#still kinda questioning but tagging anyway

[milktiicup]

Can you make a Mr. Silver or Mr.Machete fic. I've barely seen any fics of them :(, just kinda been consuming what I can for a fic. The most common ones I encounter are Mr.Crawling and Mr.Scarletta (which I've finished all of them possibly)...

Any tag is good, fluff, angst, uh... smut? I'm just gonna read anything since I'm so content-deprived 😭

anatomy of feeling

He saw you as a research subject, and you doubt he even saw you as a friend. And yet, you let him cut you open, spread you apart and put you back together. The least he could do is kiss you in return, right?

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🌊 ⋅ ˚✮ hhelellooooo have this mr silvair fic realising he actually kinda likes u lol

warnings. AAAAAAAANGST, unrequited feelings (kind of), mr silvair typical research (u know what i mean), hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING! :D

You don’t mind being a test subject- you were too far gone to even consider going home anymore. You were human, you were monster- and now you’re somewhere in between that you don’t have anywhere you can exactly call home, but Mr. Silvair was ‘kind’ enough to lend you his room, a bed to sleep on, all in exchange of hacking your body to a mushy pile of meat from time to time!

It’s not an ideal situation to be in, head over heels on the guy who researches your body inside out- and it’s not like he even likes you- you’re not even sure if Mr. Silvair is one to understand romantic feelings, anyway.

You remember the first day he indulged you- missing human skin to skin contact, missing a real connection to somebody. Mr. Gap had so kindfully lent you a magazine from the human world, and you can only imagine he gave you it free of charge because you were so down. Of course, it just had to be a magazine promoting some romance movie, the lead couple all snuggled up and kissing on the front page.

You broke down crying. You mean, of course Mr. Gap meant well, but really? It was an embarrassing state you were in, fat tears running down your face and dropping onto your legs.

Mr. Silvair had found you, obviously. Your new home was a research room. 

“You okay?” he asked, lips tugging into a frown. “Pain? Hurt?”

“Sad,” you corrected, using your raincoat sleeve to dry your eyes. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Me sad. Miss home. Want home.”

Mr. Silvair kneeled down in front of you. “This home.”

You bit your lip, and looked away. “Miss…” Stuff? Things? “...stuff from home.” You gesture to the magazine. “Humans. Touch.”

“Miss this?” he questioned, taking a seat beside you. He picked up the magazine, eyeing the front cover through his bandaged eyes, and flipped through the pages momentarily. “What miss?” 

You pointed to the front page. “...This ‘kiss.’”

“Mouth touch?”

You nodded. “Mouth touch.”

“Kish?”

You shook your head. “Kisssss,” you hissed the words out. 

“Kisssss,” he repeated, your hiss echoing.

You giggled, cheeks still wet from your tears. You wipe your eyes once more. “Miss kiss. Miss hug. Miss… human touch.”

Mr. Silvair set the magazine down and faced you. He patted the spot next to him, and you scooched yourself over. He tilted his head at you, a smile on his face. “Me kiss you?” he asked, and you froze. “Kiss you, you happy. Interested in kiss.”

The weight of his words settled over you like an uncertain storm. You studied Mr. Silvair’s face. The suggestion caught you off guard, yet his sincerity was unmistakable.

Your lips parted to speak, but no words came. Could he even comprehend what he was offering? Did he understand what kissing meant to humans, or was he simply trying to imitate the concept based on your longing? He had always been practical, clinical even, in his interactions.

Who were you kidding? Of course he doesn’t understand. He saw you as a research subject, and you doubt he even saw you as a friend. And yet, you let him cut you open, spread you apart and put you back together.

The least he could do is kiss you in return, right? 

You nodded, and Mr. Silvair didn’t make a move to kiss you at all.

“Teach kiss,” he said.

Oh. Right.

His lips, cold as they were, carried a surprising softness, almost cushiony. It was strange, almost surreal, feeling such a delicate part of him when so much of your life in his presence had been sharp edges, instruments, and prodding hands. There was no pressure in the kiss, no demand- just a willingness to learn. It was methodical, curious, like an experiment he was determined to get right.

After that moment, his kisses were a frequent part of your life. He sliced you, diced you, and put you back together and kissed you so softly afterwards that whatever remaining pain you felt was an afterthought. 

And you still weren’t happy. His kisses were to keep you in check, to keep you from being a sad little subject. And of course, your body may not be human, but your feelings and heart were. It just reminded you that no matter how much he touched you, or when he learned where to put his hands as the kisses deepened, that he was still unattainable. He still wasn’t yours, but you were his. 

“You okay?” he asks, offering you a hand off of the table. “Mind flawed? Shape flawed?” 

“I’m okay,” you reply with a shake of your head, and grasping his hand. “Mind good.”

Mr. Silvair smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist and interlocking your fingers together. His head ducks down, silver hair falling off of his shoulder and presses his lips to yours. You close your eyes, indulge in the moment, and move your lips against his.

It hurt.

It was like pressing against a bruise you couldn't stop prodding- painful, but addictive in its familiarity. Because no matter how much you wished otherwise, you couldn’t forget that these kisses weren’t rooted in love or desire. They were a kindness, a calculated gesture to keep you "fixed," to stabilise his research subject.

And you couldn’t bear it anymore.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what his closeness did to you- how much it fed the ache of your loneliness while also making it worse. He didn’t understand the depths of your feelings, and he never would. For him, this was just another experiment, another connection to study and emulate. But for you, it was everything.

So you decided, silently and painfully, to stop kissing him.

The next time he leaned in, tilting his head expectantly, you pulled away ever so slightly. “Not now,” you murmured, offering a small, strained smile. He tilted his head, confusion flickering over his face, but didn’t press further.

At first, it seemed like nothing had changed. He continued his work as usual, observing, dissecting, and repairing you with the same meticulous care. But when the moments came- those pauses where he’d normally press his lips to yours- you’d shift away, redirecting the moment with a comment or a question.

And he noticed.

At first, he didn’t say anything, but you saw the way his brows furrowed whenever you turned away, the way his hands hovered near you, uncertain. He started lingering after procedures, watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten. You could tell he was waiting, expecting.

One day, after yet another procedure, he hesitated longer than usual. His hand brushed against yours, his face mere inches away as he whispered, “Sad again?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No. Not sad.”

He frowned. “No kiss,” he said, more a statement than a question. His voice carried a weight you hadn’t heard before. 

You swallowed hard.“I don’t need it,” you said softly, though your heart screamed otherwise. “I’m okay.”

He stepped back slightly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he’d let it go. But then he spoke, “Kiss… make you happy.”

Your chest ached at the simplicity of his words, the sincerity behind them. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know how much more it hurt to keep pretending, to keep grasping at something that wasn’t real.

“It’s not about that,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’m okay. Really.”

Mr. Silvair didn’t respond. Instead, he nodded slowly, and turned away.

In the days that followed, he grew quieter. His usual precision faltered, his movements distracted. He still cared for you, still treated you with the same careful attention, but the pauses- the moments where he’d once leaned in for a kiss- were now filled with silence.

One evening, after he injected the medicine into your arm, you heard him speak from across the room. “No kiss… you not happy.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned your head to look at him. He sat at his desk, his hands clasped tightly together, his head bowed.

“It’s not that simple,” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You blinked them back. Just how much more of this could you take before you break fully, and he couldn’t put you back together anymore? 

He looked up, his bandaged eyes meeting yours as though he could see straight through you. “Me not enough?” 

The words broke something inside you. Because he wasn’t enough- not for what you wanted, not for what you needed. But the truth was, you weren’t enough for him either. You couldn’t make a man who doesn’t understand like you. Any attempt was futile. 

So you stayed silent, letting the weight of your unrequited feelings hang in the air between you.

Days passed, and the silence between you and Mr. Silvair grew heavier, though neither of you addressed it directly. You carried the weight of your feelings alone, trying to convince yourself that distancing was the right choice. Meanwhile, his quiet melancholy lingered, each unspoken word from him carving a deeper ache in your chest.

But then, one evening, everything changed.

You sat on the bed, fiddling absentmindedly with the corner of your raincoat. Mr. Silvair had been working at his desk for hours, his silver hair catching the faint light as he scribbled notes and adjusted instruments. You thought he was too absorbed in his research to notice you, but suddenly, he turned.

“I…” he began, his voice hesitant, and he stood up, walking toward you with slow, deliberate steps.

You glanced up, startled. “What is it?”

He stopped just in front of you. Your legs hung off the bed. “You… stay sad,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “No pain. No hurt. Shape good. Mind good. Why?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. You took a shaky breath and shrugged. “It’s… hard to explain.”

“Explain,” he pressed, his tone more insistent. “Want you happy.”

It was as if someone had dumped ice cold water on top of you. Want you happy. Why? He shouldn’t have cared in the first place if you were happy or not- he should’ve just cared that you were sound of mind, and not trying to kill everything in this place. Your hands shook. Your breathing picked up. Your heart hammered uncomfortably against your rib cage.

Your fists clenched. You scowled. “Why care?” I’m nothing but a subject. “Me… only research.”

Your question caught him by surprise. He frowns, and takes a seat next to you on the bed. Mr. Silvair is silent for a moment, processing, thinking. “Not-...” he stops himself. You gaze at him from the corner of your eye, his fists clenching and unclenching in his lap. “Not only research.”

Great. Friendzoned. 

“You don’t understand,” you say, “You don’t feel like I feel, Mr. Silvair. You can’t understand.” And under your breath, you utter, “Told me that a million times already…” 

“Teach me,” he said simply. 

Your breath caught at his words. They were so simple, so stark in their honesty, yet they cut through all your swirling thoughts. Teach him? How could you possibly teach someone like Mr. Silvair something as complex, as human, as love? Did he even have the capacity for it?

You stared at him, analysing. Was he being… for real? His bandaged eyes stared intently at you as if he could see straight into the messed up web of your emotions. His lips, which had been both your salvation and your torment, were pressed together in a slight, thoughtful frown.

“Teach you…” you repeated, your voice trembling. “How?”

He tilted his head. “Teach ‘kiss,’” he pointed out softly. “Teach this. This feeling.”

You knew better than to believe in it. He didn’t know what it meant to love, not in the way you felt it, not in the way humans could. He was a scientist, a researcher, so lost in his experiments that he’d forgotten what it meant to simply feel without measuring it, calculating it, dissecting it into pieces. He wanted to understand, yes- but could he really? 

“Can’t…” you mumbled. “I don’t think I can. Cannot learn to feel. You don’t feel like me.”

Mr. Silvair’s frown deepened, and he reached out, his cold fingers brushing yours. The touch was hesitant, almost unsure, but it made your heart ache all the same. “Feel... something,” he said, voice low. “When you sad, me… don’t like.”

You stared at him, startled. It wasn’t a declaration of love, not by any means, but it was more emotion than you’d ever heard from him before. More than you thought he could express.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why do you care if I’m sad?”

He hesitated again, his fingers tightening slightly around yours. You half expected an Me interested in you, but… “You… important,” he said haltingly, as though the words themselves were foreign to him. “You hurt, me feel wrong. Dislike. Interested in you… care you.”

Your heart ached. “You’re serious?”

He nodded. “Want you happy. Interested… learn. Want learn.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, hope stirred in your chest. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t the fairy tale romance you’d dreamed of, but it was real.

“Then… let’s figure it out. Together.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “Together.”

This time, when he leaned in, you didn’t pull away. The kiss was still awkward, still unsure, but it carried a warmth that hadn’t been there before—a promise, fragile but genuine.

And for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you’d found a place to call home. Not in a room or a world, but in the arms of someone who wanted to learn how to care for you as much as you cared for him.

[illmoraineakoi]

Do you guys think that if Chosen ever learned of the 'deal' Orange made with Alan in AvA4, he'd automatically see it as Alan using it to indenture Orange to him and blow a gasket?

Especially if Orange recounted the deal incorrectly, or perhaps even if Orange himself misinterpreted or misunderstood it.

Because the original wording of the deal was "If you help me animate, I'll let you free so long as you don't wreck my computer."

Alan likely meant this to mean that so long as Orange didn't mess up the computer and helped him animate, Orange would be allowed to live on the computer. Which is already a little questionable, placing a stipulation on having a place to live. A very 'earn your keep' sort of vibe.

But the original deal makes no mention of RGBY or their role in everything. Honestly, it seems like they just kinda moved onto the desktop at some point between 2015-2017. But like most things with Orange, things tend to revolve more around them than himself, when it comes to his priorities.

So I don't think it's too out of the question to think that Orange automatically pooled them in with himself in this deal, and they became another factor of it when they originally weren't involved at all.

A common interpretation I've seen is Orange misunderstanding the deal, and thinking that if he helps Alan animate, his friends get to stay too. IE: If he doesn't, Alan reserved the right to kick them off or bar access to the computer from them. Placing a stipulation not just on Orange's own ability to have a place to live, but on his ability to see and have access to his friends. Turning it into a privilege earned by fulfilling the responsibilities expected of him.

Orange undoubtedly likes to animate with Alan, that's not an issue, but perhaps he still thinks that he has a responsibility to do it in order to maintain the status quo of not just his life, but all of their lives. Maybe he sees it as a sort of 'payment', in a way. Perhaps he doesn't even really believe that Alan would be mean enough to revoke those things from him, to do what is his right to by the terms of their deal, but there's a part of him that's secretly unwilling to chance it.

Or perhaps he doesn't even think the deal is active anymore. It's been so many years, after all, and they've ruined Alan's files multiple times (unintentionally) and nothing's happened. It could've long since become null and void.

But from Chosen's perspective, it would likely seem a lot worse than Orange ever thought it was. Perhaps even worse than ALAN realized it was.

Because Alan has put a price tag on Orange's right to even have a place to live. A price tag (potentially) on his ability to see and interact with his friends. A price tag on his nice, happy life. Maybe even a price tag on his very life.

And I think Chosen would be very upset about that. And perhaps even more upset when Orange seems confused about why he's upset about it, when Orange doesn't understand how predatory it looked from Chosen's perspective.

After all, it's not even a very big price tag. It's just a little animating. It's not that bad, and Orange likes doing it anyway, so what's the problem?

But at the end of the day, it is still little more than a ball and chain made of words and letters, binding him to doing what Alan wants him to do with the potential threat of ruthless punishment should he disobey or rebel of cause harm to the computer.

And really, what difference is there, between using a stick figure as a pop up blocker and using one as an animating assistant? Does the fact that he enjoys it really outweigh or justify the fact that you've placed a condition on his very livelihood since the day of his creation?

Yeah. Chosen would not be happy.

[allthebettertobiteyouwith]

Slowly beginning to think it's not very cis of me to get off to the thought of being a boy fucking another boy n drawing out pretty noises from him while telling him he's doing such a good job for me

[vynnyal]

Turns out Sunlit Trail isn't quite done just yet, so after all that they just send you to a dead end 😂

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

childhood friend!sugu vs childhood friend!toru

YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE .

thank you for saying this anon i’ve been thinking of it a lot actually. i’m morally and legally binded to choose childhood friend!sugu no matter what because he’s literally……. my favorite Ever. and i think the inherent devotion of the childhood friend trope blends soooo well with his natural devotion. his protective urges. etcetc. i have wayyyy too many thoughts about childhood friend!sugu 😭 but it mostly boils down to him wanting to be by your side forever. he wants to make you happy and he wants to protect you and he knows you so well that he doesn’t trust anyone else to love you like he can. he’s selfish and he wants you to lean on him more than he wants anything for himself.

childhood friend!toru though….. i feel like he would be your estranged childhood friend. that makes most sense to me :3 like, you met when you were really really young, and ended up playing together in an empty park. he was a brat, kind of quiet, and you were just sweet, y’know? you were the closest thing to a friend he had as a child. then you ended up moving away, he never got to say goodbye… and you meet again as adults. you don’t remember him — it was just so, so long ago — but he remembers you. he remembers you a little too well.

so now you just kinda have to deal with this tall, handsome, cheery man who keeps talking to you like you’re best friends even though you literally don’t remember him…. he’s sweet though. a little annoying, but sweet. he has a soft spot for you. i think having anything remotely close to a childhood friend makes him feel human in a way he can’t help but crave.

sooooo. overall!!! both are good :3 i will always be a childhood friend!sugu truther before anything else but childhood friend!toru has sm potential..

[xxplastic-cubexx]

am i tripping or is x3 relatively way better than dark phoenix like,,, obviously the second half of x3's plot is atrociously wrong (apart from when erik keeps bringing up charles) but the initial set up and premise feel less flat than dark phoenix with more things going on than just jean/phoenix and erik and the brotherhood don't feel as shoehorned?

i fear i feel you ..... however ive always held the belief X3 wasnt a terrible movie on the sole basis hank was there and the movie started with old man bickering while adopting their daughter so this aint a shocking opinion to meee

'but snap hank was in dark phoenix too' ok he didnt piss me off in X3 !!!!! moving on !!!!!!!!

[lurkingforthesakeoflurking]

just saw a couple of gh0apers upset on twitter cuz a gh0ap fic they were reading had untagged ghostroach n I can't help but think it's a bit funny

[radiaking]

i will probably add more details to the background but coop just being a warden rook is like. pretty fucking spot on for him tbh. not seeing eye to eye w/nobles and saying fuck off to those w/connections to them and those willing to let an entire village be sacrificed is just. very, very him.

[cyncerity]

ok so a long time ago i posted a list of characters that would be appearing in the Flubber AU, and there are a lot of people on that list that haven’t been talked about in this au…

until now >:)

hope you enjoy the first story for this au <3

tw: none

Quackity, for the most part, liked his job as a science teacher at a University. It gave him plenty of resources to steal borrow from work to use in his own experiments, summers and holidays off, and students that were mature and who wanted to learn what he had to teach (even if they were only a few years younger than him, given that he was fairly young to be teaching at a university). One of the only downsides, in his opinion, was dealing with parents who couldn’t understand that their kids weren’t as perfect or special as they wanted them to be.

Like the father he was dealing with right now.

“I’m telling you, they’re smart. They can handle this and I want them in your class. No exceptions.” The man at the other end of Quackity’s desk said. The man was tall, far taller than Quackity and fairly threatening. He had a permanent scowl, dark brown hair and mutton chops that made him look like a modern supervillain. If Quackity were anyone else, maybe he would’ve felt like he had to give in to the man’s demands. But he wasn’t anyone else, and he’d never been one to back down from a fight.

“And I’m telling you I’m not enrolling two teenagers into a high honors college science and robotics class. It’s not gonna happen. Mr…” “Schlatt.” The man spat, scowling further. “Mr. Schlatt.” Quackity continued. “Legally, against my own judgement, I can’t refuse their enrollment until they fail the entry quiz. But i’m telling you, don’t do this to them. I don’t care how bad they want this. I don’t care how smart you think they are. All that will happen is they’ll fail and they’ll be heartbroken. I’m sure they’re smart for their age, but I’ve had people 20+ years old fail this test a dozen times before they gave up. I’m not an easy teacher.”

“They’re free this Friday. 4 o’clock. That work for you?” The man said, apparently completely ignoring what Quackity had said. He huffed and stared down the man before sighing. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me when their spirits are broken cause of you. I’ll print a couple copies and tell the main office you’re sending them in for the test, I won’t be there myself. I doubt i’ll be seeing you again after they fail.”

For the first time in the meeting, the man smiled. “I guarantee you’ll be seeing a lot more of me, Quackity. Have a good day.” And with that, he stood up and left. Good. Quackity was looking forward to never seeing him again.

***

“Alex! Wait one second, I need to talk to you!”

Quackity paused. No one he knew called him Alex, and he’d had a rough weekend after another experiment had gone wrong and he’d had to deal with the mess, so he wasn’t in the mood to meet new people. But he did have a job he didn’t want to be fired from, so he sighed and turned around. An older woman from the office was running after him, papers in her hand falling and trailing behind her as she ran. He quickly ran back to meet her and grab some of the discarded papers. He did his best to put on his friendly customer service voice that he used with people who didn’t dislike him (yet). “Hi! What’s, uh, what’s so urgent?” “Oh nothing much, just a couple new students in your class! I figured you’d be meeting them in an hour or so, so you’d want to know a bit about them first!” She smiled, handing him the papers and swiftly walking back to her office.

Quackity opened the first folder and registered the names. “oh no fucking way…” he muttered to himself. Schlatt. Both of the boys names were Schlatt. He flipped a couple more pages. Both of them were only 16. 16! They both were privately homeschooled, but were commuting to the university specifically for his class. As he continued his increasingly frantic walk to his office, he looked through more of the papers to find what he was looking for. The tests.

The first one was in messy handwriting and a goddamn glitter pen. What the fuck. The name signed at the top was “Tubbo Schlatt,” and right next to the name was a teachers handwriting with his grade: an 83.9%. Far more than the 70% needed to get him an interview with Quackity for enrollment, and barely higher than the needed 80% to get him an automatic enrollment. That wasn’t possible. Maybe the test was flubbed, maybe the questions weren’t as hard as he remembered. He skimmed through the test, and though the writing wasn’t steady, it was legible. Every question was exactly as hard as he thought it was, and the score was correct.

He went to the next student. This one apparently chose a dark red pen (why the fuck didn’t these kids have normal pens), and thank god his handwriting was better. “Tommy Schlatt,” and right next to his name, his grade: 100%. Quackity was back at his office by the time he registered the score. He sat at his desk and read it again. Then he painstakingly went through the test with far more patience than he’d taken with the previous one and read every question and every answer. And to his astonishment, not only was every answer right, every answer was written with a level of intelligence he’d never seen if anyone that age (except maybe himself; there was a reason he was teaching at a university at only 24 years old).

Looking at the records of the test, both boys were in different rooms to take them and all electronics were stripped from them, so there couldn’t have been cheating. Tubbo took 2 hours and 45 minutes to finish his, and Tommy took just under 2 hours. Who the fuck was this kid??

“You looking at my test score?” a british voice asked, scaring the shit out of Quackity. He flipped his head up and was face to face with two teenagers, one leaning confidently against his desk and one hung back by the doorway. The one leaning on his desk was tall with striking blue eyes and curly blonde hair. He wore a smug grin and stared at Quackity with a level of authority no child should think they have. The one behind him was much shorter with a very familiar shade of dark brown hair bleached blonde near the ends and a similar smug grin. Or, well, Quackity assumed it was. He had bangs that came down well past his eyes, covering them completely. Quackity was sure that under the bangs, the latter looked exactly like his father, but the former definitely didn’t. Maybe he was adopted, but it certainly wasn’t his business to ask. Both of them were wearing the formal school uniforms, suit jackets, ties, button up shirts and slacks, but neither of them were wearing them correctly.

Blondie had his formal jacket tied around his waist and was missing his tie completely, and the brunette, while he was at least wearing his jacket, had it fully unbuttoned with the under shirt buttoned poorly and both sets of sleeves pulled up to his elbows, missing the tie as well. Both of them, if they were full time students, would get in trouble, but given that Quackity was their only teacher, it was probably up to him to correct what his superiors would call “rebellious behavior.” Good thing he didn’t give a shit.

“You find any mistakes yet?” The blonde boy continued, “Or are you gonna have to admit I’m as smart as my dad told you I’d be?” Quackity stared back. No fucking way was he about to admit defeat to a 16 year old. “We’ll see. Tommy, right?” Quackity responded, doing his best to not show how shocked he’d been upon seeing the test. The blonde boy, Tommy, nodded. Quackity continued. “That was only the entrance exam. I’ll admit you’re smart, but we’ll see if you have what it takes. Now, why exactly are you here almost an hour early?” “Well…we, uh wanted to make a good first impress-“ “We were bored as fuck and had nothing better to do than scare the shit out of you.” The bleached hair one, Tubbo, interrupted. “No!” Tommy shouted swiveling to turn to his brother, “No! That’s definitely not it!” He said glaring at the shorter boy who just shrugged. Tommy huffed and turned back to Quackity, his smug look coming back as soon as he looked his teacher in the eye, trying to look as cool as possible and failing. “We’ll be going now. Have to figure out the layout of the school and whatnot. We look forward to seeing you in class.” And with that, he turned and left, the boy behind him following and showing Quackity an L with his fingers as he left.

Quackity sighed. What weird kids.

***

“Tom, my battery’s low.” “Well, that seems like a you problem, now doesn’t it. Not my fault when you forget to charge.” “It’ll be your problem when you have to drag my sorry and dead ass back to the house.” Tubbo retorted, walking a few steps ahead of Tommy while kicking a stone down the road. Tommy sighed. “Fine, we’ll take the long way so no one sees you recharge.” He said, handing Tubbo a cordless charger. Tubbo smiled and grabbed it as they walked from the public sidewalk to a secluded path through the woods that lead to their house. Tubbo pulled his hair up, exposing his eyes, cold and lifeless. Human looking, but just barely wrong enough to trigger an uncanny valley reflex in most people. He wasn’t perfect, no android was, but he was close enough. After all, he covered his eyes pretty easily whenever he had to be around humans.

Tubbo tied his bangs back and popped out his right eye, exposing the usb port beneath it. He easily plugged the portable charger in and shoved his eye in his school pants, continuing the walk like nothing was wrong. It didn’t take long to get back to the house, the sleek matte rich asshole vibe of it greatly contrasting with the forest surrounding it. Walking through the door, they noticed Schlatt on their couch, scrolling through Twitter before he heard the door click shut behind them. “Well,” he started, getting up and coming over to them, “how was your first day of school?” “Great!” Tubbo immediately chimed in. “We totally crushed Big Q’s class, and I got permission to go to the gym during a break and use their equipment!” “Yeah, and he wasted most of his battery.” Tommy interjected, gesturing to the wire coming out of his eye socket. “Yeah, I was gonna ask about that. Wanna recharge in my room? I can grab a couple extra controllers so we can all play GTA.” Schlatt asked, both boys immediately agreeing and beginning to head towards his room.

Schlatt was a newer model, which was a bit awkward since he’d been around for less time than the boys but had to play their dad in public. But since he was programmed to act older, it never proved to be much of an issue, and was more a running gag than anything else. He was much less uncanny than Tubbo, but at the cost that his face couldn’t move as naturally, making him always appear kinda angry, but that was fine. Plenty of humans have resting bitch faces. But when they weren’t pretending to be a normal human family, Schlatt was just another friend, if not older brother figure. Tommy and Tubbo both loved his company.

But God forbid there be a moment of peace in their house.

“Tommy! Here, to my office!” They heard a call from the top of their steps. All three of them froze. Schlatt and Tubbo shot Tommy a look of concern before he sighed and shooed them off, assuring them that he’d get back when he could. So, they continued moving while Tommy went where he was called. When he got there, the office was as looming and threatening as ever. It was built like a supervillains lair, but with less torture devices and more binders full of money and stolen ideas. The man at the desk was none other than Wilbur Soot. Charismatic business man, robotics specialist, and the owner of the house and everyone in it. Tommy stepped up to the desk where Wilbur sat staring at a computer screen. “You needed something, Wil?”

“Why yes, Tommy, I did,” he said in a fake sweet, syrupy tone that he used when he didn’t want to address an issue right away. Great. Tommy wasn’t sure what he could’ve done wrong, but he knew the second that fake lilt was gone, he was gonna get it. “How was your first day of school? Anything odd happen? Anyone suspect anything?” “No, of course not.” Tommy was quick to answer, because he was right. They had all perfectly played the roles Wilbur had told them to play. “Great…then tell me why Schlatt got this email from an office worker: ‘We’d like to inform you that your child, Tommy Schlatt, had a perfect score on one of the toughest entry exams our school has to offer. We wish to meet with you to talk about potential offers with our university in the future and scholarship opportunities.’” Wil finished, the fake friendliness from his voice gone. Tommy, though proud of himself, knew that Wilbur couldn’t be happy with him.

“Wil, i swear i didn’t mean to! It’s just..the questions were easy! I knew them! How was I supposed to just-“ “You were supposed to get in, not draw unnecessary attention to yourself by being the best!” “So what if I’m the best! I-“ “For the love of God, Tommy, shut up!!” Wilbur yelled, smacking his hands on his desk. “You only have one task here: find out how to get at Alex Quackity. That’s it! That man has the means to make us millions if we can steal his ideas and you’re going to blow that opportunity before we even get it! I’m not expecting you to learn, or stay there, or have fun. You and Tubbo are there on a mission. Nothing more.” He stood from his desk and leaned closer to Tommy. “You wouldn’t be here without me. I made you everything you are today and believe me, I can take it all away. Do you want that?” Tommy stood silent like he always did when Wilbur yelled, like a switch in his brain clicked off. He shook his head. Wilbur sighed and sat back in his chair, staring down at his desk. Then, when Wilbur didn’t have anything else to say, Tommy turned to leave.

“Tommy, one more thing.” Wilbur said, and Tommy, ever obedient, stopped. “That test, your 100%; you didn’t cheat, did you?” Tommy shook his head, not even nothing to turn back to Wilbur. Wil huffed and waited a few seconds. “…I certainly got lucky with you, didn’t I.” He said, and he turned away back to his work. Tommy left.

[bookmark-extraordinaire]

May I ask why it makes you mad?

I have long debated whether or not answering this ask, because I know it’ll make some people upset but fuck it, if I can’t even be true on my own personal blog then what’s the point?

That post made me mad because it plays in what I call the gentrification of punk. What once was a gritty, at times disgusting movement born of the lowest layers of British society, has now become a pastel uwu stay hydrated let’s all hold hands ghost of its former self. I’ve seen people with my own two eyes arguing that the punk movement is about kindness and it always has been, which is objectively untrue. “society sucks so I’m gong to be kind instead uwu” WRONG. Society sucks so in retaliation I will be even worse. Fuck you. Scared of being pelted? Bring a knife.

With that out of the way, I am aware that modern 2024 America society is different from 70s Britain and trying to retaliate to conservatives and/or the police will get you killed or worse. Times have changed, and I understand people prioritizing staying safe instead of “sticking it to The Man because society sucks and it’s all pointless anyway”. Movements and words lose their meaning as time goes on, and this is also true for punk, which has been dead at least since the 80s. I guess being mad at people’s watered down, sweet uwu bean neo-punk is my way of mourning it.

Anyway enough of me yapping, Snivelling Shits attack

[eadssgfhasudaosdsa]

no way bronya as es milgram as an inkling ???

[killjoy-prince]

I now know the context for the 'Doctor... you're huge' line

[chibishortdeath]

Hmmm I kinda want to make a side blog for RPG Maker game development related things to be able to talk to more experienced people in that community, but at the same time I both don’t really think I’d get much attention and don’t want to accidentally spoil my own game (^^ ; ).

I have a rough story, concept doodles, a tileset, some character sprites, an enemy that walks around but can’t initiate battle yet (if I even decide to have a battle system), a couple rooms with some events, and a functioning run button, but I’m still lost on how to do much else at the moment. Especially since this program has the ability for scripting, meaning I’ll probably have to learn and actually retain another coding language.

So, I’m not very far at all lol. Idk how well that’d go over on the established fandom website, but eh.

[torchickentacos]

taylor idk who chappell roan is i think that makes me disqualified from being queer forever (←sapphic girl)

She's a musical artist! She's pretty up-and-coming right now and is seen as a wlw queer icon in the music industry, but I've never been able to get into her music even though tons of other sapphics love it. I probably just haven't given it enough of a chance. Casual is a good song though!

[gideonisms]

what’s it like reading homestuck just because of the locked tomb… totally not because i’m also considering it 🫣

Well, as someone who understands the plot of harrow the ninth and is also listening to a podcast to help me understand the plot of homestuck, I still don't understand the plot of homestuck. Fortunately this doesn't matter because the point seems to be making various characters meet up and say things to each other. Overall, my main opinion is I would like to feed karkat a carrot. his little teeth are adorable and I want to watch him chomp and bite

[onyourstageleft]

smoked a blunt last night and spent a half hour writing out this 'poll' in a note on my phone