#can i write for god sake

[svtskneecaps]

lukewarm take of the evening: y'all care too much about being ""outdated"". fellas this smp moves inhumanly fast. it is ok to CHILL holy shit CHILL. y'all are like "(posts BANGER ART) super late guys sorry" friend i am hitting you with a blanket i am snapping you with my metaphorical towel WHAT DO YOU MEAN SORRY. "(posts BANGER FIC) rip this is outdated now" WHO CARES???? I LOVE YOU, OK. ohhhh woe is us as the fandom at large for having MORE HAPPY PILLS ARC CONTENT oh no how outdated!! how could you be writing speculative fiction about how forever felt during happy pills :( slash SARCASM!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN!!!! THERE ARE SO MANY BANGER ARCS, WHAT, YOU THINK WE'RE COMPLAINING????? FOR GETTING MORE OF THE CONTENT WE LOVED????? oh no we're past the period where everyone thought green gay ninjas were like Dead Dead, my work is now outdated and noncanon :( WDYM. GIMME. A BANGER IS A BANGER IDC IF IT TAKES THREE MONTHS. you think rome was built in a day?? fuck you, baltimore, GIMME. my ass has been cooking a goddamn backflipo family fic since july when it was ALREADY outdated do you think i fear god??? "oh no, you're making an edit of slime's (attempted) egg murdering spree?? how could you, that was months ago it's irrelevant" SAID NO ONE EVER.

save your wrists kidlings ok carpal tunnel is no joke. CHILL!!!!! CHILL!!!!!!!! TAKE YOUR TIME SHEEEEEESH OK LOVE YOU <3

[necrotic-nephilim]

ok but jayrosetim

bc rose did hit on tim and i can see her looking at how weird her bf is about tim and just be like

"so you want to rail that twink too?"

and then poor tim never knows peace again😔

OOOH. i like this a lot. also phrasing the absolute chaos that Rose pulled on Tim as her just hitting on him is so funny. bc the panel of Rose in Tim's bed, clearly wearing Robin panties will never leave my mind, she was unhinged about him. honestly in a very similar way to how Jason was too, now that you point it out. how have comics never addressed that-

think it's so funny if Rose tries to be Normal about Tim when she gets with Jason. bc she expects *that* to be a complicated can of worms she's not sticking her hand in, she knows too much about fucked up family dynamics. because she does really like Jason and wants to actually see where this relationship goes. Jason is the first person who hasn't tried to change something about Rose and seems to actually like her for who she is. she's not used to not having to change herself for people and it's a comfortable feeling to know he wants the ugly sides of her too. and Jason pointedly avoids conversations about Tim so she avoids it too. everyone's slept with everyone in the hero business, an old crush where she maybe went too far (she regrets nothing, only that she didn't go farther-) doesn't need to ruin this thing she has.

but then she and Jason actually run into Tim and Jason is *weird*, but he's not "cain instinct" weird. he's more "flowers in the attic" weird. and hey, she's *into it*. Tim does not seem into it, but her mind is already concocting plans of how to talk him into it. bc it didn't work when it was just her, but her and Jason on a united front? absolutely. like, for me i'd love leaning into this ship being outright dubcon and coercive in nature. the minute Jason and Rose are alone she takes one look at him and says the above and Jason is clocked both by how forward she is about it, and by *the fact she wants to rail him too*. because now this guilty obsession/crush he's been hiding feels a *lot* less guilty.

something about Rose and Jason trying to pull Tim on their side, both in a vigilante way and in a romantic way is so fun. it's "be my Robin" and Rose getting into Tim's bed naked but dialed up to eleven. Tim does not know peace. i'd love fucked up shit like leaving dead bodies as courting presents at his doorstep. putting a tracker on him but *also* giving him the coordinates to trackers they're both wearing bc hey, this is a show of *trust*, Tim. see, it's not weird bc now it's equal. you have us, we have you. fair. making sexual comments about him, sending him outright videos of them fucking and saying his name. the more Tim tries to push it away the more they up the ante. instead of videos, they just break into Tim's home to fuck in his bed and either he walks in on them or comes home to the obvious evidence of sex. they corner him on nearly every patrol he goes on, forcing him to get rescued by them in scenarios they clearly orchestrated. by the time Tim gives in it's bc he has no other options and he's been love-bombed by them so hard he's starting to believe all these promises about how they're the only ones who *get* him and that he'd be loved and taken care of.

the first time they have sex they nearly break Tim in half. Rose and Jason are secure in their own relationship but they've both been waiting for Tim for so long that they're nearly clawing at each other to touch him and fighting over who gets the "firsts" like, first to kiss him, first to ride him, first to fuck him. Tim makes the mistake of trying to get in the middle of it and ends up catching a few punches and is sternly told he's not a part of this conversation. it's objectifying and a little humiliating and by the end of the sex Tim is in *pieces*, a little bloody and so fucked out he can barely move. he realizes that if sex is like *this* every time, he's basically doomed. and he is, bc Jason and Rose are never going to be normal about him now that they have him. they're just going to claw for more and more control until they're the only people who matter to him.

[so-sick-of-17]

Seriously?! There is a chat gbt Anderperry fic on ao3? Gag! Get that away from me. No one wants to see your disgusting chat gbt story. I can’t call it a work because no work was done and I can’t call it fanfic because how much of a fan could you possibly be if you don’t write it yourself!? “I wanted to see a happier ending to the movie.” There are hundreds of stories you could have picked from that a real person actually created because they care about the characters. They are all infinitely better than anything a computer could have produced because they actually have a human connection and people who actually are capable of liking the movie and the characters. That tag is my happy place and it is tainted by that monstrosity. Normally I would be incredibly annoyed no matter the fandom, but for Dead Poets Society?! Really?! The movie about how art is tied with humanity?! Did you watch the movie?! Every single character would be disgusted by the use of ai to produce art. Art doesn’t exist without humanity and some cheep to imitation is an insult to anyone that actually works to make art.

[spotaus]

New Age AU (Error's Wacky Wild Plan)

Hi guys. So. Crazy Story. The crisis that stopped me from working on my banner art actually catapulted me into writing this drabble finally! (Also the wonderful @ancha-aus was also a life-saver and helped me hammer out a few plot points for this installment <3)

Currently my only context for this drabble is that Error is tiny, and ran away from home because Geno moved to Reaper's kingdom to make money to send back home, and Fresh spent too long away on his trip. Error was expelled from his magic academy and came home to an empty house, so he left! Now he's been on the road for about a month? Nightmare has been ruling for about 6-ish years now, almost 7.

(Hello @mutzelputz and @papiliovolens hi guys!!!)

     The town was bustling. 

   Error had been through a lot of towns since he’d left. Big ones, small ones, ones he was convinced weren’t even towns at all, just a few barns in a general closeness to one another who decided they needed to call themselves something besides the outskirts. Those people had been particularly hostile to his passing through.

   And, lately, they’d been really weird. People staring at him when he’d walk on the streets, or pass by shops. When they saw he had money from a different kingdom (he didn’t even realize he’d left his own, but he figured it meant he was on the right path) they’d squeeze their faces like they bit a lemon and hastily take his coin. Like it was cursed, or something. They were lucky it wasn’t cursed, honestly. He could probably figure out how to do that.

    This town, though, was filled so full with people that he imagined they couldn’t look at him weird if they wanted to. 

   People were riding horses, chatting in the streets, all sorts of stalls and merchants were peddling goods, and he was almost positive he could hear music lifting down the street over the general drone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d run into a place so busy. He’d always been told to stick to the side, out of the way, out of danger. 

   He didn’t have to listen to that anymore. Though, he did skirt the crowds. The mass of people seemed all too willing to bump shoulders or elbows with each other in the early morning sun, and the last thing he wanted was to have his magic act up in a crowd. He’d done well so far. 

   Every booth, every merchant, every passerby seemed jubilant, ebbing and flowing. It was like some sort of party. 

   That was, until, Error spotted it.

   A big building, something that Error recognized only vaguely. 

   It was an amphitheatre. 

   Geno had taken him to see one once. Or, at least, the ruin of one. It hadn’t been too far from their home, and it was pretty abandoned and lonely. Plants had crawled up its walls, stones had fallen off in chunks, animals seemed to have deemed its high windows a perfect spot to build nests. It had been breathtaking, and ancient. 

   This one? Seemed perfectly in-use. 

   The walls were all in-tact, stones, an easy to look at grey, smooth and covered in little intricate carvings. Spells, he had to imagine, in some language he didn’t know. Curtains hung over the huge arched entrances, and heavy gates seemed to be lifted, the spikes at the base loomed over the heads of every passerby. 

   He couldn’t help but marvel. Was this a restoration, or maybe it was new. Some sort of imitation. Regardless, he found that his feet carried him to one of the entrances, which stood largely empty aside from some folks who looked strikingly like guards.

   Two of them stood, long spears in-hand. They both stood stock still as Error approached, and didn’t move a muscle as he passed them. They were strange, definitely different. Not at all the town guard he was familiar with. 

   The inside of the theatre was even more impressive. Rows and rows of stands seemed to line up either side. Huge tapestry hung from the high arches past those seats, and down the runways of the bleachers, all a bright teal and dark navy blue. They seemed fancy, and much newer than the curtains which had hung in the entrance. 

   Beyond the walkway where he stood, was a set of stairs which led down a level or so, before it leveled out into an open space. Sandy, and very flat. It seemed like there were people there, too. A much smaller crowd, but still a crowd nonetheless. 

   Error was almost amazed he’d not been stopped by someone yet. Whatever was going on seemed important, and so far in his experience, people did not like him sticking his nose into important business. 

   With that in mind, he decided he’d stick to the entryway for now. He leaned his bag up against the wall and watched from a position where the sun still shadowed his form. He was often grateful for his miscolored bones. It made hiding in the dark a whole lot easier. 

   It took a bit for him to really process what he was watching in the morning light. 

   There were four people sat on a sort of raised box toward the front of a stage. A huge stage, raised up off the sand with wood slats. They had a long-table before them, and quills and ink jars in-hand. Well, three were sitting. One was standing. But the point is, they were all watching the stage very attentively. 

   On-stage there was… basically nothing. Only a simple backdrop Error had to imagine was there at all times, because it looked like it was coated in sand, even from the distance where he stood.

   A person would enter the stage, the people sat on the box would speak to them, and then there was a flare of magic. Another. Another. And then they were dismissed. 

   It wasn’t until he really bothered to think about what magic was being cast that he realized those were extremely simple spells being used. Levitate, Create Water, Mimicry. Or Flame, Gust, Light. All just three easy spells, and then they were off-stage. That was taught magic. It gave him memories of his entrance exam to his school. He’d been way overqualified to get in, Geno taught him after all…

   But, no, this didn’t feel the same. There were plenty of people who seemed to stumble at spells they didn’t recognize, or who couldn’t muster a simple breeze. Then others who were very old and obviously skilled. Obviously they found the three spells to be child’s play. Like Error would. This was no entrance exam, so what-

   “Hey, pipsqueak, what are you doing there in the dark?” A voice startled him, and it took all of his willpower to avoid jumping away from its origin. 

   Error twisted rapidly, just in time to avoid the thrust of an elbow in his direction. 

   There was a monster there. Three, actually. Two lizards, both bright green and tropical, and one who looked more like a dragon. The green one closer to him must have spoken, because he laughed at Error’s flinch. 

   “Why are you bothering me?” Error shot back haughtily. 

   The lizard seemed to grin at the response.  

   “Oh, so we’ve got a feisty little small fry here? Thinks he’s scoping out the competition?” The dragonish one hissed, voice deep. 

   The other green one tittered a giggle, “So cute! I can’t believe the King really decided to let just anyone try out for Royal Mage.” 

   Oh…

   The lizard before him seemed to take this silence as a weakness, and reached out quicker than Error could react. A flick to the middle of his forehead. 

   Error winced and pulled away, back and into the arena. He grit his teeth and clutched his skull, where at the same moment the lizard jumped back and shook their hand in the air a bit. His magic had reacted poorly again, and while it was better than it used to be, it still stung like 5 wasps touching down and stinging the same point all at once. 

   “Little freak.” Was all the monster hissed, before he fled. His two friends moving on behind him in confusion. Approaching the line to the stage. 

   Error stood there in the sun for a moment, rubbing at his forehead until the pain was more of a numb static. 

   If anything, he appreciated the little run-in with those wanna-bes. Now he knew exactly what this was, and why it had felt so familiar to him. 

   The Mage Trials. 

   Geno had to go through them, and he’s been very thorough about his every single detail while doing it. Even though he was the best mage Error had ever known, he’d still stressed and wrote page after page of plans and spells and had placed them into a folder that felt thicker than an encyclopedia. Geno had always been the only one of them who bothered studying. Fresh couldn’t go to school anymore, and Error… Well, Error didn’t need to. 

   Thinking about it, Geno had been very quiet about it, but Error had looked into his folder a few times. Just out of curiosity. It’d been split into three rounds, something Geno had said was standardized. The first was a test of someone’s basic magic skills, the second were more complex spells which the mage has practice in, and the third, the one that had given Geno the most grief, was the personal spell round. In the last one, there were no restrictions to what someone could do, so long as they had done the work themselves, and that it mostly used magic. 

   If he was right, and he usually was, then this was the first round. Eliminating those with nothing but a hope and a prayer in their pocket before they got embarrassed before the one looking for the Mage in the first place. In this case, whoever this kingdom’s king even was. 

   In just a few moments, Error had decided. 

   This was how he’d prove himself. 

   The line was already starting to get longer, and he didn’t want to be here until nightfall in a queue. He dusted off his scarf, his shoes, his bag, and set off into the bright sun to secure his place in this contest. No prep. No warning. Just with his raw skill and what he’d learned so far. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 

.

   Finally. 

   Error felt like it had been hours in the warm sun before he was finally up next. 

   He’d been watching, of course. Watching as the people before him were passed or failed. It was just as he’d expected, and he couldn’t help but be a bit giddy as the two green lizard who’d bothered him earlier both failed. Though their dragonish friend had passed, it was still enough of a victory for him.

   Along with that, he noticed that the three people sat were all in robes of nobles. Something the wealthy and lofty would think to wear in a blazing hot arena all day. The one standing, though, was wearing all black. A hood was over his head, but Error thought he might be some sort of cat-monster. Very stone faced, very still. The only time Error had seen him move was seemingly to veto whatever choice the other three were making. He thought it was interesting. 

   That didn’t matter, though. 

   Based on what he’d seen, these people wouldn’t have any qualms with his magic. He was much better than half the people who’d already been passed, and knew he could keep him calm up on the stage. It’d be just like his entrance exam. 

   He watched as the monster who’d gone before him, a skeleton who was twice his height and twice as animal-ish, bowed gratefully to the people on the boxes, the evaluators, and exited. She’d passed fairly easily, Error thought. Though, her focus seemed elsewhere based on how shaky the hold on her last flame had been. 

   “Next!” 

   The call was shrill, and Error had heard it over a hundred times already today, but this time it bounced in his ears as he lifted himself up the steps and strode onstage. 

   If he’d thought about it, he would’ve tried to find a place to stache his bag, but it was too late for that, and frankly he didn’t trust it not to get stolen once it was out of his sight. Not with how busy the city seemed. 

   When he was stood in the center of the stage, he looked out across the way to the evaluators. They seemed closer up here than they did when he was on the ground. Interesting. 

   “First spell,” The person on the far left called, though Error could tell now that it was a voice projection spell. So they didn’t strain their vocal chords, “ Levitate.”

   That was simple. One of the first spells he’d been taught as a kid. 

   His eyes skimmed briefly, there had been a few props on stage that he only noticed once he was closer that were meant to be used with this sort of spell, but Error wasn’t for that. Instead, he muttered the words under his breath, outstretched a hand, and felt his magic reach out around him. Beyond the stage. 

   There… There was a barrier of some sorts, pushing back against his magic, between himself and the evaluators. He furrowed his brow and urged his magic forward. He didn’t have to break through it. He just. Had to- His magic felt like it was looping and wriggling like a worm through the dirt, but when it broke through on the other end, it felt so much more clear. He could feel a potent magic there, something raw and wet, like the air before a storm. 

   That didn’t matter, though. None of it did, because he was on a mission. His magic finally found its target, the stacks of ink bottles which the middle evaluator had just before their parchment. The magic latched on, and Error finally allowed himself a grin as he tugged his hand upwards. They floated calmly into the air, three of them, and did a quick spinning motion, before settling back down just where he’d found them.

   He didn’t catch the looks on the threes faces, but he had to imagine they were priceless. He was more focused on letting the spell dissipate and preparing for the next. 

   It took a moment, before, “Second Spell,” They said, “Create Water.” 

   Another easy one. 

   Error held his hand out again, though this time his palm faced the sky rather than the ground. At the mutter of his words, he could feel the water manifesting. Tiny droplets leaking from his fingers and into the air above his open palm, where he let it gather into a nice, easy sphere. 

   It hovered, and for this one he could see the nods from the three evaluators. The fourth, the cat monster, didn’t move an inch. A good sign. 

   Error, after a breath, moved the orb of water and simply set it on the stage floor. If he had to release it, he didn’t exactly want to get his clothes wet. That orb tended to shoot outwards when he released it, and the water would go everywhere. 

   “Third spell,” They must’ve been contented with his simply setting down the water, for they continued, “Flame.”

   Ah, one of his favorites. He was never very good at it, of course, but it was certainly very fun. If nothing else it’d be a taste of his raw power.

   He rolled up his hanging sleeves, quickly using strands of string to wrap them in place, before he picked back up the water orb in one hand. With the other, he faced his palm toward the side of it, and spoke the words for the flame spell. 

   The heat gathered in his wrist, and all at once shot out of his palm, like a cannon blast. The heat was intense, and Error laughed quietly to himself in pure elation as the fire did exactly what he was hoping. All at once, his glasses fogged, and a burst of steam blew past his face, off to the exiting side of the stage. He’d evaporated his orb, no longer needing to risk someone seeing him fumble with it and soak himself. 

   He let the fire die after a few second, and quickly grabbed the hem of his scarf to wipe down his glasses from the fog left behind on their surface. 

   The moment the red rims were back on the bridge of his nose, the voice spoke up again. 

   “Name?”

   Error cleared his throat, before calling back his name in response. Just the first one, the last one didn’t matter anymore. 

   There was another few breaths of quiet, before, 

   “Age?”

   Error hadn’t heard them ask anyone else for their age, but he figured they’d noticed. How strong and talented he was at such a young age. 

  He puffed up his chest when he announced, “Twelve!” to the arena. 

   There were a few muffled murmurs from the line, but Error was too busy grinning across the way at the evaluators as they seemed to talk amongst themselves. 

   He was ready to hear the word that would mark him to continue. The next part was tomorrow, after this round was concluded and the king arrived. He’d heard about it in the line while he was waiting. 

   One of the evaluators lifted their gaze back to him. Opened their mouth.

   “Disqualified.”

   That.

   Huh?

   Error must’ve visibly glitched at the response, because one of the evaluators seemed to flinch. Ever so slightly. 

   “How come?!” Error called back, reservations immediately fleeing his mind.

   How could they disqualify him? He hadn’t heard them do that to literally anyone else so far today. 

   The evaluator on the far right spoke up, “Too young. Now please move off the-”

   Error might’ve let his mouth speak before his mind, if he hadn’t seen the way the mysterious cat monster seemed to slink forward. A simple tap to the evaluator’s side and they stopped mid-sentence, attention drawing to the person. 

   He waited with balled fists. Hoping, against it all, that this person was using his mighty veto powers to get him his passing review. 

   “The Knight wishes to speak to you further.” They said, when the person, the Knight, took a step back. “Exit the stage.” 

   Mm. 

   This was his chance. This was his moment. He was being allowed to move on, he was sure of it. It had to be. 

   He practically scrambled off the stage and down the steps, and found that the Knight had closed the distance very quickly. He gestured silently for Error to follow him off to the side of the arena, seemingly outside of the voice spell’s range, as the noise of magic and calling for the next viewer seemed all muffled and contained. 

   Something Error noticed about the guy, now that he was right beside him walking along, was also that he wasn’t a cat monster. No, he had some sort of mask shaped like a cat. Black spots painted on black fur, with piercing white eyelights hidden in the darkness cast by his black hood. A cloth mask covered the lower half of his face, so Error would’ve had no idea what kind of monster he was, if he hadn’t left his hands uncovered. They were grey and grimy, but they were most certainly bones. 

   The other thing he noticed, was the magic. That damp, airy magic was no-doubt from this guy. It practically enveloped the both of them until they were stood in the shade of the wall separating bleachers from arena floor. 

   “You said you’re twelve?” He finally asked, shifting on his feet to look at Error. 

   The last thing he noticed, which only happened once he was able to look past the aura, was that. Well. He was a bit taller than this guy. Not by much, but there was certainly something stark about having to look a bit downwards to meet his eyelights. 

   “Yes, I am.” He claimed proudly, still convinced this was to be his ride to the top.

   The knight seemed to skim him with his eyes. Surely taking in Error’s clothes, his bag, his glasses, the weird bones. Though, it didn’t feel pervasive. 

   “Impressively strong for a kid,” He praised loosely, “And probably talented in spells if the nerds were any indication.” 

   His voice was quiet and raspy, but Error had no problem listening to it. This strong and very cool guy who was called a ‘knight’ was praising him. This was much better than getting yelled at by his professors. Much. 

   “Does that mean I passed?” He asked impatiently. 

   He needed this. He needed this. 

   The guy’s eyelights lingered on his face a bit, and it was then that Error finally noticed how virtually unreadable this guy was. Impossibly quiet, posture unmoving, all facial features shrouded in shadow and covered by masks?

   “I’m not sure what kingdom you’re from, but you’ve got to understand that the folks up there didn’t say no because you’re bad. They said no because the king made a new decree. “No soul under the age of 16 shall be put to work under the crown.” They’ve gotta take it seriously, just like everyone else has to follow the new rules about their own shops and businesses.” He said evenly, eyelights never leaving Error’s face. “You’re a couple years too early is all.” 

   It felt like he’d been shoved into a ditch, and he could already feel his right hand starting to tremble with the beginnings of a glitch. He was furious! How could they possibly say no to him because of some stupid rule about his age? 

   “No!” He exclaimed, trying to bite back the distortion on his voice, “I’m not going to just walk away. If I could just move on to the next round, they’d see I’m different! I’m not some weak little baby!” 

   He clenched his fists, driving his jittering one forcefully into his pocket. 

   The knight didn’t even flinch at his declaration. 

   “They’ve already seen that.” He said easily. “Listen to me. Error, right?” 

   Error hesitantly nodded. 

   “Error, ‘m sure that if my Lord saw you in action, he too would agree that you are very strong and resourceful.” The knight said, and Error hated that it sounded earnest. “But, he set that law into place for very good reason. If by any means those folks back there were to let you through, to pass you, and you made it before the king next round? They’d have committed treason, and I’d have their souls on the end of my bone in three seconds flat.” 

   His voice was hard and serious, and Error held strong as a loud crack echoed out beside the knight. A bone raised from the ground, sharp and jagged on the end, absolutely radiating magic. 

   “Do you really want their blood on your conscience, just so that you get sent away by the King anyways?” The knight offered. 

   Error hunched his shoulders a bit, and he felt his static worsen as he let his eyes linger on the bone. Yes. He muttered inside his head. He wanted to scream it at the man before him. Tell him that this was his one golden chance to prove himself. 

   But to who? He would ask, and Error wouldn’t be able to say it. It’d be a wasted sentiment and wasted time and wasted lives just for his temper tantrum. 

   “...No.” He bit out meekly. 

   He stood there, feeling a familiar shame creep up his spine. The knight made no move to leave, though he did let his bone disappear. The ground looked untouched from where it had split out of. Just more sand. Sand that was getting into Error’s bones. That he’d have to clean out later. Swinging in his hammock, lonely and moping. 

   “Heh,” The chuckle was almost inaudible, and Error was almost ready to let his distress turn back into rage, but, “Better kid than I was.” The Knight mused into the open air.

   He seemed to shift his stance again, and Error took a half step back. 

   “You’ve got your life ahead of you, kid. Don’t let this keep you down. Take the road less traveled by or whatever.” He said then, waving a hand loosely before him. 

   Error stared at him, trying to even his breath, before he had an idea. 

   “The other two rounds will be here, right?” He asked, voice still harshly stuttering and screeching. The Knight seemed unbothered.

   “Yeah. Planning on sticking around to watch?” The knight questioned, though it felt more like a warning. 

   Error nodded in agreement without hesitation. “If these geezers can get the job, I need to see what kind of tricks they have up their sleeves.” He agreed. 

   That earned another little chuckle, before the knight looked back to the stage. 

   Up in the center was a new mage, a human who seemed to be making a pretty wild wind that was whipping the sand around, bothering the people in line behind him. Error heard the knight make a scoffing noise, before turning back towards the stage.

   “Go hang around somewhere else for a while, why don’t you? I have to go make sure those nerds don’t pass that guy.” 

   Error didn’t even get to say a farewell before the Knight was off. 

   It seemed like every stride he teleported a bit further, building speed until he stopped cleanly up on the pedestal. Just in time for the sandstorm to die down. 

   Error didn’t want to walk away from this, he didn’t, but staying would only waste his time. It only took a few more seconds, to watch the knight nudge the evaluator and hear the muffled call of ‘fail’ ring out across the arena before he was turning tail and moving out of the sandy paradise, back into the bustle of the living city. 

.

.

.

   It was impossible to miss it. The sounds of celebration as the monarch entered the town. 

   Error could see the royal carriage from his perch, an old temple tower that had at some point lost its bell. It seemed untouched, birds nests and cobwebs, so he’d set up a hammock and a little makeshift shelter inside using his strings just before night fell. 

   He’d snatched some food from the town as dusk was setting in, and he’d been comfortably whittling away the dark hours, working hard on his plan. 

   With the King officially in town, that meant the second round would be starting up shortly, taking the numbers of who would be in the third round down by hundreds. He hoped the king was stingy about it. He hoped that dragonish monster would stumble on his spell and turn someone into a frog. 

   The thought humored him, and he cackled quietly to himself from his makeshift room. 

   The sun was high again, and he was only a part of the way through. His spells required a lot of his magic to be woven into them, and while it was much much faster than what he’d heard was the usual, it was still difficult to make. 

   Weaving the blue strings from his sockets, to his fingers, around his fingertips, and into the shapes he needed. It was monotonous, and boring by all accounts, but with every strand there was a new flow of power. A new pump of adrenaline into Error’s soul as he recognized his creation becoming more potent. Intent, intent, intent, every loop and knot was filled to the brim with it. His frustration sat at the core. Much more volatile and destructive than his usual intent, but it would serve him well if he wanted this plan to go well. Around it was his determination. The strings woven in with a sense of stubbornness which refused to let go, like a snake swallowing its prey whole. This would compress the first layer into a proper state. Let it coil and coil and coil until it burst. It’d be big, and loud, and send out that message he so desperately needed to be heard by the king. 

   Skipping the second round would probably hurt him in the long run, but… That knight had said he’d have to kill those people if he showed his face in round two. So, he’d just appear in round three instead, and make up for missing the second one. A final act, of sorts. 

   He’d have to be at this all day to make the time crunch. The orb was hardly as big as his palm, not nearly big enough. Though, he had wasted time making the shelter and finding food. He’d just have to skip a couple meals to make up for it. He didn’t really need to eat that much anyways, he’d known that for years. He just tried to make an effort when he smelled something tasty. 

   He knew he could manage. 

   It was late in the night when Error finally started on the outer layers. Those which would be filled with his patience, so that the potent insides would not be sensed as he moved with it among the many magic users. 

   The town had begun to line the streets with torches and party as the stars arrived. No doubt celebrating those who would be at the third and final round tomorrow. The ones who would be competing to become the new Royal Mage. 

   To Error? Every single moment down there was dedicated to him. They just didn’t know it yet. 

.

.

.

   The morning came, and Error only had a few more layers. 

   By the time the sun was almost in the center of the sky above, he had finished it, and carefully tucked it into his backpack. He unraveled the strings and carefully wrapped them, shaping them, changing them into a thin net with long ends. This was shoved into his jacket sleeve, the ends clutched tight in his hand. 

   It took him hardly any time at all to get to the arena, and he was early. 

   Good.

   He settled himself up in the stands, as close to the stage as he could get. Many people seemed to be staying outside the arena, sticking to the streets, but there was still enough of a crowd in the bleachers that Error had to be careful as he worked his way along the edges. He needed to be closer. Closer…

   There. 

   He stood at the railing behind the stage. 

   From here, he could see the line to the left, and he could see the people who had finished lingering on the other side. None of them spoke to each other, only standing about, icily, waiting for the rest to finish so they’d know which of them was chosen, and who was not. Error had to imagine that these folks were just as lame and boring as the seniors from his old academy. No fun at all. 

   He waited, so, so patiently, for the next few people. The last few. 

   Though he couldn’t see the spells themselves, he could certainly feel the pressure coming off of them. The control that they’d need to balance it. How much it might’ve drained their energy to do it just once. He was attuned to that sort of thing, he had to be. 

   His assessment was that all of these last few folks weren’t bad, but they were no match for Error’s raw talent. 

   Each spell cast seemed to tick away at Error’s patience, until it finally happened. The last mage went on-stage. It seemed there had been 15 of them. 

   He’d have to make 16, then. 

   It felt like a blur as he jumped the rails and let his strings carry him across the open space, much to the shock of the few who had been watching the competitors from around him. The blue lines snatched at the wooden supports of the stage, and he swung right over top, landing a bit messily in the center of the stage.

   He didn’t have time to look at everything. All he knew was the crowd was much larger than last time, that there was a shout of ‘Hey!’’ from somewhere to his left, and that the box across from the stage now held only three people. Monsters. One Error recognized, the knight in shadows who’d spoken to him. The other two he didn’t know, but he had to assume the one in the middle, tall and imposing, and dark, with an eyelight the same colors as the tapestries, was the King he was looking to impress. That was all he needed to know. 

   “M’lord, my name is Error!” He called out across the sand, and in one motion he shrugged the bag off his shoulders and used his strings to tug the orb out of its canvas body. “I want to prove that I’m more capable than any of the adults who just went before me! I could be your mage!” He would be the mage. 

   The orb sat cradled in Error’s hand for only the briefest moment, before it was inside the little net he’d made. He swung it in circles. Again. Again. Again. 

   He had to be fast. He had to do this quick.

   Error spent one last moment, extending his reach through his strings, muttering words and igniting an intangible spark. 

   For a brief moment, he watched as the King seemed to ease forward. A hand now raised, seemingly calling off his knights, who had been almost in motion. 

   He released the orb directly upwards, momentum carrying it up. 

   Up.

   Up.

   Into the blue sky. Practically into the sun. 

   Error watched it rise above him. 

   Only. 

   “Shit.” 

   His calculations must’ve been off. He must’ve added a layer too many, or maybe he released it a swing too soon. But he could tell that it wouldn’t clear the top of the arena. 

   Maybe if he had a few more seconds he could’ve used strings to boost it. He could’ve sent a magic gust to lift it further. 

   Not the case.

   He watched as the orb detonated, just like it was supposed to. 

   The wave moved horizontally through the air, and swept across the air above the arena so quickly that it sucked the sand from the top layer and threw it against the tall walls. Error’s footing slipped, and he stumbled to his knees on the stage as the wind whipped and tugged the heavy curtains into the air current as well. 

   It was an almost invisible force, Error had to imagine anyone without a solid grasp of magic would entirely miss it as it spread out. 

  He winced as it finally reached the edges of the arena, where he had just barely managed to fall short of clearing. 

   As the magic passed over the stone and mortar, he saw as it fell. Not in chunks, but crumbled like dust into fine particles. The upper half of every arch at the top of the grand amphitheatre, turned pitch black, then wasted away. 

   He hadn’t meant for it to come in contact with anything. It wasn’t supposed to do anything but harmlessly wave over everyone’s heads. As a show of his strength. That was all.

   Error could only think back to when this had happened before. When he’d accidentally exploded Geno’s favorite mug while metering the strength of his strings. When he’d broken the wheel of a carriage passing through the woods with a wayward slingshot blast. When he’d broken all ten of the large windows in the lecture hall of the academy when he failed to complete a spell the way it was written. When he’d done it too well.

   As he rose to his feet, he half expected the nagging voice of his older brother to be there, chastising him for not being more careful, before taking him home and making him dinner. 

   It wasn’t that, though. 

   He watched out across the sand. The king had his head tilted only slightly, looking up at Error’s lofty mistake. At the clean cut where stone now met unbothered air. His knight, the one in all black, was leaned ever so slightly towards him. They must’ve been speaking. Or, at least, the knight was. 

   About Error, he had no doubt. 

   He stayed in place, watching, swaying a bit with the residual force of his own spell lingering in his fingertips. Every instinct which told him to run and to hide were smothered and stamped out by the ligering fact that he had nowhere to go. Without his brothers, there was no one to help him. He knew it. 

   Even in front of this crowd. These mages. This King and his knights. He couldn’t bring himself to move offstage. Some part of him, deep down, childishly wanted the King to announce that he was impressed. To parade him offstage and let him experience what Geno had. Let him know why Geno left. 

   The King’s single eyelight swam back over to look at Error in the silence. 

   Error felt like the world had stopped. 

   It hadn’t.

   There was a clattering of armor and rustling of fabric, suddenly loud in his ears, and he had no time to react as everything came rushing in all at once. 

   Hands. Heavy, gloved hands. Two sets, two hands each wrapped one of his upper arms, and immediately lifted him off the ground. Into the air. 

   Pain flooded into his bones from his soul, like twin lightning strikes, trying to singe the bone and the magic in its core. The pressure wasn’t much, his mind knew that, but his body usually didn’t listen to him. He tried desperately to hold it in. The rampant part of his magic that had been hurting him since he could remember. That made it hard to touch anyone. To shake hands. To hug his brothers. 

   “Let go!” He pleaded, though he wasn’t sure if his voice made any sense. Fresh always told him they couldn’t tell what he was saying when his voice got too bad.

   More pain. He kicked his legs at the open air, and tried to muster control over his strings, just for a moment, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t focus. 

   And all at once it stopped. 

   Error’s feet were on the ground again, though that promptly became his knees again as he swayed and wavered in the sudden aftermath of his active magic dying down. Receding back into his soul. Because it didn’t need to ‘protect’ him anymore.

   He spotted then, as his vision returned to something aside from the gloves or the sky, that the King was no longer in his throne. In fact, there was a heavy, encompassing, magical weight behind him now. Somewhere very, very close-by.

   He took a deep breath, grounding himself. 

   “We are taking a recess.” Announced a booming voice. Very nearby. It was deep, and felt almost the same as the projection spell from two days prior. Then, more quietly, “You will leave the boy to me. Go ensure no one was injured, then manage the crowd. I’ll make my choice tomorrow at sunrise.” 

   The second bit felt quieter, an edge to the tone that Error didn’t quite like. Considering he must be the boy in question. 

   It was a moment, a few muddled ‘Yes, my king’ s, before Error found a pair of boots stepping before him. His head swam as he looked upwards. 

   The King, he figured that had to be him, was dark. Very dark. Like a living, dripping, shadow. Magic seemed to be all he was made of, an aura radiating from him. Dripping off his back into long slimy worms, twitching as they sat near the ground. He wore a fancy cape, too. One with huge gold clasps on his shoulders, one was shaped like the moon. 

   Error looked to his face last. In hindsight, something that could’ve been very, very bad. He was met with a dripping face. Skeletal. The place where his right socket should’ve sat was covered in that dark substance. The other hollow, with that bright cyan orb staring right back at him. 

   “Can you stand?” His voice came easily, and Error braced himself. 

   Could he?

   He had to, he didn’t want to be touched again. 

   Error took another breath, and managed to rise silently to his feet. 

   “Good,” the King said once he was standing, “Follow me.”

   It was an order he didn’t dare refuse. 

.

.

.

   Error found himself in an odd position. 

   He’d been given time to sit and recover from his magic’s outlash, and now he was sat in a room beneath the bleachers of the arena alongside the King and that knight he’d met before. The other one was guarding the door, he thought. 

   It’d been silent for a while, and it was almost expected when the silence was finally broken. 

   “You said your name is Error, correct?” The King asked, and Error gave a nod of yes. He forced himself to meet the King’s gaze.

   “Dust says that you’re only 12, and our people disqualified you in the first round. Is that right?” 

   Error nodded again. 

   “And Dust even explained to you why you were disqualified?” 

   Another nod. It seemed he’d at least made an impression on the knight. Dust. 

   The King tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyelight holding Error’s tightly. 

   “Then, I’ll ask, what brought you to think this was a good choice? To try and become Royal Mage above any cost it might bring?” The king asked, and Error was surprised to find it was a shockingly gentle tone. “Your home, your family, your life. You are so young, why put it all on the line like this?” 

   Oh. 

   It was almost funny. Was this whole thing because the king was some sort of charitycase? So disillusioned by his perfect life that he couldn’t even think of the hardships any random kid could go through? He almost grinned at that, barely keeping his mouth from twitching in a mix of frustration and humor.

   “I wanted to prove myself,” He muttered, “And besides, becoming the Royal Mage would be great.” 

   He waited, waited for the King to inhale, to say something, before, 

   “I’m an orphan.” He spat, finally. “Family abandoned me, house is left behind, expelled from school. I don’t want to keep wandering.” 

   It was basically the truth. This was his big break. His one last chance before he became a hated little vagabond. Maybe even a criminal. Maybe he’d have to go on the run for the rest of his life, live as a nomad. Join a caravan. Those people got stopped a lot though, kingdoms didn’t like them. He’d probably explode some city’s bakery by mistake and get put in jail for-

   “Wait!” Error suddenly exclaimed, breaking free of his thoughts, “Am I in trouble? Am I going to jail??” He asked then. 

   His worries slammed to a grinding halt and he stared wide-eyed at the two before him. Geno had always told him not to go making his big stuff near town, because if the guard caught him he wouldn’t be able to bail him out. He’d end up in jail. Of course, it’d never happened back then because he was always fast enough. Always smart enough to get out of dodge when he broke something or made poor decisions. Here? Here he hadn’t run when he had the chance. 

   The King stared at him, his one eyelight nearly mirroring Error’s in surprise at the question. 

   “I mean,” he started, “You’re young. If I wont let you work for me, I wouldn’t dare put you in prison either.” The King stated, “Though, you did do quite a bit of damage to the theatre.” 

   Error watched him break eye contact finally and look over his shoulder to the Knight stood there. He’d been silently watching Error too. 

   When he had no insight, The king seemed to heave a sigh, and the shadowy extra limbs which draped around him twitched. 

   “You’re sure you have no family? No home?” the King asked him again, and Error nodded.

   The king muttered something under his breath, and shot the Knight another look. The knight shrugged. 

   “I… Will not employ you. Though, I do see talent in you, Error.” the King said carefully, a bit slower in his words than he had been up until now. Almost… unsure. “I will, however, extend to you the title so that you may conduct…” He waved a hand before himself, as though searching for a word, “ You may conduct independent research. If you accept, of course.”

   “You would be free to resend your acceptance at any moment, no strings attached, and may take any work you complete along with you, and any pay you receive would be given to you after your 16th birthday, if you stay that long.” He added, “I’ll have to rewrite the contract, but-”

   “I accept!” 

   Error couldn’t help himself. He was so excited he could puke. The last thing he’d expected was to pull this off. This shitshow of a scheme actually got him the job? He could scream. He could jump up and down for joy. He didn’t, he sat eagerly and tense in his seat instead, but he could’ve. 

   The King seemed to hesitate, for a few breaths, before relaxing. He stood, and offered a hand out slowly to Error. 

   Error stood too, grinning. He could manage this one. He could do it. 

   It was brief, but he grasped the King’s hand and shook it firmly.

   “Dust, will you help Error locate his belongings, and escort him to wherever he is staying tonight? I’ll send Cross to swap with you a bit later. We’ll reconvene in the morning just before sunrise.” 

[chuluoyi]

it’s really beyond me how subposting is still a recurring event in this hellsite — but i’ll say it once again: if you don’t like what i write or what i do in my own blog, then kindly leave or block me. mutuals or not, i won’t care a shit. you don’t go subposting or spreading hate. that’s highly immature behavior befitting a child :)

i don’t know if it isn’t obvious already, but i spent lots and lots of time rethinking while writing my fics. most of the time it takes weeks or months. whether i’m basing it on a manhwa or not, i spent a lot of time thinking and writing it—for months even—so if you don’t even read it and just label it as if i just plagiarized it in one go… it actually makes me so upset

just… be peaceful pls. if you don’t like it, then block me. it’s so simple if you think about it like a mature adult. unless you’re incapable to. thank you

[br1ghtestlight]

the ii neg tumblr blog is like my actual personal #1 enemy i cant BELIEVE they followed me over a joke ask i responded to over a year ago (i blocked them and have blocked every account they've remade lmao) just such hateful bullshit looking for ANY excuse to attack this random youtube webseries and the ppl who work on it including MANY STATEMENTS that are just straight up not true. someone could send them an ask like "hey justin is actually homophobic and called me slurs irl i hope they all die in a car crash <3" and they will post it without any questions. no further research cuz it isnt about what's true or actually offering constructive criticism on the writing of the show it's about being hateful and cruel and spreading lies & death threats. some actual famous people dont have accounts as dedicated to attacking them and every aspect of their identity and career as these random ass guys who make a YOUTUBE WEBSERIES do like why are you actively wishing death upon them?? are you insane?

IF YOU DONT LIKE THE SHOW THEN STOP WATCHING IT. DONT ENGAGE? like do you seriously have fucking nothing better to do than spread lies online about literal nobodies with the smallest amount of online influence. for reasons i cannot even fathom. be so fucking serious

[thedemonsurfer]

-lays down-

I KNOW the thing is like. Ace people can fuck, aro people can date-- but also that's apparently not supposed to be applied to characters because it's an excuse--

But like, here's the thing. Look me in the eyes here.

Then fucking write them outside of traditional shipping.

Stop telling people what they can and can't write and write it YOURSELF

You can come up with a million "but what if" statements, and at the end of the day this is still a "You can't ship [x] because [y]" comment being made.

So get good! Write the stories you want to see!

[ao3userforgets]

i need to mutter into the void so i’m going to post under the cut the trials and tribs of my current clegan fic writing experience so no one including (especially) me has to make eye contact with it. it’s basically a diary entry. god bless anyone that reads it lol. love and light 🫶

goddamn writing this fic is kicking my ass. it was just meant to be an angsty gale introspective. then i started another and that was meant to be them just fucking absolute nasty style. now i fear they have combined, morphed, metamorphosed, and it’s becoming a monster. goddamn. what does one do in this situation? it would be my first time posting in this fandom and my second time posting fic at all. i’m shaking in my boots about it. there is so much wonderful fic being posted for this pairing and so many approaches and styles. i would love to get mine out and see it amongst those works. i’m just not sure how to go about constructing this fic and how to post about it. i’d like to post some bits and pieces and maybe someone will see it and tell me it’s worth it to finish it but first and foremost i’m really writing this for myself, because it’s the type of fic i love to read and also i feel like i need to be writing it so my mind is creating something. and it would feel like a waste to me and a let down for myself if i never post it. also i’m projecting very hard onto it and onto gale as a character, so it feels kind of personal in some parts? which can’t totally be avoided but because of that and because the way i write is also very personal to me it’s making something that should be fun to post about feel quite daunting. but i want to push myself so badly because it’s been years since i’ve done that, maybe i’ve never done that. and Of Course it’s wwii yaoi that’s gotten me to this point.

anyway, y’all ever think about gale identifying as a more feminine being than is expected for a man like him in the time he’s in, thus manifesting itself into years of repression he’s not entirely aware of until he meets and grows closer to bucky, and how he comes to terms with being awakened in such a way that has laid dormant until he’s in the literal u.s. military, and eventually in one of the least survivable theatres of the war, and in suffocating proximity day in and day out with one john bucky egan? and how he navigates his bond with marge, now in contrast to how he feels for john? and how even his childhood and the lives of his parents is being pushed forwards in his consciousness in relation to his sense of self and his place in the lives of others? oh and also how absolutely Biblically he wants john, in the most unconventional and all encompassing ways? all while he has no context for queerness and sexuality as it relates to himself? i dunno what freak would be into writing or reading that 👀 🚬💀

[fbfh]

as with all nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+ Tristin Dugray wants to fuck you so bad. He's had a huge massive crush on you since he first laid eyes on you, and it's only been getting worse. he wants to touch you, to dig his fingers into the fat of your hips and kiss you until he's breathless and you're whining for him. He wants to touch you everywhere, to learn right where all your sensitive spots are, wants to make you drip down his fingers and cream all over his hand, to know your body more intimately than anyone. He wants to lay you down and fuck you nice and slow, make sure you feel every single thing. He wants your attention, he always has, and that's going to get so much worse when you let him inside you. He just knows you'd get all shy, burying your face into his neck while you cling onto him, leaving scratch marks down his back that tell all the other girls he's taken. You'd be so shy, sighing and trying in vain not to moan while the head of his cock rubs perfectly against your g spot again and again. You're so cute like this, he'd think, not wanting him to see how much he's affecting you, embarrased by the way he makes your eyes roll back and how easily your walls clench tighter around him, but he doesn't miss it. He doesn't miss a thing when it comes to you. Not a single sigh or shudder or stifled moan goes unnoticed. And he would be patient, talk you through it every single time. His hand comes up to hold you closer to him while the other keeps both of you up, and he lets himself revel in the way you cling to him for a moment before he lets out a breathy moan disguised as a chuckle.

"C'mon Mary, don't get all shy on me now..."

Slowly, gently, he'd ease you back down to lay flat against the bed and rest his forehead against yours.

"Easy... easy Mary... just like that..."

He keeps your eyes on him at all times, watching every change in your expression, peppering you with kisses and drawing orgasm after orgasm out of you until you're both tired out. He'd hold you close afterwards, kiss your forehead and keep you warm and cozy, lying on his chest with his arms wrapped around you, make sure you sleep better than you ever have. He's biding his time now, but he believes that will happen. He knows in his gut that you're meant to be in his arms, just like he wants you to be.

[outlying-hyppocrate]

i have officially returned. ask me anything.

[kiaxet]

Once again, the latest update from @somerandomdudelmao has left me fully in my feelings, and so I come to you with ~900 words of emotion.

(This one is a rough one: content warnings for death, sibling death, self-sacrifice, and just general despair. Y'all have read the update. You know what we're doing here.)

~~~~~~~

It's supposed to be over.

Master Michelangelo-

(No, no, he's never thought of himself that way. No matter how many times he's been called Master Michelangelo, in his own head he's still just Mikey.)

-Mikey has given everything. He'd opened the portal, watched his own mystic energy - grown larger and stronger with each battle even as it consumed his youth and his very life as its fuel - tear through his arms, cracks traveling up his body until the force of it shattered his form, consuming everything that kept him bound to the physical plane in order to form one last-ditch attempt at setting things right.

He'd managed a wink and a smile, and then he'd died.

And yet he's still here. Why-

The promise. The caveat to the plan. Leo.

Leo had refused to leave him alone at the end, and Mikey will be damned before he refuses to return the favor.

Not that there'll be anything left to damn. The family's Ninpo is what connected them to the Hamato afterlife, and Mikey's is shattered, expended to give Casey a better chance at life. At this point, he's held together with the metaphysical equivalent of duct tape and spite - Donnie's favorite building materials when supplies ran short.

(Donnie's gone. Mikey failed him - failed to catch the infection, failed to cure it, failed to find his spirit amongst the Hamato ancestors. The Krang had obliterated him, and Mikey had failed to help until it was too late.)

(He can't find Raph among the ancestors, either. One more big brother failed.)

(He knows there won't be much left of Leo - not after Leo spent so long being Mikey's living shield, letting the Krang tear into his Ninpo time and time again in order to keep Mikey's intact - but he won't fail Leo. He can't. He can't.)

He's still here, for now, and that has to be good enough. He levitates, surveying a battlefield gone cold in the wake of an overwhelming Krang victory, and goes in search of his last remaining brother.

Leo's corpse isn't far - Mikey spots it near where the portal had been, face down in rock that had been blasted smooth and clean. Krang laser. There's no surviving those.

His gaze flickers upwards across the horizon, and he sees something glow near the corpse, a white outline coming into being before the color follows after, taking a familiar shape. It's-

It's Casey-

It's Casey, but he looks different. Better. His clothes are intact and clean - brand new, from the looks of it. His hair is washed and fluffy. His face and arms have filled out and his shoulders broadened, like he'd been getting good food and enough of it. He doesn't look like the Casey Mikey had made a portal for minutes ago; he looks like how they'd all wanted Casey to look, like he's finally getting what they would have killed to have been able to provide for him. He looks like a dream.

And that's how Mikey knows it's a lie.

It's the Krang. The Krang have done something, made one final twist of the knife that's been stuck in Leo's heart since the night they lost the Key - for all Mikey knows, they're going to use it to desecrate his brother's body, and he is not letting that happen. He zooms closer to Leo's corpse-

"We did it, Mikey, we got him out-"

-and feels the world tilt.

That's not Leo's corpse, because Leo's not dead. He's clinging to life, muttering nonstop in a voice barely above a whisper - he's not long for this world, but he's still here-

The lie cries out in Casey's voice and makes for his brother-

And Mikey lashes out, magic coming to his hands as easily as it ever did. It's not enough to incinerate the lie - the thing is too smart, too quick, and pulls back with only an injury to its arm. That's enough of an opening for Mikey to land in front of Leo, snarling at the lie wearing his nephew's face. "Don't. Touch. Him!" That's his brother. That's his brother. That's the only brother he has left, and he won't have him for long, but that doesn't mean the Krang can take him! "Whatever Krang trick you are-"

Spite, while fun, is no substitute for engineering. Donnie had told him that once.

The spite - and whatever else is holding him together at this point - gives out, the collapse manifesting as pain, and Mikey folds in on himself with a groan. He can fight - he will fight - but if the lie forces combat, then fighting will be the last thing he'll ever do, and Leo will die alone.

He can't. He just…he can't.

He drops to his knees, laying a spectral hand on Leo's head. Leo doesn't react - his Ninpo is shattered to begin with, and Mikey wouldn't be surprised if death's door has robbed Leo of his senses as it is - and just keeps talking.

"We got Casey through the portal, he'll be okay, he'll get to grow up without all of this, we did it, we- we- we did it, Mikey-"

Mikey kneels there, one hand on his inert brother's head as Leo's life slowly sputters out. Eventually he'll die, and what fragments are left of his spirit will disintegrate, too shattered by years of warfare to persist after death, and Mikey will let himself fade along with them. Together until the rapidly approaching end, like they'd promised.

He kneels, and waits for oblivion to come.

[soleilsplanet]

I think that my brain needs to be studied because it’s baffling to me how whenever I start a project, after writing one or two wips I immediately get a writer’s block and then I jump on the next fixation, and as a consequence the next fanfiction, ending up with millions of wips and not even ONE full fanfiction that I could possibly publish.

[javierduffy]

Same anon from earlier who sent that ask about how Dutch would react to javieran. I finished the fic but uh it's porn lol. If you're still interested it's "steady beat" on ao3

anon i would like you to know that i spent the first 20 minutes of my shift sitting in the bathroom reading this and i do not regret a single moment

THAT WAS SOOOO GOOD ARE UOU INSANE !-?/!?:3! JAVIERAN CONTENT WAS EXCITING ENOUGH ALREADY BUT PORN ??? AND SOFT, FLUFFY, HEAD-OVER-HEELS IN LOVE PORN ???????? you wrote this for ME !!!!!!! and i am SO GRATEFUL !-!2!2!3 OMG !!!!!!!!!! it was sooo good i was literally giggling and kicking my feet the whole time, you nailed their dynamic sooo so perfectly imo 😭💔 reading that was such a pleasure thank you for the food !!!!!

[writer-room]

I don’t think I’ve ever seen any type of media so clearly portray how my writing changed before and after I realized I was queer like Nimona. ND Stevenson’s work is just so familiar it pains me in an absolutely incredible way.

Plenty of people point out the differences made between the comic and the movie (and loving both regardless, of course). Most of them mention how the movie has a happier ending, its portrayal of its messages has shifted slightly, and its way more obviously a queer (especially trans) metaphor. I don’t know if any other writers had this happen, but if I had to describe how my writing changed from tiny little twelve-year-old me to the current day, I’d just point in the direction of how Nimona changed from the comics to the movie. It’s alarmingly similar.

Its all just...dripping with coming to terms with ones queerness. Not just from the plot, but from its very existence as a film. Its an evolution of growing up queer. The end goal, the base message, remains the same, even if the methods getting there are different. Because what someone made when they were twelve and had no idea what they were going to turn into and what they made as an adult with so much that changed, and so much left to change, are going to have so many different methods.

How Nimona was born the way she is, how the story changes from a corrupted core with no happy ending to being about ending that corruption and coming out okay, how Ballister’s grudges and issues with Ambrosius changed, all of it is just so indicative of changes made throughout ones life where these tiny little details are tweaked into something new, but still fundamentally the same story at its heart.

Even if this is just a me thing, I didn’t realize how excited I could be at seeing so much familiarity in a film. Good lord, I need to watch this movie again.

[noctisvixen]

The Earth

//Secret Life Spoilers\\

Warnings: Minor character death

Summary:

The Watchers always favored Scar; it was why they made him a Witness to begin with. To toy with him in a way that they couldn’t with the other players. To pick and choose between his locked away memories and give them to him in pieces in each new life. He wasn’t a winner or a Watcher, so he only received fragments that he would have to piece together. Then he would forget, and the cycle repeats itself with each new game.

But now he’s won Secret Life.

“Pearl, I’m coming for you!” Scar yelled as he ran to the edge of the small ravine. He hadn’t heard the fading thunder or saw the flash of lightning; his crimson gaze was too focused on killing his final target.  “I’m coming for you!” He yelled again when she didn’t respond. He swapped out his bow for his diamond sword, the once brilliant blue now stained red.

He leapt down into the ravine, swinging his head around as he searched for the brunette. “Where'd you go?!” He called, the grip on his sword tightening. Had she ran? After everything that had happened?! No, even with the faded memories of former lives, Scar knew Pearl. She wouldn’t have run. She was here and he was going to kill her, finally cure the itch in his hands by covering them in the final survivor’s blood. “Where'd you go?!” He called again, this time frustration dripping into his tone.

He wanted to end this now. He wanted his sword tearing into her. He wanted to see one more body bleeding out from his hand, to finally be the villain They wanted him to-

“She’s dead,” A voice- an all so familiar voice- echoed behind him. He spun around, sword at the ready as bloodied sand and awful screams before abrupt silence flooded his senses. He was ready to strike, to fulfill that want for more death. But the want left him, as if an ocean’s tide swept over him and left him on the shore, alive.

Grian smiled softly at him, as if sensing the tension leaving the other man. The avian looked different as a ghost, his wings white as a canvas and waiting to be painted to something new again. His brown eyes were a deep shaded purple, somehow lacking and still holding warmth at the same time. He wasn’t just a ghost, Scar remembered. He was one of Them. But good. Loving and kind, in his own ways.

“Scar...” He breathed, a gentle look of joy and pride dancing in his eyes. “You won.”

Scar stared at him, dumbfounded. It took him a moment to even register the words that left Grian’s mouth. “Oh.” He breathed before looking around. This wasn’t what he was expecting. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of feeling of victory? Of grief?

Why did Scar feel nothing?

“Really?” He asked, looking back at the Watcher in front of him. Grian said nothing, but his smile faded, especially when the sword in Scar’s hand fell from his grasp. He brought his hand to his forehead, his fingers brushing against his hair. “Oh my God.” He said. Then he cracked a smile, the only thing seeming appropriate even with the empty feeling in his chest. “How did that happen?” He moved his hand from his head to motion it to Grian. He tried to ignore how it was trembling. How Grian’s gaze flicked to it and then back to him, frowning and eyes showing concern. He tried to ignore it.

“How’d the guy with no friends win?” He asked, his smile broadening and a little snicker leaving his lips. “How did-” His laughter interrupted him. “H-how did the guy w-with no fri-friends win?” He laughed more, letting it echo off the walls. It really was ridiculous- How did he win with the odds so stacked against him? The whole server hated him, for his tasks and who he was. They wanted him dead because of it.

His eyes burned. His laughter stuttered, changing into something broken and rough. His breathing hitched, turning uneven and jagged. Something like a sob broke out from his mouth and his cheeks grew damp, tears flowing along them and falling to the ground. He gripped at himself in a makeshift hug, as if he could pull this horrible feeling out of him and feel victory or guilt. Anything but this.

But, void, he wasn’t feeling emptiness. He was feeling hate. His friends’ hate towards him. His hate towards himself and his actions. He had won, but at what cost? He killed Pearl, the only teammate he was truly able to get out of this mess. She had given the one thing he had wanted the whole game, and he killed her! She’ll never want to see him again, not after a betrayal like this.

His sobs wracked his body, his knees almost ready to give out until a set of arms wrapped around him and a small body pressed against his. Instinctively, his arms shifted and latched onto the person, just as he felt wings wrap around him and shield him from the world.

“It's okay.” Grian whispered by his ear, letting Scar hunch into him and sob. The wings around him pulled tighter while the avian’s arms held him as if he was fragile and precious. “We don’t hate you. We don’t blame you.” His voice remained soft, but firm.

“Y-you should.” Scar argued weakly. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

“We don’t.” Grian repeated, firmer this time. “These games make us do things that are hard to forgive, Scar. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be forgiven.” As he spoke, he pulled away and met Scar’s gaze. His eyes revealed understanding at a level that Scar couldn’t comprehend. But deep down he knew that he would soon.

“I’m tired.” Scar settles on saying instead of what he should be asking. It isn’t a lie though. He was tired. He’s been tired for a long time during this game. This is just the first time since this game started that he felt safe enough to let the exhaustion flood his body. The crying probably didn’t help either, even if it left him feeling a bit lighter than before.

Grian gave him an understanding smile. “That's okay.” The avian said, bringing a hand to Scar’s cheek. The newest winner leaned into his hand, closing his eyes and just enjoying the warmth that Grian’s skin produced. He hadn’t even noticed it before and when he opened his eyes to ask, Grian was no longer a ghost or Watcher. He was standing in front of him, his wings the wonderful design of Scarlet Macaws, the only kind of wings he ever saw on him in Hermitcraft. He saw gentle brown eyes and an even gentler smile. “Let’s go home then.” His voice was full of warmth and Scar couldn’t help himself.

A genuine smile graced his lips and he brought a hand up to hold Grian’s. “Let’s go home.” He whispered. The world around them was fading to white as the wind picked up around them, but Scar couldn’t find himself to care. Instead, he closed his eyes and let Grian pull him into another embrace.

He had won Secret Life, but his real victory was this. Finally being able to let his guard down. Finally getting to go home and rest.

And, after everything, finally being held in the arms of someone who loves him.

[dinosaurstirfry]

I may have solved who the secret boss of chapter 3 is (PART 1/2)

The secret boss of chapter 3 will be a Cheshire Cat let me explain.

(Also please go easy on me, this is my first real theory/analysis so im very nervous and i have 0 idea how to format this)

I saw this post above by @ursynes and it made me think about everything we know about this smiley face character that we caught a glimpse of first in the chapter 2 basement and again during the spamton sweepstakes

This post also made me realize that this mystery character connects in some sort of way to a Cheshire cat

And i realized that it is very likely that they are the mystery character who sent us this Valentines day letter

But why do i think this

Let me share my evidence

(most of the facts about the Cheshire cat come from Wikipedia so keep that in mind)

The reason why im showing the images above is to connect the characteristics of the Cheshire cat to the letter and to the face in the mansion basement because the letter and the face both disappear

The second bit of evidence I have is this image

Im using this image as evidence because the line "amusing but sometime perplexing conversation" perfectly describes how this mystery character talks during the letter and also, the philosophical points that baffle or annoy part is also a good way to describe the point this mystery character makes about Valentines day in the letter

Here's another piece of evidence

This picture above is showing the headless Cheshire cat because it fits with the mystery person saying that you can either put on you face and wash or coat or vice versa because if you can take you head off then you can literally "put on your face"

And here's my last picture

The reason that im showing this image is because given the context of the next secret boss being a Cheshire cat, it tells us what happened to the shadow mantle.

It makes sense for a character who can disappear/teleport to be able to easily steal the shadow mantle because of course (assuming they are the next secret boss) the shadow mantle is their only weakness giving them a good reason to want to steal it and hide it

But why do i think they're the chapter 3 secret boss and not a random character

Well a Cheshire cat perfectly fits with the motif of the secret bosses being insane

Most people know the Cheshire cat as a character from the animated movie which fits well with the tv theme of the next dark world

The color of the eyes not only matches the color of spamtons glasses (ill go over their spamton connection in the next) but also the color of the lights shown off in the concept art toby shared of chapter 3

You may be wondering why this is labeled as part 1, well this because i can't fit all the images that i want all into 1 part so instead this is where im going to end it for now but i do have a lot more evidence just give me a day or 2 to format it into a post

I still have stuff to cover like the reason why they say good by! Instead of goodbye, their connection to spamton, and even some concepts on how the character may look like

But for now Good by!

(I was stressed out even typing this so i hope you at least sort of liked this mini analysis of our mystery character)