#technically splinter's in frame

[rottmnt-brainrot-hours]

I made a thing

original tumblr post by @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses

[thedevotionaltour]

Eastman and Laird’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles #1 - “The Turtles’ Origin is Told” (1984)

Written and Illustrated by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird

[dotster001]

Pact Marks, Chapter Six of the Sheep Saga

Summary: it's the end of the exchange program, and you're wondering why no one told you your human form would have new tattoos...

A/N: been a while since I've done one of these, but for those of you who are new, you don't have to have read the other parts. Just know that MC is a sheep in the Devildom, and a human back home.

Chapters One Two Three Four Five

You were standing in front of your mirror, back in the human realm, just staring. After an hour of this, you decided to pull out your D.D.D. and text your boys.

Hey so was no one gonna tell me about the seven demonic tattoos I was gonna get in my human form?

The responses came even faster than expected.

Where's mine?!?!?

Send me a pic! 🩷

Incoming video call from Mammoney

Incoming call from Belphie

I bet Beel's is on your stomach 😂

Incoming call from Catan

Pick up the phone

How dare you decline a call from the Great Mammon!

You sighed and snapped a picture of Lucifer's mark on the back of your right hand, and sent it to the group chat.

Incoming call from Asmo

Incoming call from Mammoney

Incoming video call from Beelzebabe

You pulled down the collar of your shirt, exposing Mammon's mark right above your heart, took a picture, and sent it.

Lmao Mammon's a simp

Shuddup! I bet yours looks lame as hell. Mine looks swag.

Simp

You're just jealous cause I was first and got the best spot 😎

Voicemail inbox full

"God damnit," you muttered, deciding not to send any more pictures until they calmed down, and someone apologized for not telling you about the tattoos you now had to figure out how to cover up.

Incoming video call from Mr. Pride

You declined the call. If you did that in the Devildom, you would have probably been hung from the ceiling. But Lucifer wasn't here so…

Pick up.

I'm busy.

You just got there.

Pick up.

You ignored the text messages you were getting.

Incoming Video Call from King Himbo.

You hesitated a moment before ignoring the call from Diavolo. But he surely had better things to do than….

A portal opened up right behind you, and Diavolo, Barbatos, and Lucifer entered your tiny bedroom.

"So this is a human bedroom," Diavolo said, looking around the room in awe. "So fascinating!"

He gripped the edge of your bed too hard and it shattered into splinters.

"Oh, um I'll buy you a new one, ha ha," he said apologetically.

"Why are you guys here? What happened to 'exchange program is over, we might never see you again'?" You asked, a little too loudly, but they didn't seem to care.

"That was because we foolishly forgot how easy it was for one human to take down our entire government," Barbatos said with an eerie smile on his face. The chill in your bones got worse when Lucifer pointedly glared at you.

"Just show me the other marks, so I can take pictures of them for my idiot brothers."

You froze in place, not sure how you felt about three of the most powerful demons in all of existence standing in your bedroom just to take pictures of your tattoos.

"Also, how dare you decline mine and Lord Diavolo's calls?" Lucifer growled.

"Technically I didn't decline them, just ignored them…"

"Pact marks. Now."

With a pout, you lifted up your pant leg , showing Levi's mark wrapping around your leg. After the picture was taken, you lifted the back of your shirt to show Satan's mark on your upper back. This continued for Asmo's mark on your left hip bone, and the twins' marks intertwining on your right bicep.

"Thank you, was that so hard," Lucifer sighed, turning to go.

"There, exchange program over for real now, I'll send you a new bed frame soon," Diavolo said, making no move to actually leave.

"Young master," Barbatos said warningly.

"Can I not take advantage of this chance to explore the human realm with a human?"

"No, you promised you'd do your work after you saw the pacts," Barbatos said, pulling Diavolo through the portal with surprising strength.

The portal closed and you were left alone again. It took less than two minutes for your D.D.D. to start ringing and buzzing again. You turned it off.

....

Tag list- @leonia0 @eccedentesiast-sapphic @your-next-daydream

[dykedvonte]

I think the Sole Survivor would become super homesick in Sanctuary. Like it’s still their home but it’s so different. I can imagine everyone thinking they’ve gone nutty cause they keep trying to clean or rearrange everything to make it seem more pre war but there’s only so much that can be done.

They found a pristine vase once and treated it like it was a stash of 2000 caps. They were so excited and put it on the sturdiest nicest table in Sanctuary and just gushed about how they had one just like it in their living room before the war. They talk about basic decor and amenities like they were luxuries because they are now but only to them. A lot of people don’t care about those sort of things now so it just seems like a weird infatuation with them.

The others wouldn’t really get it until Nick explains the adjustment. Technically Nick has only existed post war as the synth he is but a lot of his memories are pre-war. He too missed a nice throw rug not covered in god knows what or having a bed frame that wouldn’t give you splinters just for looking at it wrong. Out of everything that was the hardest to get use to. Just things never looking fully nice.

It would be super cute if after this epiphany they have a big redecoration party for the Sole Survivor by trying to make their space look as pretty and pre-war as possible with whatever nice things they can find. It’s still dingy and everything looks like it came from the worlds worst tag sale but it’s the thought that counts and the fact that they would go out to find non-irradiated paint for them that SoSu appreciates.

[dingodad]

I don’t understand what’s being talked about when its said that Lord English’s attempt to kill Cronus split him into multiple vessels. Does that mean that the idea of the essence of Lord English was splintered to form the other characters? It’s not literal right? At what point in time could that even have happened? Is that why he glitched the session of the alpha trolls, because he couldn’t enter it himself to kill Cronus, since the universe hadn’t ended yet? Also why is Lord English related to the hope aspect anyways? I think Eridan even mentions him being the lord of the angels prophesized at one point, idk what that’s about?

the way Aranea frames the story, English's spell on Cronus backfiring supposedly WAS the glitch that prevented him from entering Beforus, "until he could find some other cunning way to enter our universe."

of course this story comes to us through two separate layers of questionable narration; Aranea is relating to us a story that Cronus may or may not have made up about his own backstory. so we're operating well outside of the boundaries of what we could possibly look at through a "literal" lens. all we've got to really work with are vague ideas.

the relationship between Lord English and the hope aspect is exactly that the bloodline of heroes of hope are supposedly the ones destined to beat him, just as related in Aranea's story ("the legacy of defeating the evil magician would have to 8e passed on to his descendant, or if his descendant proved to be as much of a failure as he did, then perhaps on some other Hero of Hope"). it's the aspect of angels, and as a cherub Lord English is of course a kind of angel (though Eridan was actually under the mistaken impression that Jack Noir was the prophesied "lord of all angels").

it's possibly relevant that in the version of the story as WE hear it, the "defeat" Jake ultimately hands out to Caliborn is only a technical victory; he doesn't put an end to Lord English in any meaningful way, and Caliborn even goes as far as to say "THERE IS NO BODILY HARM". he just knocks the guy down in preparation for Dirk to seal him away. but hope is not an aspect that deals with the "bodily", its domain is spirits and ideas; so in the past, my assessment has been that the reason heroes of hope are such a threat to Lord English is precisely BECAUSE they have this ability to pull apart or disrupt the collection of souls that make him up. i don't know if i would still confidently hold this up as the strongest interpretation today, but i think it's worth mentioning.

did any of this "literally" happen... well, I have to emphasise again that at this level of granularity, the "literal" is no longer something we can take for granted. like, "literally", Dirk and Equius were created from slime in an ectobiology lab. but I assert that according to the rules of Paradox Space, the metaphorical "ideas" of Dirk and Equius have to have come FROM somewhere, and if those ideas eventually become constituent parts of Lord English then at some point the loop has to close and he has to be broken back down into those parts. it is worth noting that Aranea's wording - "sealing the magician's spirit away in a series of unassuming vessels" - could also pretty easily be taken as referring to the various puppets English is forced to inhabit as he emerges in universe after universe, and that if English were ever to be split back apart it could theoretically have happened in any number of those infinite lifetimes. it's the vague ideas represented by Cronus' story - the spirit of the story, that English is perpetually being foiled by being reverted to the start of his own timeline without any memory of how he failed - that matters more than whether Cronus was literally attacked by Lord English with a wand at some point in his childhood.

[rythasbrenelle]

Prompt #30: Two Heads Are Better Than One

Everything hurt. Aches slithered up Locke’s legs and ribs, and the slightest shift sent burning waves across his chest and neck. He threw back the scratchy blanket covering him and found that he’d been stripped to his undergarments. Fresh bandages covered more of his skin than they didn't. Only his left arm, its wooden frame cracked and splintered, had gone unattended by a chirurgeon. He squinted against the bright light streaming into the room through several windows and forced himself into a sitting position. The room tilted, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the bout of vertigo as he waited for it to pass. He heard the door swing open before he managed to get his eyes open again. Lifting his head, he took a risk and cracked his eyes open.

“Figured you’d be out for a few more suns yet,” the boatman said, his bulky frame filling the doorway. He had a pleased smile on his face. “Feels like I should be,” Locke groaned. His back and arm felt stiff, and he reached up, trying to stretch the latter. Pain jolted up the limb for his trouble. “What happened?” “You didn’t come out of that cave is what happened.” The boatman stepped inside and grabbed a chair, one of the few furnishings in the little room. The scrape of wood on wood as he pulled it to the bedside got little drums thumping behind Locke’s eyes. “Here now though. Guess you went in to get me?” Locke asked. When the boatman nodded, Locke scoffed. “Coulda died.” “I don’t doubt it. I saw all of the, uh, the bones. And those symbols painted everywhere. Almost turned and ran, but, well, I just couldn’t make myself do it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Sentimental, I guess. I couldn’t leave before seeing if you were alive. Good thing I did, too. You were in really bad shape.” “Sure feel like it.” Locke frowned down at his body, all bound in clean linen. “Dumb to go in there. Appreciate you pulling me out anyroad.” “Happy to help,” the boatman said. He looked ready to clap Locke on the shoulder, then — thankfully — must have thought better of it. “Really, it’s the least I could do, seeing as you killed that voidsent and all.”

Locke sat up a little straighter. “Oh, that’s right! Checked on Swarmhas since then?”

“Truthfully? I didn’t want to go over there before you woke up. His business is with you, after all.” The boatman glanced out the window before looking back at Locke. “But after we left the cave, I did notice the fog had cleared up. All those voices were gone too. Whatever sorcery he and that voidsent were using is gone now.”

Locke swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tested them. They didn’t hold him well, and he had to grab for the bedside table to avoid falling on his face, but he didn’t fall. Technically. “Get the boat ready then. Let’s see the old magician.”

“What? Shouldn’t you wait? I'm certain the healer wants you to get more bedrest,” the boatman said quickly, hands raised toward Locke to both usher him back to bed and prepare to catch him.

Locke ignored the gesture and shuffled across the room to where his weapons and clothes were waiting for him. Most of the latter were a tattered mess, but there was a loose shirt and slightly too long trousers mixed in with his things.

“Thoughtful.”

The boatman turned away, giving him a measure of privacy as he hissed, grunted, and swore his way into getting dressed. By the time his hips were laden with their usual weapons and the magician’s knife — the end of its blade had snapped off with the voidsent’s death, and cracks spiderwebbed across the diamond in its pommel, but he wore it on his belt anyroad — he was out of breath.

“Come on, come on,” Locke said, motioning for the boatman to follow. “Let's go see the wizard.”

It took some ticks before Locke and the boatman were leaving the docks behind. The boatman had to give the skiff a once-over, and by the time he had finished the healer had caught wind of what they were up to and arrived at the pier to chew them out.

But after hurried promises that they would return soon and Locke would be a perfect patient when they did, they were off to the Isles of Umbra. The ocean was calm, gentle waves shimmering under the midday sun, and the wind was at their back.

And true to the boatman’s word, they encountered no mist or fog on the brief voyage. Even the shores were clear, the ashkin that had previously stood in Locke’s way having vanished entirely.

Locke ventured to Swarmhas' cavern abode alone anyroad, the boatman citing a long list of incidents around the isles that encouraged him not to so much as set a toe on their shores if it could be helped.

The journey there was quiet. Waves rolled against sand and stone in the distance, and the occasional cry of a bird floated on the wind. But otherwise, Locke was left with his thoughts in silence.

Finally, he arrived at the mouth of the cave. He tapped his knuckles against the stone and called, “Wizard? You here?”

More silence.

Locke loosened his Doman sword in its sheath and moved forward, following the tunnels to Swarmhas' lair, fingers hooked loosely around the handle of a lit lantern. When he arrived, it was much the same as he remembered it. A bed, an old desk, shelves stacked with books and jars. Candles and torches were scattered throughout the cavern, extinguished.

There was no wizard.

“Swarmhas?” Locke said, walking a circle around the room. It wasn’t exactly rife with hiding places, and those that he did find — under the bed, the ilm of space behind the shelves — were predictably empty.

He’d just taken a step toward the tunnel when something thudded against the desk. Hewhirled on the noise, arm struggling to lift the lantern to swing it at the source.

A gull stood there, staring at Locke with beady yellow eyes.

“The hells did you come from?”

The gull opened its beak, as if to answer. Locke yelped when it spoke.

“Greetings, slayer of voidsent.” The gull chortled, dry as an aristocrat reacting to a story etiquette required them to find funny. “Truthfully, I did not expect you to succeed. Inexperienced, reckless, arrogant. You presented yourself as everything a hunter of the void should not be.”

“Okay, none of that’s called for,” Locke grumbled, setting the lantern on the table so he could put a hand on his hip and glare down at the gull. Its blank stare didn’t change, and words continued to emanate from its open beak.

“I apologize for sending you there regardless. I was desperate to see my failures rectified. With your help, my wish has been fulfilled. I’m finally free. But more importantly, my daughter is free. Thank you, swordsman. We can finally rest.”

“You’re welcome,” Locke told the gull. “You dead then?”

It ignored his question, of course.

“You’ll find your reward in a trunk under my bed. I had little time to spare once I was freed of the pact—”

The next parts of the message were lost, buried beneath the groan of wood and iron hurriedly scratching stone. Locke flipped the trunk open and found a leather backpack there, along with half a dozen belt pouches. He frowned, picking each of them up. They were well-made but otherwise seemed perfectly ordinary.

“—enchanted to weigh less and carry more than their sizes suggest. They should be of use to you on the road.”

“Oh!” Locke looked toward the gull, then the bags. He removed his backpack and belt pouches and began transferring their contents to the magic bags. Once he was done, he slung the new backpack over his shoulder — wincing at the pressure on his injuries there — and paced around the room.

“This is light!” Locke said, grinning at the bird. “Barely feels like I’m carrying the pack at all, let alone the stuff inside. Thanks, wizard.”

“Unfortunately,” the gull continued, heedless of Locke’s side of the conversation, “I used your gold ingot in preparing the inks that were used for these enchantments. Not that you would have expected to get it back after we traded for it, but now that I am gone and you are surrounded by my possessions, I’m certain the thought crossed your mind. I was an adventurer once too, after all.”

Locke silently conceded the point. He had been a little curious about the gold bar. Surely it could have covered at least a moon of rent, were he able to recover it.

“If you don’t mind, I think it is only fitting that the rest of my belongings be given to the Maelstrom to use as they see fit. I have little of value, but perhaps my research notes will prove useful to fellow magicians. Ah, but you are welcome to any potions on my shelves. I daresay you’ll need them if you insist on testing yourself against Odin.”

The gull chuckled again, but only for a moment. Its voice soon turned somber.

“On that note, I would leave you with one last thing: Advice. You needn’t do everything on your own, swordsman.”

Locke frowned at the gull and leaned against the table. His thumb idly rubbed the pommel of the magician’s knife, and his claw clicked against the cracked diamond in its center. But his eyes were set on the gull, weighing the wizard’s wisdom.

“My own arrogance led me to this island and all of the tragedy you have been compelled to resolve. For all my research and all my plans, it took your assistance to free me and my daughter. Do not repeat my mistake. Find allies. Make friends. Open your heart. You will be richer for it.”

Locke hummed noncommittally. But his eyes and ears remained set on the bird, committing the magician’s last words to memory.

“Farewell. Truly, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The gull closed its beak and, with a reverent bow of its head, began to dissipate. Tendrils of Mist unfurled from its body, its silhouette diminishing with each unraveled thread. Then it was gone.

Locke watched the spot where the last remnant of Swarmhas had lingered for a few moments more. He walked around the cavern one last time, collecting what few items seemed useful but leaving the rest of Swarmhas’ possessions in accordance with his wishes.

He left the cavern behind, rejoining the boatman on the isle’s shore. Their return to Aleport was slower than their journey away, traveling against the wind now, and they lapsed into silence after Locke told the boatman most of what had transpired. It gave Locke ample time to weigh the wizard’s last words — he’d kept that part of the message to himself, personal as it was — as he turned the broken knife over in his hand.

The silence also, however, gave the boatman the opportunity to strike up a conversation. As much for his own sake as Locke’s, probably, after everything that had happened.

“So, traveler. Once you’re given leave to be on the move again, where will it be? Elsewhere on Vylbrand? Back to Aldenard?”

“Hm.” Locke lifted his eyes from the dagger to look at the boatman, the faint sheen of sweat visible on the Roegadyn’s brow. He’d taken a break from rowing to peer back at Locke.

“Back to Radz-at-Han to check in with my boss, I guess. After that, don’t know. Got a couple ideas. Nothing certain. Wherever the wind nudges me, maybe.”

“Ah. You’re in good company then.” The boatman smiled and motioned to the skiff beneath them, slowly drifting along with the waves.

“Guess so,” Locke agreed, flashing a brief grin at him before looking back down. He rolled the handle of the knife in his palm one more time before returning it to its sheath on his belt. When he looked up again, it was with curiosity in his eyes. “Say. Know anything about Tural?”

[ex-textura]

Hi hello! Any fun facts you would like to share about your characters? (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

Eli~!

[i'm sorry this has taken me so long i've been picking away at this since you sent it 😶 apologies for the verbosity, but you got me started and i couldn't stop lmao]

I have SO MANY facts I want to share about my characters 👀 are they fun? ehhhhh. They sure are facts.

The big scar on Auric's face is from his sister's ex. He was jealous and abusive and the one time he flew into a rage in Auric's presence, he stepped in and took the hits so she could run. He almost died then. When he woke up his head was in her lap, he was surrounded by blood, and the abusive ex was dead.

He and Gale settled down after the events of the game, got married, and opened a tavern outside of Waterdeep with his sister and her love, Halsin. They have a teleportation circle in the basement connected to Gale's tower and they basically treat it like a guest house. They've also set up a place for Astarion in the basement so he can stay there whenever he's handy. He still doesn't really like Astarion, but his sister pleaded and he couldn't say no.

Ciaran collected every poetry book, love letter, and diary he could find once he started to get feelings for Gale. He also bothered everyone in the party constantly(Gale included) about what love is, how do you know that's what you're feeling, what do you do about it? He had no frame of reference for love so the whole thing was completely foreign to him. He was like an alien trying to learn human customs. He thought he was being sneaky.

Now that he's no longer trying to die all the time, he's taken up painting and gotten pretty damn good at it, too.

Jinx is 43 years old. Technically.

His skin used to be more red, but a wild magic surge turned him blue and the colour never totally faded.

He's demisexual

Fully incapable of picking up when he's being flirted with. He doesn't think he's handsome, or ugly. He's just Jinx.

He'll try literally anything once, so he let Astarion bite him, and then let him drain him because he'd never been bitten by a vampire before, and never died before. He turned him down for sex though because "I've already had gay sex before :) thanks though!" Astarion is still reeling from that one.

Amaris is one half of a splintered soul. They grew up with their other half as their best friend and had no idea.

The illithid abduction went funky and rather than just scooping them up into the nautiloid, it shunted them into an entirely different, mirrored reality. It wasn't until before the push on moonrise that they learned the truth.

Their best friend and other half had a massive crush on the infamous Gale of Waterdeep that they used to give her hell about all the time. Until they met him, and fell for him too.

Luckily, due to alternate universe fuckery, they each got a Gale and everyone is happy.

Naught is something of an urban legend to people who travel the roads outside Baldur's Gate. He hunted highwaymen with the help of his birds Quothe and Madge. Known only as The Raven on account of the only warning of their presence being a ruffle of feathers and the cry of ravens before the arrows would start flying.

He took payment for his heroism in money, food, or sex. Whatever was on offer.

Before they hit Baldur's Gate and rented out the Elfsong they hadn't slept in a bed in over 10 years.

Their boyfriend was teaching him to read before the fire that killed him and sent Naught on the run. As such, the lad still can't fucking read.

Apparently their type is nerds who are older than him.

Jack married his ex-wife when he was 18.

Has two kids - a son and a daughter - and a grandchild on the way.

His job in the city was general labour. Lifting, fixing, building, cleaning. Anything that paid.

His ex-wife, and therefore his kids, are dwarves. He's 6'5. There's a bit of a height difference there.

He plays the drums.

Ilztaufein is a name he gave himself after escaping the fall of Ched Nasad.

He'd only been training as a wizard for about 10 years when he left. Still though, he thinks he's hot shit and won't hear otherwise.

The only wizard he thinks is better than himself is Gale. Elminster is a nobody in his eyes.

He's 5'4!

For all his big talk he's kind of terrified of women and will automatically obey any order given to him by any of the women in the party. Except for Shadowheart..who he killed......And Mystra... who he's got plans for.

He's been researching the gods after hearing Mystra's order for Gale's sacrifice. He wants to usurp her.

Most of his work on the surface has been in and around Waterdeep, and he's been to Blackstaff Academy a number of times in that time, in disguise, trading information.

He doesn't understand how humans age.

He's never seen a cat in person until they entered Last Light. He's obsessed with them (they're regal, vicious, fancy little bitches. Just like him). The first time he sees one with fur he's going to lose his damn mind.

He's never been with a human before. It's only been drow and the occasional surface elf. Gale's body hair is magical to him and he's not at all subtle about it.

He's 6'2.

Muse more or less adopted Flair - his partner in crime - when they were still teenagers. He saw this homeless kid trying to flirt with him after one of his shows and, like one might with a pet, decided this one was his and took her in. He taught her everything he knew about flirting, manipulation, and getting away with it.

Astarion clocked them both as thieves right away when they met Gale and immediately started trying to use thieves cant to communicate to each other that he was the perfect mark, and whose turn it was to do the flirting.

They caught on that Astarion was on to them later, so Muse was tasked with distracting him, lest Astarion rat them out or, worse, take their mark out from under their noses.

Absolutely devastated when Astarion started using the same tactics on him that he'd used on his targets and that shit actually worked.

He's really bad at the whole...feeling your real genuine emotions...thing. He's been writing songs about Astarion trying to sort out his feelings, rather than..yknow. talking to anyone. at all. ever.

He got really mad at Flair when she started giving Gale expensive items so he wouldn't explode. He voted to send the wizard to the underdark cause he wasn't worth the trouble.

He smells like patchouli and vanilla.

[raainy-daze]

The Snatcher.

[previous.] ➼ chapter two. ➼ [next coming soon…]

rise of the tmnt x gn!reader [PLATONIC], rise!leo x gn!reader

summary: someone keeps stealing everyone's things. nothing they've stolen has any correlation, and it's anyone's guess why they're doing it. as time goes on, the list of crimes grows longer. reader just hopes no one realizes it's them.

reader goes for their second target, a set of michelangelo’s paints. unfortunately, as april and donnie’s investigation kicks into gear, they find themself on the list of suspects. what are they meant to do now?

word count: 1,894

a/n: HEYOOO i’m NOT abandoning this surprise. every time i say writer’s block has left me, it hits me like a train, so i’m gonna be totally honest this time: this may not get part three for another several months. it entirely depends on how well my brain chooses to cooperate.

on a different note, we’re approaching one year of this account! i like to think i’ve done somewhat good with my writing so far. anyhow, hope you all enjoy this!

By next Tuesday, everyone had been thoroughly interrogated. Again, except Draxum, who was having none of it.

The tape rolled on your interrogation. Well, if you counted a phone camera as a tape. For the sake of poeticism, the tape rolled on your interview. You were sitting at a table opposite the camera, or rather, April's phone, very clearly holding in a laugh. April sighed, and her voice was heard. “(Y/N), where were you on the night of April 16th?”

“Didn’t we already establish this?”

Although it wasn’t seen on the video, you remembered April had brandished a clipboard. “Look, Don’s the one who wrote the questions, not me.”

“It's for the sake of a record!” His hand barely came into frame as he emphasized his point.

You decided to entertain the question. “I was in the lair with everyone else. We were watching Atomic Lass Dies Again–”

“Atomic Lass Dies Again 2 ,” Donnie corrected you from behind the camera.

“Okay, okay, didn’t realize that was a necessary detail.” You held your hands up. “Yes, we were watching Atomic Lass Dies Again 2.”

“I recall you weren’t seated the whole movie. Where were you when you weren’t watching the movie with everyone else?”

“I was in the kitchen, refilling the popcorn bowl.”

“Three separate times?”

“Twice. The third time, I was looking for a phone charger.”

The scratching of a pen against paper was heard. “And after the movie ended?”

“I was with Leo in his room.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking through memes and shit.”

“And you were with Leo because?” Donnie interjected.

You raised an eyebrow. “He's my boyfriend. I thought that was a pretty clear reason.”

“You weren't... plotting?”

“If you mean plotting out our next Minecraft build, yeah, sure.”

“And you left when?” April interrupted the line of questioning before Donnie got out of hand.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Sometime around midnight, I guess?” Not technically a lie, depending on how you defined ‘sometime around’. You left it vague.

“So, well within in the time frame of the crime?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But April and Sunita were the only ones who weren’t present in that time, right?”

“Okay, well, did you see anything when you were leaving?”

“Well…” You began recounting what you saw before the crime took place. “Leo was still up when I left. Mikey’s door was left open when I passed, and he was passed out with some YouTube video playing in the background. I think it was some top 10 scariest roller coasters video or something? I’m pretty sure I was the last person to leave, everything was shut down in the living room.”

April nodded. “So if your story’s correct, that would mean it either had to happen before midnight, or it was one of Donnie’s brothers.”

“Or Splinter,” he interjected.

“I guess? I don’t know, I can’t really see your dad having a motive for it.”

“Old people are weird.”

“Especially Splinter,” you agreed.

And the video ended, everyone brought back to the present, April 22nd, 5:09 p.m., in the lair once more. “This is the final interview we recorded,” April stated, disconnecting her phone from the projector. “We took this Monday the 18th, the day before the second incident occurred.” She walked over to the whiteboard. There was a 'victim' column now, listing only Donnie. April now wrote Mikey's name beneath his.

•°. *࿐

Last Tuesday...

You weren’t actually supposed to be in the lair right now.

It was the middle of the day, and you knew none of the guys were home, thanks to Mikey’s social media. Did this count as breaking in? You weren’t entirely sure. Oh well.

You walked behind Splinter’s armchair, not really taking too much care not to be seen. You could hear him snoring, and when Splinter was out, he was out. He would have no clue you were ever here.

You knew exactly who and what your target was. You didn’t stop to look at anything else, you went right to Mikey’s room. The door was open, so you had no worries about fingerprints on the door, though you had brought gloves just in case.

You looked around his room and winced. It was… a bit of a mess. You'd expected it, but it still wasn't very encouraging. You had to shuffle around carefully to make sure you left everything in place. You hopped over the laundry pile to stand over his desk. Damn it. Everything was piled up on the desk, you could hardly tell what was where. You sighed and pulled out your phone, taking a picture of the desk. Then, you reached into your bag, pulling out the plastic gloves you’d taken from your parents’ cleaning supplies.

Once you pulled the gloves on, you began carefully sifting through his belongings. Using the photo you'd just taken, you made sure you put everything back where it belonged, right down to the exact degree of rotation. But with every section of clutter you went through, you were getting increasingly frustrated as you kept digging around and coming up with nothing. You even pulled open a few of the drawers, gentle so you didn't knock anything out of place, only to find nothing.

Finally, somewhat annoyed, you left the desk. If it wasn’t here, then where was it?

You looked around. Then your eyes landed on one splash of color in the ocean of it. You squinted, trying to decide if you were really seeing what you were seeing. You were.

“What kind of psycho paints on their bed ?” Mikey’s paints were lying next to a not-quite-dry canvas laid down on his bed. You spent a full ten seconds staring at it, just processing what you were looking at. That felt like a disaster waiting to happen. His brushes were sitting in a glass of water on his bedside table, at least. You snatched up the paints, and were about to shove them in your bag when you thought better of it. There were still drops of wet paint around the caps, and you didn’t want all your stuff to get stained bright green. So instead, you chose to just carry them in your arms and pray you wouldn’t drop them.

You strolled past Splinter, still snoring, and made it out without no trouble. They weren’t even close to home when you left. Wednesday, April 20th, 3:39 P.M. The Snatcher strikes again.

•°. *࿐

Back in the present, everyone stared as April finished the tail of the y on Mikey's name.

“Everyone, we've got a serial snatcher on our hands.”

“Snatcher. Uppercase S,” Donnie corrected.

“How do you know the capitalization of something I'm saying out loud?”

He shrugged. “I just do. Anyhow, not to say I told you so, but I told you so!”

“Are we sure he didn't just... misplace his paints?” Sunita asked, in the most sympathetic way possible.

“I DIDN’T!” Mikey was reacting almost as dramatically as Donnie had, but with tears as opposed to anger and suspicion. You honestly felt kind of bad seeing it. You hadn't thought the paints were that important to him. He had a billion, after all. “I LEFT THEM RIGHT THERE! ON MY BED! I KNOW I DID! I LEFT THEM RIGHT BY MY PAINTING!”

Raph was patting Mikey on the back, trying to comfort him while April sketched out the new crime scene right next to the previous one.

“Hey, Mike, don't be so upset.” This was just a dumb prank, you didn't want to make him actually cry over it. “Look, I'll buy you some new ones, okay? We'll go to the craft store later,” you offerred.

“Oh, but (Y/N) , it's not just about the paints!” Donnie interrupted you. “It’s the principle! We don’t just have a Snatcher anymore, we have a serial Snatcher!”

“That sounds fucking dumb.”

“Shut up, Cassandra.”

“And April already said that.”

“Shut up, Leo.”

You were pretty sure it was more about the paints for Mikey, but whatever. Let Donnie have his investigation. It was more fun that way. The whiteboard was pretty impressive, honestly. At least, it was now that April had organized it. When you'd first seen it, Donnie had kind of just scribbled everything anywhere he could put it. April was in charge of it now, and was officially making a 'suspects' column. Everyone watched with bated breath as she wrote, waiting to see if their names were present.

Leonardo...

A dramatic gasp. “Me? Well I never!”

Raphael…

“But why would I take my brothers’ stuff?!”

Cassandra…

“WHAT?! THIS IS UNJUST!”

Ah, fuck.

And you.

You made no response but a practiced perplexed expression.

April explained why she'd come up with this list. “Leo and Raph are the only two of the brothers who haven't had anything... well, snatched.” There were a couple snickers around the room - mostly just you and Leonardo. The Snatcher title really was being embraced. “For all we know, this could just be a Hamato brother thing. After all, no one outside the family's been proven as being involved. And, well, Leo does have a reputation,” she muttered the last part.

“Wow, biased much?”

“And, well, kind of a similar principle for you, Cassandra. No offense, but this does feel like something you'd do. And I mean, we've seen you professionally steal stuff.”

“That's behind me.” Cassandra huffed.

“And me?” You were dying to know what could've given you away.

“Suspicious behavior.”

“... Suspicious behavior?”

“Suspicious behavior.”

“...” The two of you shared a long moment of questioning eye contact. “... Do I get anymore context beyond that?”

“Sorry. Confidential information.” Donnie answered for her.

You ran through everything you'd said and done in the last week. You couldn't think of anything particularly incriminating. Did she actually know something, or was she bluffing?

Jesus Christ, what is this, Death Note?

When the meeting was dismissed, you and Leo turned to each other, immediately sharing your thoughts.

“I can’t believe she suspects us! I mean, I don’t even know what those batteries are used for!” Leo had a hand to his chest, trying to emphasize just how innocent he was. He didn't have to prove anything to you, you knew exactly who it was. You also knew they weren’t batteries, they were a bunch of cables for a GPS antenna. You knew because you stared at them by your closet every night before going to sleep. They cast weird, overlapping shadows on your wall that looked a bit like a nest of some sort. You had no clue how they were so tangled when Donnie had barely even touched them.

But you didn’t say that. It’d make you look suspicious if you were keeping track.

So instead, you just played along. “I know, right? I mean, I wasn’t even here when Mikey lost his paints.”

Once you were done with your 'can you believe how ridiculous this is' debriefing, the two of you sat there on the couch together. He had an arm over your shoulder, scrolling through memes on his phone. You would joke about them with him whenever he showed you one, but the gears in your brain were turning. You had to get April off your back, and quick. She was onto you, and you had to come up with a plan to fix that, and fast.

Time to pull some strings.

[spishidden]

Rambling about Mutant Mayhem

Overall: AWESOME MOVIE! The animation and art style is to die for. If they release an art book I am preordering that shit asap. I was laughing so much throughout the entire thing. The emotional moments hit too (if yk yk). And the FIGHT SCENES. DAMN. The animators understood the assignment fr.

(Btw, there is a mid-credit scene that is veryyy important for the future of this universe. Don’t miss it.)

Highly recommend giving it a watch. Turtles fan or not

Spoilers under the cut:

LEO MY BOY ILYSM AKSHKSJS

He is so cringefail and lowkey pathetic (rizzless Leo is canon)

But at the end when he pulled through and he got all excited AAAA it was adorable

They comment a lot on how Raph is always angry, but he wasn’t rlly? It was more enthusiasm and aggression, not outright anger. Not a complaint just an observation

This guy can throw hands fr. Don’t mess with this Raph aksjsn

Mikey and Mondo are bestie goals you can pry these two from my cold dead hands

KPOP DONNIE IS REAL KPOP DONNIE IS REAL AKSHSKSH

The boys(tm) aren’t traumatized yet enjoy it while it lasts

These voices are THE SHIT! Perfect cast for the turtles muah!

I have so many positive thoughts about the dialogue +dialogue delivery in this movie it needs its own separate post

I did not expect them to actually get milked. I thought it was a throw-away line but they COMMITTED TO THE BIT. RESPECT.

April is awesome. Just amazing. Took all the best aspects of previous April’s and combined them together. (That throwing up scene was not for me tho no ty)

I also was not expecting attack on titan to be crucial to the plot but here we are

Donnie’s weeb-ness saved the say

If there’s one rule that every reboot of turtles has to follow is that no matter what Splinter always solos. They understood the assignment

About Splinter, I rlly enjoyed his storyline. It’s made rlly clear how much he loves the turtles and how hard he’s trying. But the movie actively called out his behavior without making him a villain. Bravo.

Speaking of villains, Superfly slapped. Mans was intimidating, cool, smart. Rlly liked his and Splinter’s parallel arcs

The mutant crew rlly were just silly guys aksjsjhs

Kinda iffy on the whole ‘they learned ninjitsu through media’ thing.

I hope that in the show they can touch on that. Maybe show that they’re training is incomplete and have them improve their skills with a proper teacher

But yea that didn’t rlly land with me.

I think my only other nitpick is that the other mutants don’t have enough moments to shine. They def make do with the time they have and it works, but I would’ve liked more ( Bebop and Rocksteady specifically)

Splinter making out with a mutant cockroach was not on my 2023 bingo card

I had tons of mixed feelings about that ending. But the mid-credit scene saved it

I think the turtles being “normal” kids has potential to be explored. I’m not against it

They’re still ninjas thank god

I thought when the mask came off they were leaving it behind

BUT NOPE they still kicking ass

That was my only problem with ending pre mid-credit scene

SHREDDER IS REAL SHREDDER IS REAL

FOOT CLAN IS REAL FOOT CLAN IS REAL

Wonder what they’re origins are gonna be aksjsj i crave new content

Does Hamato Yoshi not exist in this universe? Are they hiding him and are gonna do a dramatic reveal?? Questions questions questions

Also, Utrom?? KRANG??

Love the idea of all these mutants living in the same space

In Donnie’s clip, did that look like the purple dragons to anyone or was that just me?

Are we just not gonna mention that the TCRI technically has some mutagen blood from Raph and Donnie? No? Okay

Now lets talk about April and Leo

It’s not explicitly stated to be canon. April going to prom with Leo felt like it was framed to be a casual, just friends thing. And I rlly hope that’s what they were going for.

Do I ship it? No.

I’m glad that Leo and April didn’t rlly end up together. Because it would’ve been super unnecessary and forced. Nothing I got from the narrative or message suggests that a romantic pairing helps the plot. I despise the ‘girl is clearly not interested but ends up with guy anyways’ trope and I’m glad that it kinda wasn’t there?? Again, it wasn’t super clear. But nothing romantic between them was shown at the prom or anywhere else so I’m going to choose to believe it’s not canon.

IF THAT WERE TO CHANGE depends on the upcoming show.

If the show has a well written, healthy, and developed relationship. I’d be all for it.

Just please do not pull a 2012 again. I saw that meet-cute ik what you’re trying to pull writers you better tread carefully.

And speaking of 2012; when you’re gonna introduce Casey Jones (i say when because yes), if you’re going to try the whole April love triangle thing again, at least make it funny. You managed to make rizzless Leo entertaining I’m sure you can do the same here. Just don’t make it as annoying as Capritello was in 2012 learn from your mistakes

Better yet, pull a Spiderverse and subvert expectations by making Casey an absolute bro to Leo. Idk, be creative with it.

That’s everything for now. I’m optimistic for the future of this universe. Looking forward to that show even tho it could be effected by the writer’s strike but I don’t wanna think about that possibility rn please get ur shit together and pay writers and actors what they deserve

I’m gonna go make a Kpop playlist for Donnie. Ask box is open if anyone wants to add on or ramble about the movie. Have a good day!

(Tagging my bestie) @enlighten3d

[kikiiswashere]

Sneak Peek - Children of Zaun - Chapter 20

Katya did not let herself look at the shoreline in front of her, fearing that if she did, her body would lock up in fear at the distance. She waited until her hands dug through mud, rocks, and silt before looking up. A relieved cry exploded from her lungs, and brackish water filled her mouth. She coughed and sputtered as she threw herself onto the shore. With the safety of earth beneath her, Katya’s body finally let the pain of the fall and ache of the sprint register. Her skin, lungs, and limbs burned. Her arms and legs trembled as she tried to clamber across slick rocks.

Behind her, Silco scrambled ashore. His hands slid underneath Katya’s armpits and he hauled her up the bank.

“I got you,” he wheezed. “Come on. We need to get away from the river.”

Katya nearly cried as she lifted to her feet. She staggered after him, her hand squeezed tightly in his. They climbed up the embankment, finally stopping when the rocks grew tall and could hide them from view. The pair flopped to the ground, resting their backs against a boulder as they panted and gasped for air, their ribcages swinging wildly.

“You’re not hurt are you?” Silco finally asked once his lungs no longer burned.

Katya gulped and shook her head. She placed a hand over her heart. It thundered beneath her palm. Both from exertion and panic. “Are you hurt?”

“Hitting the water hurt, but I think I’m okay.”

Katya nodded. After a beat, she unlooped the bag straps from her torso and opened them. Gold glittered up at her, and relief wracked through her soaked frame. At least they had gotten their boon.

“I’m impressed that you were able to swim so quickly weighed down like that,” Silco mused.

Katya sniffed and pushed her dripping bangs off her forehead. Next to her, he had unbuckled and unlaced his boots. He turned them over in his hands and dumped river water onto the sand beneath them. He took his socks off next and wrung them out.

“My parents taught me how to swim when I was little,” she explained between breaths. She glanced sideways at him, thinking of his furious but inefficient paddling. “Do you not know how to swim, Silco?”

Even in the dark, she could see an embarrassed red flush color his cheeks, complimenting the chilled pink tips of his ears.

“I suppose it depends on what you mean by swim,” he grumbled. “I can not drown.”

“How can you not know how to swim?” Katya asked, bypassing his technicalities. “You live in a port city.”

“I live underground,” growled Silco, his brows dropping unamused.

Before Katya could respond, there was a crash of metal, splintering of wood, and roar of fire. They both ducked toward one another, Silco throwing his arms over both of their heads. When nothing happened, they slowly drew apart and peeked over the boulder.

Across the River, the airship had finally crashed into the cliffs of Piltover. A bright, hot orange ball of fire was snagged between a split of rocks, charcoal-black smoke billowing up toward the starry sky. Beneath the sound of screeching metal and screaming flames, the deep, repetitive drones of Piltover’s sirens bled into the air.

“We need to get moving,” Silco whispered.

Katya nodded in agreement as he slipped his socks and shoes back on. They hurriedly squeezed out their hair and clothes the best they could, before slinging the bags of Hexes back around their bodies, and stealing into the night.

----

Chapter 20 going up tomorrow! See you then!!!

[pluralsword]

Femslash February 2023: Resolving Hope

Summary:

Unicron and Functionists vanquished and Cybertronian empire dead, Anode, Lug, Arcee, and Aileron are able to get in contact and of course want to meet… but it's not so easy, at least for Arcee, facing death's door and old pains all over again, knowing that Anode and Lug are facing what has exhausted her. When the four meet, they have some things to talk about and celebrate…

This less than 2000 words story is a tie-in to Addendum, and technically happens after most of the chapters are over, but we wanted to release this now as it's own thing because of wanting to write something hopeful and with closure, and because the next third of Addendum that we're going to write will be difficult for us emotionally, and we want to provide a story on it's own that has the reunion we wish canon had had time for. You can read it here or on Ao3! Text of story below if you want to read it on tumblr:

Metroplex, Earth. December 2018 CE

“I’m scared,” I held Aileron’s hand tightly while staring at Metroplex’s round space bridge ring, every ton of my frame trembling thinking about the graveyard turned home to joyful life on the other side of the shimmering bright blue space bridge portal within the ring. “A world transformed for the better, like here… but with corpses from my time or before…” memories of the photos acquired in recent years ran through my mind, of the fields of dozens of dead Titans from my youth or before that had left me feeling empty and cold to see more confirmed deaths of people I knew. 

Corpses now gone after Infinitus attempted to raise them to wipe out everyone on Cybertron who did not fit his Functionism, desecrator, at least the forces of the Council of Worlds and dear pal Windblade laid them all to rest by fire before Unicron consumed them with my old ‘home’.. . and new life was ignited by the Vector Sigma of- of a monument of defeated genocide still turbulent to rise again-  the green-gray space bridge room and the bridge technician bots around us were out of focus to my sight. Even though we’ve talked over comms when it was all over, knowing that two of the bots I thought corpses are alive and over there…

“Tell me about what you’re feeling, darling,” Aileron stepped in front of me, taking hold of my other hand, her broad rounded chest pressed up on me, big air breathing rocket engine shoulders and back wings still, optics holding my gaze.

“I… I don’t understand how Anode and Lug set up a home on Luna 1… how they could be in orbit of a Cybertron bloated from stolen resources that is still coming to terms with the end of the Functionist regime… the risk to their lives along with those kids they’re raising…” they’re on a moon orbiting Cybertron again, and I’m not there with them to stop them from getting killed because I’d rather be here- “I want to be done with Cybertron for now… I don’t think I’m ready to go over there.” I felt my rage and grief boil in my frame, viscerally remembering the touch and trust of the communities with overlaps of fellow trans folks, gals, and people who cared for us who I had lost to or found traumatized survivors from hegemonic violence of the Cybertronian Civil War, the rise of Functionism, and the Great War after or to organic mechanophobia, and knowing the pains of our splinter universe counterpart survivors who resisted Functionist rule on New Cybertron. 

Crasher won’t speak to me because of what she’s done, Vibes and Shatter are missing, Minerva, Rampage, Phreaker, and Trans-Mutate break down frequently when we visit or they’re alone, Lug’s died once already, and Codexa… my back stacks and hands ached to draw my swords, give up teaching and peacebuilding advisory, to step through the space bridge and wage a personal war against any neo-Functionist in the star system beyond. No- I have to let other people do this fight. My optics stayed on Aileron’s through all of this pressure in me, her yellow optics widening and face falling with sadness.

“You’re really upset, I’ve never seen you like this… but you’ve told me…” Aileron smooched the center of my chest lightly before looking back up at me. “All the hurt over what Cybertron’s done to you, would have done to me and did do to my counterpart from the splinter universe- I know it’s hard to face, I can understand wanting to take that rage out, that it feels like it’s displacing the peace you’ve found in yourself.” she embraced me, smiling so softly and sweetly with brightness in her visage as I murmured at her hands touching the bottom of my back stacks. “I know the love and wisdom in you is very strong, and also frustrated. We don’t have to cross- why don’t you comm them through the bridge and ask them to step through-”

Past Aileron’s dome shaped head, I saw a long beige ankle and brown foot and a shorter gray and red counterpart step through the blue swirl of the active space bridge, the rest of the two bot’s frames coming all the way through-

“Aileron, turn around and follow me-” I beamed as droplets streamed down my cheeks, taking in the sight of lanky and winged green and gray Anode and stout and blocky Lug holding hands, the two’s blue optics quickly looking at Aileron facing them and me in turn, wide grins on their faces-

I stepped around Aileron swiftly, running into the amorously remembered pair with tearful laughter flowing from me, and picked up one in each arm in a tight hug, feeling their arms around me, and smooched Anode and Lug’s cheeks in turn before setting them down, my knees bending a little, leaning on them. 

I cried and howled wordlessly, wheels in my ankles and back stacks whirring at full speed, remembered sensations between holding fragments of Lug’s broken armor pieces and seeing the two’s blood on Luna 2 five centuries ago contrasted with holding the two, seeing them, presently in the glow of their yellow-green and cyan biolights signaling =We love you so much= with dilating luminosity, the two also tearful after placing smooches on my own cheeks. Aileron put an arm around me, and nuzzled next to Lug-

“Oh Arcee…” Anode smiled again, a teeth bared lopsided grin that I knew was her cheeky expression, “are you going to go hit a race track, or are you just that glad to see us while with Aileron? Speaking of wheels, they and this robustness is a good look for you, glad you finally got the bravery and did it, though this is different from your drawings...” she rested her head on my chest, looking up at me. “Very you though.” 

“HAHAHAHAHA!” I stood up and plopped a kiss on her helm while Lug and Aileron chuckled, still pressed up on me. “Oh you, dear, darling Anode…” I patted Lug’s head near my waist before letting my hand fall across the side of her helm to touch her chin. “And sweet, dear Lug… I’ve missed you both so much. I never thought I’d see you again…”

“There were a few times while adventuring with Team Rodimus and co. that we thought we weren’t gonna make it to see you again, but we were glad to hear from Nautica and Whirl that you were doing better last time they saw you,” Lug ran hands up and down my lower back. “Hope we’re not being all too much, I know we broke up but-”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I did this too,” I pulled an arm away from Lug and put it around Aileron’s shoulders, rubbing her right one steadily, spark warm at her warble and chuckle. “Anode, Lug, Aileron, I’m so glad you three could finally meet in person… dearwing Aileron and I bonded over our loss, and distrust of hierarchy while trying to make the best of the agency we had, and we love to sit looking at polities together… I think you’ll all get along really well.”

“Arcee’s told me so much about you two,” Aileron brought her hands around to be between the four of us, with her two palms open towards Anode and Lug. “I have to agree that we’ll get along fabulously.”

Anode and Lug both placed a hand on hers, the three clasping each other together. I think I’m going to melt - the angst in my frame was gone, warmth and excited calm pulsing in every sensor and circuit instead.

“So we going to finally do Conjunx commitment vows, or what? Suppose we have to wait for us all to really get to know each other,” Anode smirked, and we all cackled again.

“In due time, I think, you jokester, you’re right we have to figure out where we all are in relation to each other,” Lug looked up at me. “You two didn’t cross over the bridge sweetspark, we got worried and decided not to wait. Why the hesitation?”

“I had an anxiety attack,” I smiled at my admittance, proud of myself. “I just- the Cybertron we knew was destroyed only a month ago, and I thought that whole tragic chapter was over, and to know it’s there on the other side of that bridge, and having done more harm than we managed to do, and that you two live orbiting it, only a planetary burn away from another post-war mess… It’s just a lot. I have enough to deal with raising a new generation here and advising New Cybertron and Earth both.” 

In my happiness, I put an arm around Anode, and let myself hope: “let’s see how things go. I might need time, and you probably do too, with all the grief we’ve been through together and that I’ve caused, but I want- I want us to figure things out, and know that we can at the very least have a close friendship. I just want you two to be safe and keep in touch, like Aileron and I do. Please? I can’t bear to lose you to violence again…”

“I promise.” Anode and Lug spoke together, and we all hugged quietly for a little while longer.

“Why don’t we get some rust sticks and go sit on one of the outer low towers?” Aileron stepped back, holding my hand and Lug’s, a glimmer in her optics. “Arcee and I found a nice spot to sit with a beautiful panorama of the polity on and around Metroplex, and of the ocean… there’s a herd of blue whales passing by soon, last I heard from our Titan home, and if we have time, introducing you to Marissa Faireborn, Thundercracker, and their dog Buster, and some of our other pals like Windblade, Chromia, Greenlight, and Lancer...”

“That’s a great idea!” Anode exclaimed while Lug and I nodded. Then Anode inclined her head to the side: “What’s a whale?”

[chronic-writes]

Monster Onboard - Chapter 1

Notes: uuuuuh... enjoy, I guess? I'll probably get more used to putting notes as I continue posting

The sapphire waves crashing into the boat, a fine mist blowing away into the salty air. The creaking of the large wooden ship echoing through the lower decks, easing the minds that have heard it far too often. Heavy boots pounding against old and splintered wood, voices shouting, singing, laughing. The captain barking out orders, the large sails unfurling with a single command.

Standing near the bow, I took a deep breath, the cool sea air stinging my nose. My favorite shirt billowed around my arms, cinched around my small waist and tucked underneath my black leather pants. The brown boots I wore barely reached my knees, keeping my chestnut colored legs insulated from the biting salt. My short brown hair attempted to stab my seafoam eyes, but I didn’t mind.

This is my life, and it always will be.

“Oi! Mira!” A thick aussie voice called to me from behind. I carefully turned to see Archer standing next to the foremast, his burly, hairy arms crossed against his large chest. His red velvet vest shimmered in the noontime sun, and his thick waist was adorned with a golden yellow sash that hid his sword’s sheath. Archer wore the same black leather pants and brown boots that I did, albeit several sizes larger in order to fit him. His white undershirt was yellowed from being worn so often, and its long sleeves were rolled up, exposing his tanned skin. His square face was framed with a heavy stubble, and his short hair was hidden by a yellow bandana that matched his sash. Hung around Archer’s neck was his locket; a small circular pendant that fell into the middle of his collarbone. His sharp carob eyes squinted against the blinding light of the sun, causing his face to look slightly unpleasant.

“You planning on standing up there all day, girl?!” Archer laughed, his mouth twisting into a golden and pearly smile.

“Sorry, Archer!” I called back as I jumped down from the base of the bow to the wooden deck, the old wood molding from the water that found its way aboard. "The deck's gonna have to be replaced soon." I told Archer, staring down at the muddy green, bubbly substance that was eating away at the floor as I walked over to him.

"Aye." Archer sighed, resting his left arm upon the hilt of his sword, placing his right on his hip. "Good thing we're only a few days away from gettin' back to the mainland." He smiled as I came up beside him. I was one of the shortest members of the crew, and standing next to Archer helped me remember that. I barely reached his bulky shoulders, and I practically had to crane my neck just to look him in the eye.

Just then, the door to the captain’s quarters creaked open on its rusty old hinges, and out stepped Captain Bastian, a somewhat sour expression plastered on his scarred face. He wore the same kind of vest as Archer, as it was the technical uniform of our ship, The Red Crow. A black leather coat was draped across the captain’s broad shoulders, and his wide boots clacked against the deteriorating wood as he strided up to Archer. Captain Bastian was one of the most intimidating men I had ever seen, but granted, I hadn’t met many people other than the crew of the ship. He had lost sight in his left eye after it was apparently cut by a rival pirate’s sword, and instead of hiding it behind an eyepatch, he flaunted his scar proudly.

“Archer. Mira.” Captain Bastian greeted us stoically, hands folded behind his back. His gravelly Irish voice was so deep that it seemed to shake the sky, and it always brought me a bit of calm. “I need to talk to you in my quarters, Archer. Need your help plannin’ our next course.”

“Of course, Cap’n.” Archer nodded, and Captain Bastian turned on his heel to walk back to his quarters. Archer turned to me before he left. “Tonight, singin’ an’ dancin’ to celebrate!”

“Celebrate what?” I asked, though I knew the answer already.

“Why, your 15th birthday, of course!” He scooped me up and hugged me tight, spinning me around as I laughed.

“Archer!” Captain Bastian called unhurriedly.

“Comin’!” Archer shouted back, placing me on the floor. He winked at me and followed the captain into his quarters.

I knew their talks were supposed to be private, only to be heard between captain and first mate, but I always wanted to know where we were going. So I made a habit of grabbing a spare rope and rappelling down the side of the ship to where Captain Bastian’s window was, which he kept open most of the time. I would stay above it and listen in.

I decided to do it once again, but the window was closed. I shimmied my way over to be beside the window, hoping to hear at least something.

"Captain, we can't go there!" I heard Archer plead. "The ship needs repairs and the food is running low."

"The Red Crow can take it, she's handled worse." The captain answered calmly. "Besides, it's only about a day's journey."

"Captain, it's a suicide mission. Nothing on The Titan’s Isle is worth going there.” Archer argued, his voice followed by a thud, most likely his fist hitting the captain’s desk.

The Titan’s Isle? I asked myself. For fourteen years I’ve looked over every inch of the map, and I’ve never seen an island called The Titan’s Isle…

“Nothing…” The captain continued, “except for this.” A soft thunk landed on the wood, followed by a quiet click. I heard Archer let out a small gasp.

“Captain!” Archer yelled angrily, nearly making me let go of the rope. “We both know that no ship has ever survived one of those! What in sea salt’s name makes you think this will be any different?!”

“Archer Beckett!” The captain shouted, making the air itself stand still. “This is our only chance…” He continued softly.

“Our only chance for what, captain?” Archer asked.

“If we don’t do this,” the captain explained quietly, “we might not have enough to pay for repairs.”

A long silence followed.

Not enough for repairs? I thought. What are we doing for more money? And what the heck is The Titan’s Isle? 

Archer sighed. “All right. But if I die to some bloody sea monster I’m gonna haunt ya ‘till the end of your days.”

“Nobody’s dying on my watch.” Captain Bastian replied calmly. At that, there was a series of footsteps, followed by the telltale creak of the captain’s door. I scrambled back up the rope and managed to plant myself on the stairs to the quarterdeck before Archer noticed me. He looked worried, and Captain Bastian gave him a pat on the shoulder before calling to the quarterdeck.

“Mary Jane!” He yelled towards the helmswoman, Mary Jane Crawford, who was gripping the handles of the wheel with weathered, feathery hands. There were plenty of humanoids on The Red Crow, but Mary Jane was the only aarakocra on board. Two soft ebony wings protruded from her shoulder blades, two careful holes cut into her vest in order to not obstruct them. Her round face was covered in the same type of feathers as her wings, and both were sprinkled with daisy white feathers. The back of Mary Jane’s head and neck exploded with bright yellow feathers, and a long, sharp beak extended from her face. A somewhat short tail spread outward from the back of her pelvis, shaking in the salty wind. Her taloned feet clawed and scratched at the soft wood, leaving deep grooves behind the wheel.

“Aye, cap’n!” Mary Jane shouted back with her enigmatic cockney accent.

“Set a course for north north east!” The captain ordered.

“Any specific destination, cap’n?” Mary Jane asked, turning the wheel.

“I’ll tell ya when we get close, Mary Jane!” Captain Bastian smiled as the ship below us tilted and swayed with the turn of the rudder and the force of the waves. Archer crossed his arms, a worried expression still plastered on his face. I walked over to him with what I hope looked like innocence.

“What’s going on, Archer?” I asked, trying my best to sound oblivious and praying that my eye didn’t twitch with my nervousness.

“Nothing you should have to worry about right now, Mira.” Archer reassured me, tousling my hair. As I shoved his hand off, he continued. “For now, we ‘oughta start preparin’!”

Thank you for reading this!

This has been one of my passion projects for a long while now, and I'm happy to finally post it somewhere, even if it doesn't get a lot of attention.

Chapter 2 is still in the works, and it might be a while until I post again.

Until then, please make sure to like and/or reblog so that maybe more people can enjoy my work!

[demokratieundfreiheit]

The false promise of liberal centrism: Part 1

European democracies are more prone to letting Nazis win.* ** ***

*: European democracies: liberal, parliamentary democracies with at least 3 competitive parties, a range of smaller parties with representation, and coalition governments as a norm.

**: Nazis: political forces to the cultural and social far right of the countries' respective political centres.

***: win: highly disputable. I will mostly be discussing this disputed point.

It is fundamental in a democracy to have options. European democracies are, in my opinion, the most authentic, natural and authentic model of multi-party democracy. Their nasty tendency to elect, and in general, give a more amplified voice to Nazis, is unfortunate, but increasingly visible and provable.

/side note/: Americans a few hours ago saw an unabashed fascist make his case to become their Vice President. He has roughly 45% odds of winning that office at the time of writing, which are better than any European far-right parties' of forming a government in their respective countries. This fact may mitigate my claim; however, technically, JD Vance is not to the far right of the American political centre, compared to someone like Nigel Farage, who is to the far right of the average Briton. Therefore, my claim already does not stand up to scrutiny in the absolute sense; but that is not where I want to frame it. In any case, Vance is no Trump, and Americans are voting to elect the latter, not the former.

My claim is based on the framing that "winning" for Nazis, and from the perspective of most media reporting on European elections, is to win a plurality of votes. Not a governing majority, but a plurality, which hands them the largest number of seats of any parties in the legislative chamber. I seek to show how European democracies tend to allow Nazis to "win" that plurality. I seek to prove:

That voters are binomially distributed on any given ideological axis.

That ruling political parties congregate in the centre.

That the far right is less splintered than the far left.

On point 1: Proving the binomial distribution means proving two characterisations:

a. That most voters are centrist, and the further from the centre, the fewer the voters.

b. That both extremes have the same number of voters.

It is by default that centrism encompasses the majority of voters; after all, voters define where centrism is in absolute terms. What is more worth examining is the distribution.

Extremists are radicalised by their respective dissatisfaction with the status quo. Where they are radicalised towards is a product of their identity. Left-wing radicals are those who are too significantly oppressed, but are still afforded some political power within their space of non-oppression. Right-wing radicals are those who are gradually losing political power.

European democracies move in such a way that political power is gradually, but constantly, being shifted from the privileged to the oppressed; i.e., from the right to the left. Up to a point where there exists no more oppressed classes, or the flow of power is abruptly disfigured, this delicate balance will stand. Left-wing radicality diminishes as more power is transferred to them, but at the same time grows as more oppressed groups are introduced in the political fold. Right-wing radicality diminishes as the radical group loses its surplus power, but grows as other privileged groups are affected.

As power is exchanged between the privileged and the oppressed through a social structure, a gain for the left is a loss for the right, and vice versa. The emergence of left-wing radicals demanding more power is met with right-wing reactionaries demanding to keep their power. This cycle, fuelled by the centrist establishment, maintains a balance between the two extremes.

//to be continued//

[senkothewarlock]

DWC #4

@daily-writing-challenge

Day 4: Vengeance & Satisfaction

Day had broken, and the two lovebirds had been hurried out of the city. The long walk back to camp had begun. The winding stone stairs that led out of Valdrakken went on and on, the warmth of the morning sun began to pierce past the stone spires and illuminated the path forward. Urbanisation gave way to the rural fields and grasslands. Safely out of the city limits, Senko ran a thumb over a purple crystal in her many pouches. A green rift broke through reality, spewing forth a twitchy imp.

“HI FRENS.” The imp shouted, as loud as a direhorn in a pottery store.

“Hello, Pippy.” Senko said, giving the little creature a pat on the head before handing him some bags to carry. “Would you mind helping out?”

The imp, immediately, took the bags and shoved his head into them. The imp was more cat than fiend in more than one way. His spindly tail swept cross the dusted roads before picking the bags up and helping to carry them along. The two vixens held hands as they walked across country. The stones had given way to dirt paths, crudely made from foot traffic of the centaurs and drakonids. As they crossed into the Ohn’ahran Plains once more, they stopped by a small pond for a midday rest.

A serene body of water, tucked away behind blades of grass was the perfect spot for some respite. As the two sat down, Senko took her fiancée into an embrace by the water’s edge. The peaceful moment broke when Oonee asked a question.

“That story Vedda told last night… Do you remember much of it, darling?” She asked, her eyes looking up past the wooden frame of her mask.

“Bits and pieces. A fanciful myth, to be sure.” Senko mused, rubbing Oonee’s shoulder as she gazed across the pond.

“Do you think he knows?” Oonee asked back.

“Probably. I spoke to him years ago about the things I did in Vol’dun, but I don’t think he ever learnt the extent of it. Few do.” Senko replied, watching as Piprot placed down the bags by her feet before splashing in the water.

“Has anyone ever tried to-… you know?” Oonee asked, lifting her mask up which splayed her ears.

“Once. A frost troll. Didn’t end well for him. I suspect most people feel that the bounty isn’t eligible for cash-ins anymore.” She stated, idly throwing a pebble across the tort water surface. “You have nothing to worry about, my dear. They won’t even lay a finger on you.”

Oonee’s quietness broke with a quiet giggle. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I don’t want to be a widow.” She said, her joke belying a fear.

“I always come back, my love. There is no need to worry.” Senko affirmed, plucking a wild flower and placed it behind one of Oonee’s ears.

A few minutes pass before the two rose back to their feet, having rested up. Piprot frowned as he swam back to shore and frowned even harder when he was told he couldn’t bring the duck home with him. He placed it back in the water, the solemn ‘quack’ that broke the imp’s heart before he picked up the bags and went off on his merry little way once more.

 “So, what happened to the troll anyways? I don’t think you ever spoke about them.” Oonee asked, canting her head. “Then again, you do like your secrets.” She mused, giving a playful nudge into Senko’s ribs.

“Well, he didn’t last too long in a fight. I let him go, I’ve no beef with them.”

FIVE YEARS AGO, VOL’DUN

The table shook with anger as Ts’kon’s fist slammed into the crudely crafted drywood. Two years had past since his pact with the Fangcaller and he was still no closer to the imperial throne. He plucked a splinter from his hand before snarling and hissing in both parts rage and pain.

“How!” He yelled to himself. “How could one rat-“

“Technically, dey be more like foxes.” A voice interrupted the Viceroy.

“I don’t care what they are! Thisss Drakkari wass perfect for the job, and he got he got humiliated!”

The dark halls of the burrows continued to fall into disrepair. With each outburst of emotion, dust and plaster fell from the roof. The contingent of guards had slowly dissipated over the years to just a few handfuls of foot soldiers. Lousy ones at that too, they spent their time drinking and gambling. Loitering in the corridors.

“I am beginning to think you’re just here to ssssee me ssssquirm, Tuk’rakthul. You’ve done nothing to help the caussssse for agessss! I ssshould ssstick you where you ssssta-“

The Viceroy was cut off by a booming, ethereal laugh. The Zandalari was raucous, hand on stomach as his laughter drowned out the Sethrak’s complaints before ceasing. His misty, old eyes shot down at the serpent.

“If you be trying ta kill me through laughter, you might have succeeded, snake.” Tuk’rakthul replied, placing a firm grasp onto the viceroy’s shoulder. “Do you tink I be afraid of you?”

Ts’kon tried to speak, his words stuttered as he felt the sheer weight press onto his lithe frame.

“I be wantin’ a… resolution to dis problem too, but perhaps bounty hunters be not de right play.” He spoke, his hand still clamped like a vice on the Sethrak.

“Then what do you ssssuggessst?” Ts’kon hissed back, wrenching himself free of the troll’s grasp. “Enlighten me.” He furthered, forked tongue laced with cynicism.

“De bounty hunters be too-… flaky. Dey are motivated by greed, not cause. Your ‘empire’ is a joke, Viceroy. We all know it. Which is why you need to look inwardly.” Tuk’rakthul said, the demoniac dusting his hand on the sea-blue robes.

At first, Viceroy Ts’kon was enraged at having his nation besmirched. But he knew it was the truth. Everything the Zandalari had said was true over the course of two years. He thought, by now, the professor of the dark arts would have made a slip. Yet he didn’t. He was consistent. Infuriatingly so.

“Muster ya forces, Viceroy. Dis be a matter only you snakemen can deal with. I will deal with the Fangcaller, make her see tings from our point o’ view.” The troll said, walking out of the room. He paused, turning over his shoulder. “And Ts’kon? That dagger you be hiding, it is too blunt to pierce the skin of a troll. Try harder, next time.”

 As the Zandalari walked out of the room, the Viceroy gasped in shock. He dropped a crude knife to the floor that cluttered and clanged. His every move, his every impulse – even the unchoreographed, was known. Just who was this troll?

[bespokeplaygrounde]

Facts On Bespoke Garden Play Equipment

In the realm of outdoor fun and physical development, playground equipment manufacturers stand as the pillars of creativity and quality. These manufacturers are not just businesses; they are customer-oriented organizations striving relentlessly to ensure the absolute satisfaction of their clientele. Their commitment extends beyond mere product delivery, encapsulating affordable pricing, timely delivery, and the establishment of enduring relationships with clientele. These playground equipment manufacturers boast a wealth of experience in the design and installation of outdoor playground equipment for schools, nurseries, holiday camps, public houses, or community play areas. The hallmark of operations lies in stringent quality checks, ensuring that each product meets the highest standards before it reaches the hands of eager children. The technical staff, meticulously trained by these manufacturers, operates within a well-managed system that prioritizes accident-free industrial practices. In their pursuit of excellence, playground equipment manufacturers recognize the importance of engaging with various stakeholders, including parents, children, and professionals such as park staff and teachers. Collaborative efforts often extend to fundraising activities and assistance with site preparation and installation chores, resulting in more successful playgrounds, reduced vandalism, and a decline in taxpayer complaints.

The products and services offered by these manufacturers are not just recreational; they are carefully designed developmental interventions that align with the specific ages and stages of a child's growth. Modern playground equipment is a far cry from the past, with molded plastic replacing traditional wood to eliminate the risk of splinters. The emphasis on safety extends beyond the playground itself, with national regulations dictating surface materials, spacing of bars on equipment, and other critical factors—all overseen by the diligent efforts of playground equipment manufacturers. Parents can take solace in the fact that these manufacturers prioritize safety features in designs. However, the role extends beyond producing safe equipment. Parents are encouraged to actively guide their children through the playground, imparting knowledge about age-appropriate activities and safe interaction with various equipment. Diversity is the key in the world of playground equipment manufacturers. They supply everything from low-level adventure trails to towering play systems, swings, roundabouts, seesaws, play panels, seats, tables, shelters, and more.

Some manufacturers go beyond tradition offerings, providing fitness trim trails, playground safety surfacing, wooden climbing frames, outdoor classrooms, and playhouses. This comprehensive approach ensures that there's something for every play area, catering to all ages and abilities, including those with special needs. The playground equipment manufacturers are not just suppliers; they are total recreation solution providers. Their commitment to delivering adequate value for money, technologically advanced equipment, and a standard of quality and reliability sets them apart in the industry. Working in partnership with various organizations, these manufacturers contribute significantly to the enhancement of outdoor spaces, promoting physical activity, and fostering a sense of community and well-being. In the world of playground equipment, price may be what you pay, but the lasting value is what you get—an enduring legacy crafted by the dedicated playground equipment manufacturers.

[plagueprince]

Gallows:

[ crota ] - what is your muse’s greatest failure? Gallows, on the surface, believes that he should have gotten what he deserved. Death wasn’t what he deserved, no, but what Corvus had. Attention, praise, love. He thought that if he let the Darkness in, then he could do better. Rise higher than Corvus. Bring back what was taken from him. Of course, it all failed spectacularly. He only hurt the people he so desperately wanted approval from. He failed himself, his Ghost, and Corvus, all by just demanding more than he had. Gallows just wanted more. He always wanted more. More attention. More love. More strength. More power.

[ nezarec ] - what plagues your muse's nightmares? Ice. It is cold and frigid in Gallows’ head. He is forever on Europa. The claw marks that rip the glaciers apart mirror the ones that peel the metal on his face. He walks endlessly, his boots becoming heavier and heavier with frost until he can’t move any more. Standing there, trapped in forever, he looks to the slow white sky and sees the one thing he was moving towards. The edge of a dark horizon, forever swallowing the light.

[ aksis ] - what corrupts your muse, physically or metaphorically? Physically, Stasis, if you want to get technical. Corvus has an injury from when a Stasis shard was embedded and exploded in his chest, an unhealable Darkness scar. He permanently feels cold to the touch because of this. Mentally, guilt. There's so many things he could've done or changed or fixed… but he lives with it. He doesn't let it consume him, per say, but there's reminders. Cold air on the back of his neck. A hand always resting on his knife’s sheath. Looking twice when he thinks he sees a familiar face. Constant flickers in his memory, telling him that nothing will be the same.

Corvus:

[ argos ] - what does your muse use as a shield? anger? agreeability? something else? Violence. It's what Corvus was made to do. His claws, his teeth, his speed and accuracy — all things he was built with, and all things he uses to hide the fact that he is scared to be like everyone else. He doesn't want to feel like people should, he wants to hunt as a Hunter should. But sometimes he hesitates. Sometimes he sees the fear in their eyes before it ends. Sometimes he doesn't pull the trigger.

[ nezarec ] - what plagues your muse's nightmares? Corvus doesn’t sleep, at least not often. His “sleep” is more so a meditative state. He can never fully turn his senses off, so a lot of things still filter through and bother him. If he were to sleep properly, it would not be restful. His nightmares would be so vivid due to his near-perfect memory that he would be afraid to sleep, wanting to avoid reliving bad experiences.

[ riven ] - if your muse could wish for anything, would they? what would it be? what would the consequence of wishing for it be? Corvus would wish to be harmless. He would think it would just change him physically — reform his body to an Exo standard, maybe. This would fall apart fairly quickly, though. His frame would change, yes, but painfully so, his plating warping and breaking to reshape itself into what he thought he wanted. He would then watch as Snipe stuttered in the air, his iris flickering and going dark. The light would be sapped from him as Snipe fell, crashing and splintering into a thousand pieces, like a glass toppled from a countertop. Afterwards he’d be permanently too weak to throw a punch or to hold a gun, and too scared to even try. It’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To be harmless.

Raid Boss OC Development Questions

Questions for OCs centred around the primary bosses of each raid!

[ atheon ] - if your muse could change anything in their past, what would they change? would they change anything?

[ crota ] - what is your muse's greatest failure?

[ oryx ] - who matters most in your muse's life? does your muse let them know that?

[ aksis ] - what corrupts your muse, physically or metaphorically?

[ calus ] - is your muse a good leader?

[ argos ] - what does your muse use as a shield? anger? agreeability? something else?

[ gahlran ] - what was the first major conflict or event in your muse's life that still sticks with them?

[ val ca'uor ] - when is a moment that your muse has rebelled, whether it be for small reasons, or against something greater?

[ riven ] - if your muse could wish for anything, would they? what would it be? what would the consequence of wishing for it be?

[ insurrection prime ] - does your muse spend much time in the last city?

[ sanctified mind ] - what flower represents your muse best?

[ taniks ] - what is your muse's legacy? what will people remember them for? what do they want to be remembered for?

[ rhulk ] - what, or who, would your muse devote themself to unquestioningly? would they die for that cause, or is there nothing?

[ nezarec ] - what plagues your muse's nightmares?

[ the witness ] - what is one of your muse's main driving forces or beliefs? would anything shatter that belief?