction tomorrow. You could have deleted a video someone used to laugh at with their friend who died yesterday. When you delete something, you risk tearing a hole in unknowable personal histories.

The Internet isn’t just a big library of Alexandria. It’s a library containing libraries. And those libraries have their own libraries in those libraries have their own as well. libraries inside libraries, inside libraries, ad infinitum. To conceive the amount of destroyed history on the Internet is crushing.

And I just can’t help but I ask myself how in gods name people can choose to contribute to that, instead of reposting everything to trash heap alts titled “hall of shame” or some shit.

You can offload to alts. Put up disclaimers. Make password locked blogs, or dropboxes, or anonymous imgur dumps. Anonymous reuploads. Orphan fics. Make a playlist or linktree of unlisted videos. Cut off the watermarks. Delete all references to it on your main. Make a dedicated unlisted playlist. make a google drive. Make new portfolio sites. Delete any questions you get about it. Change pen names. Pretend it never existed.

Give a heads up.

Something.

But don’t. kill. the media.

The knowledge that our stuff is going to forever be tied to us is a cross we have to bear, but the responsibility that comes with putting it out there in the first place, can’t be ignored.

Anyway. I'm not trying to start conflict. This is not a bash on anyone, nor a call for witch hunts. Or anon hate, or blocks and unfollows or anything of that nature. I'm not wishing ramifications or hate of any kind on anyone who does wants to do any of this.

I'm also not guilt tripping— I am not saying that you should feel bad. I AM saying why it makes me feel bad. That’s not guilting, it’s a dialogue. One I personally feel is long overdue.

It's me yelling into the void: please consider the real people on the other side of the screen before you hit that button. Realize and know that whatever you're about to erase from history could be the most important thing in the world to someone.

Art is an experience. It's why we revisit it. If art and history simply lived in the matter and code of media, we would only need to look at it once. We wouldn’t put things in museums. We wouldn’t build libraries. We wouldn’t look up vine compilations.

If you're able, consider (and I do mean consider, this is not a call to action) not destroying that. And don’t shrug it off as some pretentious asshole venting on Tumblr. You only need to look in the notes and tags to see that it isn’t just me. it’s never just me, or you, or the pixels.

And even if you do shrug it off, then at least recognize that what you make matters. Whatever you think about it, if it’s out there, that's not your discretion anymore. If a tree falls in the woods and even one person is around to see it, it fucking mattered. Because it happened. Don’t mulch your tree rings if you don’t have to. Because if enough people do it, a whole forest is gone. Media is history, no matter whether you think it’s worth putting in a museum, or only has 30 notes.

Thousands of years ago, a child named onfim doodled on his homework. They’re crude, and everyone has the wrong amount of fingers, and they’re also priceless archaeological artifacts recognizable throughout the world.

the only thing separating Onfim’s doodles and your MS paint Pokémon doodles is time. The only thing separating your old MS paint Pokémon doodles from being a priceless artifacts, thousands of years in the future is time. Your creations are already priceless artifacts. No matter what you do, don't ever, ever deny that. It isn’t blowing up your own ass, it’s artistic and anthropological fact.

The mundane and the supposedly unworthy are often the first things lost to time, and that’s why they’re so precious. That’s why artists who were before their time are scorned first only to be celebrated later. Do you think they knew that was going to happen?? What if they nuked it? Many probably did! But now that’s happening exponentially and instantaneously everywhere, WITHOUT the artist having to destroy their only copy—which makes it way easier and more dismissable.

Sometimes, If you’re revolutionary enough, people will make an effort to preserve your work, but recognized and thoroughly recorded work is rare compared to unrecognized and thoroughly recorded work.

Sometimes something is beloved enough that it would be impossible for it not to go down in history, but even then it isnt a guarantee, and it’s rare. But if van Gogh burned all of his paintings in a fit of despair before his death, we would have no van Gogh. Because he wasn’t respected as an artist in his time, but that wasn’t what defined the worth of his art. The people after him did, because his art was still there for them.

If you rip the art away, you're ripping a bit of the soul that has adhesive contact to it. If you belittle your art, you belittle the very real relationships and emotions and revisitations people have with the media. You defy the inherent worth and weight of a creation. you created. That's effort. It's passion. No matter how flippant or unskilled or worthless you think it is, it matters. Because at the end of the day, you could have chosen to make nothing at all, and you didn't.

•

Muting notifs