#claws tnt

[ironworked]

60 Sec Rec: Claws

"Claws is a midnight-dark, wickedly funny meditation on female badness set in a South Florida nail salon. It's about good women caught in bad places with worse men. It's the story of hardworking women trying to get by in this economy, set against the surreal, bright, gritty landscape of Florida and the luscious, absurd, extreme excesses of the crime world." [adapted from TNT]

I'm still half-way through, but i already know I have to rec this one.

Surprisingly well-described as 'strip-mall crime caper' by tv line, CLAWS is a show for everyone who complains about female characters never being allowed to be as messy and complicated and outrageous as the men. However, you absolutely get what you asked for, so be aware going in that they won't pull their punches: you wanted messy, you're going to get a huge Floridan mess.

The actresses are absolutely impeccable, and I have to agree with 9-1-1's Athena Grant as she livetweeted this show with her friends: 'Niecy Nash is a national treasure'. If you don't have it bad (whatever that means to you) for at least one of them 5 minutes into 1.01, I despair of you.

Also, Dean Norris as a bisexual druglord slash stripclub owner known to family and associates as 'Uncle Daddy' is... quite something.

Plus, Gina Torres in lingerie in one episode 🥵. And Harold Perrineau's character preparing a strip dance. I won't tell you how that goes, you'll have to see.

Created by Eliot Laurence (Motherland: Fort Salem). Written by Laurence, Emily Silver (Finding Carter, Bones), Sam Forman (House of Cards), Janine Sherman (Criminal Minds, ER)... Directed by Dale Stern (Veep, I'm Sorry), Jamie Travis (Faking It, The Bold Type), Howard Deutch (Pretty in Pink, True Blood)... Starring Niecy Nash, Jenn Lyon, Karrueche Tran, Judy Reyes, Carrie Preston, Dean Norris, Harold Perrineau...

60 sec rec: Deadloch - Dead Boy Detectives - The Tick - This Close - Kung Fu - Nancy Drew - Kevin Can Fuck Himself - Silo - The Flight Attendant - Severance - Hacks - Hit The Floor - Black Sails - 12 Monkeys - T@gged - The Diplomat - The Mick - Timeless - UnReal - Kings - All Rise - Barry - Halt and Catch Fire - Resident Alien - Santa Clarita Diet

New shows: Brilliant Minds

[lesserknownhusbands]

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

I miss her.

[endeavornetwork]

Why have I been thinking about the fact that "On the Wings of Love" came back in the very last episode of Claws? Dean crying as the full force of emotion hit?

[honeyhotteoks]

[callmebrycelee]

happy 55th birthday

niecy nash-betts

[glitchedmagic]

Etho looking up is what gave the game away. 

He had that look in his eyes. Cautious and alert and just the right amount of paranoid. He opened his mouth to call a warning—

Tango was moving before he even processed anything else and the explosion that would have killed him instead just launched him forward, where he hit the grass and rolled up onto one knee, reaching for a sword he didn’t have. 

Bdubs shouted something. Cub groaned. 

Those damned red names couldn’t give him a moment’s peace—

Tango blinked. Red names? This was Hermitcraft. It had been months since the last life game. 

But he looked up to the top of his now-ruined cliff and there was Cub, another TNT minecart in hand and Tango swore he saw a flash of red. 

It was gone as quickly as it appeared. Bdubs negotiated a fishing tournament, Cub ran off and reappeared in brightly dyed leather armor and a fish mask (that obscured his eyes, Tango noted). Scar joined them and there was peace and fishing for a while. 

He sat on the grass next to Etho, his tail flicking lazily through the air as he watched his bobber. Etho had his feet in the water and looked to the casual observer like the picture of serene. 

Tango wasn’t the casual observer. 

He’d seen Etho sit just like this on the edge of a fortress of snow, dark oak tree at his back, watching the world around him. Later, he’d joined Etho on a narrow bridge a hundred blocks in the sky, watching the ants below plant wheat on a dumb bridge. And most recently, they’d sat by a river and listened to Bdubs chatter in the distance, and waited for the chaos to resume. 

“Your fishing rod is smoking.” Etho said softly. 

Tango dropped it and… yep. There were clear marks from his claws burned into the handle. 

Etho splashed a bit of water onto it and the smoke was whisked away on the wind. 

“Whoops,” Tango tried to laugh it off and reached into a pocket for his fireproof gloves. “You know, fishing is intense and all that.”

Etho looked at him for a long, soul-exposing minute. Then he turned back to his bobber and said, “This isn’t the life games, ya know.”

“I know—“ 

“But whatever is going on, it’s not that different.” Etho finished, his voice at a volume for only the two of them to hear. “And if Cub’s already breaking out TNT minecarts around people’s builds…”

“We’ve been thrown right into the end game.” Tango agreed. “What can we even do about it, though?”

“The exact same thing you do on the life series. Survive. Keep on your toes. Distract and deflect when you can, run when you can’t. Have back up plans and alliances and know that at the end of the day, the only person you can trust is yourself.”

“That’s…” Tango let out a breath. His attention had long since left fishing. “How have you not won yet?”

“I don’t know. I certainly deserve it,” Etho laughed. 

“Humble today, aren’t you?”

The two of them fell into silence. Bdubs and Scar were bickering somewhere behind them, something about horses. Scar laughed loudly and Tango wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, or if the laugh was a little more maniacal than usual. 

He glanced over his shoulder to where Cub was standing, fishing rod in hand, and posture stiff. With the mask, it was impossible to tell where his attention was focused. 

A fish tugged on his line and Tango started to reel it in, feeling it fight against the pull. He let out a low breath, settling his fire. “I think I need to start carrying a sword.”

Etho just hummed in agreement.

[sharffffff]

Pangi hated every moment of the day that had just passed. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong in a terribly disgusting way, and the pangolin couldn't even start to think on how to deal with it. From the very morning, from the moment he saw the corruption creeping up to his shoulder, growing sharp amethyst crystals out of his veins and arteries - all without pain, all without any other side effects, while the arm itself looked closer and closer to crying obsidian, he knew the day would not go well. And hell, did it deliver.

First he discovered that Teal Titans were probably getting dissolved to not be wiped out in the war - and Pangi couldn't wish that on Aimsey. He could wish it on every other Blue, he'd probably rip out their throats with his own claws if given a chance, but not on Aimsey. They deserved better than this war, they deserved better than losing their faction. But alas, such is the way of the Green. It cannot be changed, and Pangi wouldn't ever try to change it. Blood must be spilled, not even for the better future, but to feed the soil and satisfy the hunger that never leaves.

Then, Pac woke up from his long sleep - which on the surface is a good thing, yet another active Green, but with Pac arrived something unexpected. Something, no, someone that Pangi both despised and missed with his entire being. Someone that he couldn't wait to see again - if only to plunge a blade deep into his heart in hopes it lets Pangi never see him again. Pili. And not whatever Pili 2 is, not that corrupted, twisted version of his best friend - no, Pili. Pili 1. Pili two apples tall. Pili that died to Clown, Pili that was gone - standing in front of him as some wild mockery, threatening Lukey’s life, making him choose. Acting like nothing ever happened, acting like Pangi could just forgive and forget, acting like his betrayal could just be thrown away for the sake of making up - all while both Bad and Tubbo acted while all of this was normal, like his threats towards Lukey were nothing to even pay attention to, like Pili 1 being here was nothing out of the ordinary - when he was supposed to be gone. Gone forever, gone for good.

And the worst thing is, Pangi couldn't even kill him. Despite how much he wanted to, despite how much he craved blood, how much he craved destruction, how much the shards in his arm called out for violence, he couldn't give in even if he wanted to - Keepers made it so all acts of attacks on others were impossible this day, thwarting any plans pangolin could've put in place. It was disgusting, it was disturbing, and all he could do was pace around, forced to listen to the man he once cared for so much, now parading around as just a shadow of himself, making himself more and more despicable in Pangi’s eyes.

And once he left, trying to escape the conversation that was forced onto him, Pili followed. Of course he did, he couldn't not to, and that only made Pangi despise him more. And on theme with everything else this day, even the trap he tried to pull on Pili to get rid of him once and for all barely dealt any damage. 64 TNT minecart doing minimal damage, only hurting his ego and making Pangi fly away in rage. He just couldn't handle it anymore. This day couldn't get any more miserable - except it could.

When Pangi got to the lab, he found Lukey totally wasted and spewing some nonsense - the worst part is, that nonsense made way too much sense, and Pangi couldn't hate but hate Lukey for it. He couldn't stay there and reason with him, because the truth burned Pangi oh so much after everything that happened today, and it wasn't a truth he was willing to accept. And when he looked at Lukey, he couldn't help but see Pili - the first one, the original one, not the twisted version that came after his reset, nor the version he saw today. And he hated that. He hated the fact he was hurting Lukey the same way he was hurting Pili back then, he heard that he was hearing the same arguments thrown at him once again, and he hated that the arguments made sense. What made Pangi leave, however, what made him escape as fast as he could, was Lukey saying that Pangi couldn't kill him. And although it was quite literal, due to Keepers making this a day of “peace”, it broke him. He couldn't hear that one again. He had to leave. He had to escape. He had to run. He had… he had to talk to Bad.

Talking to Bad seemed like a rather good idea - he always helped Pangi cool off a little bit, and find new ways to commit murder. And this time didn't disappoint either - at least, Pangi thought so when Bad dealt insane amounts of damage to him with his crossbow despite being unable to do anything with a battle axe nor anything else. Pangi thought that the tide had begun to finally turn his way! But he was oh so wrong. Despite the crossbow working for Bad, it somehow dealt barely anything to Pili, and Pangi had to leave, tail tucked between his legs and ego hurting even more, all because this day was cursed for acts of war.

He hated it, he hated everything, and he had to retreat to the only thing that could relax him right now - mining with TNT. The constant sound of explosions, of experience orbs circling around him, of breaking and picking up of blocks - it brought calm to his rage, and helped him forget about the world for a while. Just the methodic rhythm of breaking a tunnel, placing evenly spaced tnt, igniting it and following it as it blew everything to smithereens. What else could he ask for?

This perfect rhythm, this distraction from the outside world was interrupted by a quiet ding on his wrist - a whisper from Lukey. “Could you please join the group?”

Did he finally sober up, come to his senses and come to apologize, or was this yet another attempt to yell at Pangi for things that Lukey imagined to be true about him? With a sigh, he decided to take the risk, he was running low on explosives anyway, so the trip to the surface was going to be inevitable.

“Hey, Lukey,” Pangi joined the group with a flinch, preparing to hear more of the arguing and accusations, but instead was met with uncomfortable silence and Lukey clearly trying to pick the best words to say. This was progress, so Pangi would take it.

“Hey! I wanted to, uh, thank you for trying to kill Pili. It didn't quite work and you left after and I feel like Sneeg was so close to trying to kill me there so- nevermind, you tried protecting me there by killing Pili, and I’m grateful for that.”

Pangi knew that there was a hidden accusation in there, that Lukey wanted to say that Pangi didn't protect him from Sneeg despite what he promised, but he just couldn't care anymore. Lukey didn't outright accuse him and Pangi was going to take that as progress. Better that than nothing.

“You know I didn't do it for you, right? Well, I didn't try doing it for you. Man, I hate trying to PvP today, it just sucks, man! I tried killing him for myself but I couldn't even do that! And I’m usually great at killing!” Pangi exploded in words, all of his calm demeanor being washed away by the overflowing frustration from today, and he barely managed to stop himself from going on another rant - he went on enough of them to Lukey today already.

“I know, I know, but I’m grateful you tried anyway. That'd be 24 hours in which I’m safe from that cat, yeah? Too bad the world seems to hate us today.” Lukey let out a forced chuckle, and although Pangi couldn't see him during this call, he could sense him uneasily shift on the other side. And so he stopped, let out a long sigh, probably interrupting Lukey’s train of thought in the process, and called him out on that:

“I know you want to ask me something, so just be done with that. I don't know how much longer I can stay here tonight. It has been exhausting, and I can't be here forever.”

“Okay, okay! Gosh, fine, I will ask! I was just worried about you, okay? I didn't get a chance to ask about it back in the lab, but are you okay? The corruption got worse, almost all the way up your arm, and I want- I want to know if you're alright, okay? Because if you're not, I- I don't know what I could even do.”

Lukey’s voice sounded genuinely distraught and concerned for Pangi, and he almost felt sorry for pressuring him in such a way. And hell, he wanted to not lie, to tell Lukey the truth - the truth that he was terrified. He feared the corruption being so close to the rest of his body, he feared what it had already done - because he couldn't feel anything wrong with it, and it was what frightened him the most. What if it was responsible for him pushing everyone away? What if it was responsible for his aggression? But he couldn't blame this mythical corruption that never did anything he could feel for all of his misdeeds, and he certainly couldn't reveal his weakness to Lukey. He wanted Lukey to feel safe around him, and so he couldn't worry him with the corruption - it was something for Pangi to deal with alone.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Pangi sighed and answered: “I think I am fine, Lukey. I can promise you that I don't feel anything wrong, if nothing else.”

“And that doesn't worry you?” Lukey asked with that same probing voice he used back in the lab, that voice that Pangi hated- but he couldn't lie to this direct question, because he knew Lukey would know.

“It does worry me, yeah. But! I can't deal with this right now, man. We have a war on our hands… and also I have to go. Nice talking to you, man, see you tomorrow!” Pangi was quick on leaving that group, because he just couldn't be there with Lukey knowing about even the surface of his feelings about the corruption on his arm. This was a conversation for another time. And for now? For now Pangi had to rest.

[ohnonotthehorrors]

Hold on, hold on. I need to be emotional about limited life canary curse for a minute.

To some extent: Jimmy has accepted his fate by limlife. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, thrice is a pattern, and the fourth time is coming up and it’s not looking good for him.

Sure, in the moment he panics. Yells for Scott and takes Bdubs’ offered time. Claws a little bit more out where he can.

But, beyond that, he’s accepted that he’s probably going to die first.

He’s the one to suggest they help Grian stack time, letting their bad boy get to the finals. When Grian and Joel are looking for kills and dropping TNT it’s never him to suggest he get the kill. Even though he needs time the most.

It’s not Jimmy fighting the curse this season. It’s everyone else.

Scott who promised him time and gave it willingly. Bdubs who heard his barely-an-ally beg for time and jumped in front of him to shout ‘kill me!’ Grian who was the one to shoot down the time stacking idea and repeatedly stressed that they needed to get Jimmy kills. (And also potentially ignored the boogeykill two hour loss)

JOEL who said to all of our heart broken faces: ‘I was going to sacrifice myself so he didn’t go out first’

It’s true, that the canary is in the coal mine to die. It is. It’s true that when they do, chaos and destruction will break out.

But it’s also true that those miners love their canary. They did everything they could to save him, but the air is poison and it is the canaries job to die.

[safeturnip]

and so the desert drinks its fill

words: 1.3k

characters: Grian, GoodTimesWithScar

summary: Grian and Scar and how they avenge themselves against the Red King.

additional tags: canon-typical violence, descriptions of being burned alive, character death (with respawn mechanic)

(written for round 3 of soul searching for @mcyt-soulmate-sweepstakes !!)

***

There is a certain enduring beauty to the desert, this dry and arid landscape of shifting sand dunes and pale cloudless skies and cacti that cling stubbornly to the moisture-deprived ground. It is unforgiving and uncaring, the sun the singular constant audience member perched in the bloodless sky. It is an environment that will remain for years, centuries even, indifferent to the struggles that live and die across its rippling golden surface.

But you aren't thinking of the above-ground scenery—no, your thoughts centre around what lies beneath: The plethora of explosives you planted in a field of sand, riddling holes in the ever-shifting ground to cram full of TNT, your seeds of destruction that you can only hope will bloom into vicious flowers of victory. You toiled for hours over that plot of burning land under the omnipresent eye of the sun, sweat coating your skin, shovel in hand and vengeance in mind. As you continue to scan the landscape, you spot your enemies approaching over the horizon, red banners stark against the pale yellow background, and you think Now.

It never rains in the desert—and never will—but a peal of thunder echos across the open sun-burnt landscape, earsplitting and earthshattering, an avalanche of cacophonous noise. It's not a thunder made by natural means—no; it was made by yourself, from those hundreds of TNT blocks you buried in the sand, hundreds of pockets of detonation unfurled in rapid succession.

Everything the light touches is ours, you once said, and what have you done about that so far? The desert has become home to an insurmountable measure of death and destruction. You tore open a gaping wound across the once-pristine landscape, you built a beautiful, towering fortress of sandstone and wood that gleamed under the light of the morning sun, only to raze it to the ground. And for what? You have lost far more than you have ever gained.

It is in the wake of your trap uselessly rending the desert in half that your first life is lost. A lever flipped at the wrong moment, your feet overtop the wrong stretch of sand, and you are falling, falling. You do not feel the jarring impact of your body striking hard ground, the would-be instant splintering of your bones. Instead, the lava that lines the bottom of the trap catches you, softens your fall, embraces you like a partner welcoming you home.

And it hurts.

After spending hours in the desert, in the shimmering, stifling dryness and the glare of sunlight, you thought you knew heat, you thought you had become used to it. But the heat of liquid rock burns more than any day spent in the scorching caress of the desert. It is not a slow, gradual sort of pain; it is instant and all-consuming—an initial flare of what your brain tricks you into thinking is a freezing cold, then the burning, panicked sensation of every pain receptor in your body lighting up at once. It's a red-hot iron dragging down the entirety of your nervous system, grating against the inside of your skin, boiling the blood in your veins and arteries. It's the type of pain where you would claw your own skin off if it meant there was even the smallest chance that doing so would lessen your agony.

You open your mouth to scream, to try release the soul-rending pain that builds and compounds inside you, and lava flows eagerly down your throat. You are incandescence; you are incineration; you are a piece of kindling caught in the heart of a blazing fire. Soon, all you know is how it feels to burn.

The dunes of sand are soaked with blood, streams of red trickling across dusty yellow like the webbings of capillaries right under the surface of skin, the most moisture the desert has ever experienced. Yet it still is not sated. The sand stretches endlessly downwards, millions upon millions of rough-edged pinpoint grains, filled with pockets of air, and the desert greedily lap up whatever liquid drips down into its depths. It is possible that the desert's thirst will never be assuaged.

You spent ages hunting down the Red King, searching for him across forest and plains and the uneven elevation of mountains. Days and nights went past, the sun rising and falling over the horizon, and now, finally, you've cornered him in his very own base, his crops trampled, his fortress walls breached.

The stage is set: You and the King face each other, his sword and shield in hand, his allies gone from his side. What is a monarch without his people to protect him? Your smile is wide and sharp and uninhibited, straining at the edges of your face. Your heart races, your blood vessels are flooded with adrenaline, yet your hands on your weapons are steady and sure. Is that trepidation you see in the King's eyes? Is that fear? You hope it is.

The sound of your sword striking the King's armour rings throughout the air, a harsh, metallic grating as you gouge deep lines in the material of his chest plate. He retreats, blocks your next attack with his shield, and you press forward, refusing to give him time to regroup or recover. You need to see him dead, you need him to suffer for everything he's done to you, everything he's taken from you.

Despite your best efforts, he manages to put some distance between you and himself, so you switch out your sword for your bow. The handle fits in your palm like a well-remembered story, the weight familiar as an old friend. You land a shot and miss the other—but you have your enemy on the run. Blood dripping from the wounds that decorate his body, he flees you, and you know that you can't let him go; you need to end this right now. You raise your bow once again, the sound of your pulse in your ears drowning out everything else around you, your gaze locked on the unprotected back of the King's neck.

Aim—breathe—fire.

Your arrow is loosed and flies straight and true, cutting effortlessly through the air like a burning comet, and plunges directly into his spinal column. Skin and flesh and blood give way under the sharp arrowhead like paper to a burning flame, and the Red King dies—he dies a coward with his back turned, his body dissolving into white mist, his possessions spilling across the ground of his own base. The King's death is not the first, and it certainly won't be the last—yet his passing feels like some sort of ending, the final empty page of a book, the drop of a curtain over a vacant, expended stage. The Red King's hand soon meets a similar fate—one of your arrows to his chest relinquishes him of his last life.

And finally, it's over.

You are far away from your desolated home of the desert. Water pools in the dirt, a cool breeze runs fingers through your hair, the grass is a vibrant green under your feet—yet the sun is still there, that silent burning eye. It watches you still, bearing witness to the aftermath of your victory. Do you feel relief at your vanquishment? Do you feel that the wrongs done to you have been repaid in full? Or do you feel nothing, just the hollow knowledge that there is still more to come after this?

Your breathless laughter floats upwards to hang in the sky like the crows that wheel over a battlefield, drawn in by the scent of carrion. There are grains of sand embedded in your soles, blood staining your hands, and the remaining people around you all cry your name.

Kingslayer.

[howlonomy]

Idea for dt clover monster

1- 6 shooter, where the board gets split into 6 sections and you have to remember how the rounds were loaded into it

2- buckshot, where clover will shoot the board with a shotgun but the rounds fan out like the astral dreamer attack

3- lasso and lazer where the board is lined up with a double barrel shotgun and the soul is tied to the center having to avoid each shot from each barrel

4- clover will slowly move their talons in and you have to fire at them to keep them away

Beyond that I’m not sure, maybe they use their wings to block attacks?

yall are way more creative than me with this kinda stuff AHDJSJCN but ill add my own thoughts!!

YELLOW ATTACKS; If you get hit with one of DT!Clover’s yellow attacks, your HP gets sucked out and used to heal DT!Clover instead (similar to Ceroba’s red attacks).

1) Six Shooter —> Russian Roulette: In a very similar vein, you watch a (yellow colored) round be loaded into a revolver; you have like half a second to react to a reticle being put on your soul before it’s fired and it’s either a live round (normal bullet attack) or a yellow round.

2) Buckshot: Huge shotgun attacks that explodes into stars. The stars explode into SMALLER stars. Very bullet hell.

3) Prey: Similar to Ed’s attack, you have to avoid Clover’s talons grabbing you; if caught, you are stuck in one place and aimed at by either feathers, stars, or revolver shots. Very difficult to move and avoid attacks if caught.

4) Blackhole: Extending their wings, their inner wings turn into the void of space, sucking you to the top of the battle box. You must avoid swipes from their claws or shooting stars coming out of their wings.

5) One Last Hurrah: Similar to Zenith Martlet’s attack where the screen goes huge and she flies towards you (idk the name lmao); Clover’s tail splits into four; they slam it into the battle box, yellow shards spraying. The main attack is DT!Clover’s SOUL charge up an attack and shoot towards you. They swat your bullets away with their tail, you can’t hurt them during this attack.

EXTRA CHALLENGES: As the fight goes on, lighting surrounds attacks that have things to do with DT!Clover’s physical body; such as their talons or wings. Extra damage, and occasionally yellow! A lot of simpler attacks also overlap, like how Zenith Martlet has like 3 different attacks going on every round. Things like TNT explosions, gunpowder lines you have to avoid (or else it will explode), and gunshots that shatter the battle box into segments (so you’re stuck in one section unless you take damage to move through the cracks).

You would have to aim for DT!Clover’s soul with bullets to hurt them! No other spot would damage them; just their soul. idk how all this would work in an actually game but this was fun to theorize and think up >:]

[blueishspace]

(Something old and new, borrowed and blue p137)

Jimmy: And you are talking about me like I'm not here again. Do you just not listen to me?

...

Scar: Uhh...

Martyn: Not really.

Grian: I'm surprised you ever tought I listened to you Timmy.

Jimmy: ... Wow.

*That is...hurtful. You expected it but it-*

*You feel a spike of pain trough your ghostly body, and then you see death: An arrow and a drop of blood in a desert, being stabbed in the back and falling to the ground, the claws of an enderman, a tnt minecart and great fall, you see yourself dying in multiple ways...you don't remember any of them- you open your eyes, your head is killing you*

Scar: Jimmy? What-

Prev Next First

[nomsfaultau]

Hybrid AU in exile week where avian instincts can take over to a degree that is almost horrific, erasing someone’s personality and rationality when they’re panicking. First part here.

I swear to GOD the next one is the last. NO MORE CHAPTER MITOSIS

The firelight flickers, enchanting as it sends up spiraling pine-scented smoke into the constellations above. “Woah!” Techno laughs, throwing an arm out to stop Tommy from getting closer to the campfire. “Stay back, feather duster, you’re going to get singed!” 

“How am I supposed to sit at your side if you’re practically inside the fire!” Tommy shoots back. There’s no practically about it; the piglin’s hooves warm themselves on the coals of the blaze, happily toasty. Meanwhile, one accidental brush of feathers and Tommy will go up in flames. Wings ruffling in annoyance, Tommy glances at the ragged pair, irked to once again be held back by them. True, with proper care and time they’ve lost their desolate edge, but the filling out wings only increase his chance of catching fire. 

His fingers itch with the impulse to pull out his feathers. Tommy busies himself with preparing a s’more with Philza. 

He perches on a log next to Philza, the distant fire crackling away. His back is cold as the arctic night presses against the bonfire’s brief shelter, but Philza drapes a large wing around him for warmth. At least his wings aren’t as big as Phil’s, he consoles himself. Tommy takes up less space that way. He’d used to sprawl, pushing to fill the world. But his abuser taught him it was easier to cut away the parts of himself that were too obnoxious for others to deal with. Get out of the way, don’t be a problem and you won’t get what’s coming. He would’ve cut his wings off, too, if he could’ve. Some days he still wants to. But no, it will hurt like hell and Phil and Techno will be upset. He can’t afford that, it’s bad enough how often he’s cussing them out and breaking their stuff. Their irritation runs like an undercurrent, sending alarm bells ringing.  Part of him hates himself for it, begging to appease Phil and Techno, to fawn until he’s forgiven and safe. Part of him is terrified of it, waiting for punishment that never comes.

But another part likes the alarms and screeching panic, because it means he can tell when a situation is dangerous. Because last time he made himself palatable and all it did was chew him up. Tommy’s lost the knack for pulverizing the ugly parts of himself, and he reckons that might be a good thing even if his instincts scream that his friends are going to start hating him. Still. If he did cut his wings off, he could never again feel his abuser’s soft fingers petting his feathers. Maybe if he starts cutting off the parts of him that are easy to love no one will ever take advantage of him the same way. 

Tommy hears the hiss of his abuser’s TNT even if he can’t see it. Automatically he drops to his knees, obediently clawing into soft dirt to make a hole. Phil shouts, an arrow flinging the explosive back, but the thunderous cacophony swallows him all the same, and suddenly he’s drowning in weeks old fear. Tommy is lost in the high-pitched shrieks of a scared chick, chirps ripping out of his throat and panic blotting out his mind. He frantically calls for his abuser to rescue him, and only in a hazy recess of his mind does Tommy remember his abuser is dead and never coming back. 

The first thing he registers when he comes back is the dirt caked under his claws from clawing into the earth. The little splotches of mud from where his tears stain the ground. The dark aegis of Philza’s wings sheltering him, the older avian crouched protectively overhead. Territorial alarm caws pour from him, head frantically whipping as dilated eyes search for a threat to his chick. Great. Now he’s making his stupid instincts Phil’s problem. As if it wasn’t bad enough to be weak and helpless, now he’s triggering Phil’s instincts and robbing him of free will, too. 

“Creeper, guys,” Techno winces. “Just a creeper.” His cautious approach freezes as Philza locks onto him. There’s a tension in his eyes, wary and sad, as he waits for his best friend to attack in an instinct blinded rage. 

But Phil doesn’t, more concerned with covering his chick. The alarm caws cease as he realizes there isn’t danger. Tommy tries to wriggle out from under Philza, but when Philza’s head jerks to stare at him his eyes are still dilated. Worried chirps replace his cawing, pinning Tommy down and checking him over for injuries. Right. He supposes ensuring the chick is safe includes more than just fighting. But he isn’t hurt, the creeper wasn’t anywhere near him. 

The answer comes from Tommy’s own instincts. He clamps down on the first notes of a coo, realizing it’s supposed to assure his guardian he’s alright. But it’s only the trigger for the next phase. The natural next step is to calm the chick. The coo builds up in Tommy’s throat, aching the longer he suppresses it. Nauseous fear tenses him. No. No, please, he can’t go back to that state again. It’s taken so much from him, breaking him into something pliant and pleasant and easy to love. Easy to control. 

Tommy digs his talons into Philza’s arms, clawing in until blood wells up. Snarling and kicking and biting and unlovable and yet it doesn’t save him. It only gets so, so much worse, Philza’s worried chirps giving away to adamant coos, to soft caresses through his thrashing wings. 

“PHIL!” Techno calls, startling forward. “He’s alright, alright? Let him lea-mph!” Philza’s wing smacks him hard, hurtling him back. For a second his eyes meet Tommy’s, and in an instant Tommy knows he could charge right then and there and tear Philza off him, to hold him at bay while Tommy escapes. Techno could rescue him. 

But he won’t. It would cost him too much to fight Phil. 

“Phil, the creeper is dead,” he tries gently. “Come on bro, nothing’s wrong. You’re the one freaking the kid out.” Techno coughs roughly, then breaks into a purr like the crackling churn of a redstone contraption. “See?” he rumbles, “you can stop now, Phil. Stop.”

If anything it just makes it worse for Tommy, yearning strangling him. It hurts so bad to shove his coo down. Tommy, the real Tommy, wants to howl, but the stupid animal inside him is stronger. The world darkens, hazy and hard to reach no matter how he struggles. Vision smearing into something warm and pleasant, Tommy can’t tell if the tender hands running through his hair belong to Philza or his abuser. 

His body automatically relaxes as the soft coo breaks free from his throat. Despair wells in Tommy, but it slips through his hands, his real thoughts fading as artificial calm drowns everything out. 

The hands combing through his hair freeze as the assurance releases Philza from his protective instincts. “Sorry,” Phil croaks. It shatters the spell. His abuser never apologized. He scrambles away, leaving Tommy flat on his back, watching the swirl of constellations overhead. Tommy would like to be angry, but it’s been drained out of him, the dregs of bliss acerbic in his mouth. 

He wants to attack Philza, vaguely. He should. Maybe it would stop this from ever happening again. All he has to do is stop the older avian from caring about him. But the thought of what it would take to make the kind and patient Philza truly despise him makes Tommy feel quite sick if he’s honest. Even now Phil is apologizing, concerned and compassionate and utterly confused when Techno presses a healing potion in his hands for the wounds Philza hadn’t even noticed. Tommy’s hands curl into fists so he doesn’t have to notice the blood under his claws. 

Techno offers Tommy a hand up, and he just stares at it. “You good, bro?” 

Tommy expects the offer to drop as he doesn’t respond, but Techno remains reaching for him. “I hate that I’m like this,” Tommy says quietly, watching the crescents of wounds buried in Phil’s flesh vanish in a curl of rose magic. 

“Alright,” Philza measures carefully. “So what can we do to become a Tommy you don’t hate?”

“Nothing. I’m just like this now because of him, I won’t ever be the Tommy I used to be.” 

“Hm. Maybe a better question is what types of things does a better Tommy do?” 

“Maybe… doesn’t waste your time with stupid crap like this.”

“It’s not a waste of time if you need help,” Phil assures him. 

“But a better Tommy wouldn’t need help.” 

“That’s just not true, mate. Everyone does. Me and Techno aid each other all the time. We care about you and want to support you.” 

“Then a better Tommy would make it worth it to care. He’s nicer. Doesn’t shout and break your stuff when you’ve only been kind to him. But whenever I act like that, it feels close to the preening. And I don’t want to get stuck like that, all cuddly and fawning and nauseatingly meek. It feels like I’m losing control, just trying to do appease you so I don’t get hit. And- and if I’m awful enough you’ll leave, too, and then I won’t have to worry about it at all. But that isn’t working, either. I don’t get it. I’m awful. I’m awful on purpose. Why do you put up with me?” 

Techno shifts from hoof to hoof, firelight tossing his shadow wildly. “While I admit it would be cool if you stopped smashing my cupboards…I get it. Heh, you should see our training room after I’ve had a bad day. I’d prefer that frustration is channeled into something productive instead of being taken out on us, but we can work on that. You went through a lot; it’s okay if recovery is rocky. Besides, after I baby-proofed the house it hasn’t been too bad. You’re going to have to try a lot harder to get us to hate you. But I gotta ask, is that really what you want?” 

Tommy bites his lip, eyes burning from staring at embers for too long. Or perhaps it’s the threatening tears, but Tommy refuses to admit that. Does he want them to hate him? Will it be okay to hate himself if the entire world does? Will he be finally safe if no one cares? “It’d be easier if you did.” Then he won’t have to wonder what they could possibly see in him that he can’t.  

“We’re not trying to make it easier for us,” Philza explains. “This is about what would make life easier for you, Tommy.”

“I wish stupid things didn’t upset me, like touching and grooming and holes and obsidian and smiles and feathers. But most of all I hate my instincts, the way I just shut down. How ease to manipulate it makes me.”

“Those hatchling instincts aren’t forever, mate. You’ll grow out of them, just like I did when I first flew.” 

“But I can’t! I’ve tried, Phil, all it did was nearly kill me! I can’t fly, and maybe I never will.” 

“I never said you have to fly alone.”

Next >

[buffyfan145]

About to go on a little rant here but you can tell most WWE fans don't watch AEW as so many last night bashed AEW for not promoting "The Iron Claw" as WWE actually had ads during their broadcast of "Smackdown" for the movie now being on Max. Now, I love that WWE is finally promoting the movie as they didn't at all when it was in theaters. However, AEW actually promoted the movie back in December when it was first released. They even had Kevin and his sons Marshall and Ross on there, and the sons actually have had multiple AEW and ROH matches (the most recent in February in a trios match with Dustin Rhodes). AEW also talked about the movie during the commentary for those matches, they showed the trailer multiple times during the ad breaks, mentioned how MJF and Ryan Nemeth were in the movie, the various wrestlers at AEW posted online when they saw the movie, and even when Will Ospreay fully joined AEW a lot of us fans realized and posted across social media how he and Harris Dickinson could pass for brothers, especially how Harris looked as David but also when they were both young starting out in wrestling & acting. Both companies should be promoting the movie as it was amazing and all wrestling fans should watch it. But to say that AEW didn't isn't true at all. Plus, it get some being baffled that AEW didn't show ads this past Wednesday during "Dynamite" about the movie being on Max, which is owned by WBD just like TNT/TBS is, but I actually expect it tonight during "Collision/Rampage" since the movie just only showed up on Max yesterday. Just seems it's being used as another excuse to bash AEW when again now both companies have promoted the movie now.

[adobe-outdesign]

I'd love to see a full-on review of Burlap from you! As a matter of personal taste, I do like it as a Plushie 2.0, but I also sympathize with your dissatisfaction in the loss of that creepy vibe. Which pets do you like best in it?

Poor, poor Burlap. It was originally introduced as Burlap Doll alongside Steampunk, Toy, and Origami as part of a 2018 poll to pick a new colour, wherein it came in dead last, probably because it was by far the least cute option of the four. That said, us burlap lovers were annoying vocal enough that TNT eventually caved and released it anyway.

Unfortunately that was a small victory, as there's been a gradual shift in appearance and tone. Burlap's original intent, and the reason so many of us loved it, is that it was creepy. Burlap pets were supposed to be dolls haphazardly stitched together from sack cloth and whatever pieces of junk happened to be lying around, with dead button eyes and stitched-up mouths. It was a very distinct vibe, almost scarecrow-like, and that made it really stand out.

However, TNT has been softening the colour over the years. Bright colors were introduced; the junk and scrap materials concept was almost entirely dropped; straw-like elements were replaced with soft fuzzy tan fur; and so on and so forth. Compare the Burlap Usul, released in 2023, with the Burlap Ogrin, released in 2020:

And just to be clear, the more plushie-like burlap pets are by no means inherently bad; a lot of them are downright adorable or have very pleasing designs. It's just that, for a site that celebrates Halloween each year and has an entire land dedicated to it, there's a strange lack of creepy colours available. There's Halloween, Mutant, Wraith, Ghost, Zombie, Darigan, and... well, that's it. Burlap was not only a welcome addition to this category, but it filled a very specific niche, as there were no other creepy doll colours. We already have plushie as a colour, but we definitely didn't have anything like the original burlap.

Favorite Species:

Lenny: The original Burlap Doll design put up for voting, the Burlap Lenny is delightfully creepy. The fraying fabric on the wings is a great touch, and I love all the metal bits used here; some springs for the head feathers, random scrap parts for the legs. It's fun, distinct, and has a ton of personality. I also really like the eyes, which are not only black but have red string in the middle, something even the other creepy burlap pets didn't keep.

Bori: The Burlap Bori has less scrap parts and fewer black accents, but it's still well done overall. There's lots of good details here, like the fraying fabric around the claws, the stitch work and material of the back plates, and the way the tail haphazardly tied together with some loose rope.

Quiggle: This isn't quite as detailed as the other three burlap pets, but it still brings a lot to the table with its freaky twig fingers and casual rope around its neck. The texturing and warping of the burlap texture is truly well done here and the whole thing has a great sense of dimension. The only thing is that while I like the mismatched eyes in theory, the blue feels a little distracting; I feel like maybe a light brown or tan might've worked better.

BONUS: Like I said, the plushie-style burlap pets are still very nice looking, and it wouldn't be fair of me to talk about only the creepy pets while not mentioning the non-creepy ones. The Burlap Kau is definitely the best of the crop, with super soft plush fur that reminds me a bit of Highland cows. There's nice detailing in things like the corduroy snout and iridescent eyes, and while there's some colour, it's kept to light earth-tones as to not feel jarring against the browns. Good stuff.

Least Favorite Species:

Scorchio: Even by new-age burlap standards, the Burlap Scorchio is a trainwreck. The eye-searing teal underbelly is both over-saturated and too low-contrast relative to the brown, creating an eyesore that draws too much attention to a pointless part of the design. There's no real creativity in things like the spikes, and the eyes don't feel like they align to the face properly. The stitched-together wings are a little fun at least, but it's not enough to save this design.

[airis-hunter]

Finally finish Dressrosa

Forth Gear was cool, although my mind does wonder why Luffy has that pattern on him when he does it and why it basically covered him when he delivered the final blow to bird bitch 🤔

Angry Luffy I love you

He's looks so peaceful and adorable TnT

Luffy: yeah Sabo and Ace are my brothers, and?

Can we just talk about the obvious anger Dragon had when he found Sabo?? He's such a fucking dad omg

Gez Luffy both your brothers are badasses. Bro broke open a steal door like it was absolutely nothing. (I'm in love with the dragon claws technique thing he does omg)

I know that people have an issue with the arc taking so long and honestly I agree; however, I sorta understand why it took so long to get to the freaking point. A lot was going on in that arc, you can't expect it to go by super quickly. There were like 5 different battles going on at one point, all at the same time. The only thing that kinda annoys me but I can always skip, are all the constant flashbacks to things we've seen hundreds of times by now.

Overall I loved it and all the moments and new characters it gave us, and of course all the fuel to the fire that is lawlu.