#the premise was SO PROMISING

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[isjasz]

Part 1- The Orphanage

IT BEGINS WOOOOOOOO this was meant to inform ppl of the lore in tpn for the sake of the au then it got out of hand helpme

Designs | Part 1 | Part 2 (End)

[kittykatninja321]

Preview from Death in the Family, Robin Lives

[eashgirl]

One detail I find weirdly bittersweet is how both Orion and D-16 were curious young bots who wanted to learn more about their world. It's more obvious with Orion, who wanted to sneak into the archives to learn about Cybertronian history. I think it's mentioned in the novel that Orion would often ramble about Cybertronian history so much that D-16 would act disinterested, which surprised Orion since he couldn't understand how anyone could not be fascinated by it.

Yet, Dee was always interested in his own way. In the storyboards, his dream was to lead an expedition off Cybertron to explore uncharted worlds and locations for Cybertron’s progress. That boy was just as curious and eager to learn—both of them shared the same curiosity and thirst for knowledge, just channeled differently,he never even wanted to become something even remotely close to a soldier,he never wanted to pick up a gun at all and that makes me so sad.

This fits so well within the narrative sense of how they started with the same goal in mind—bringing down Sentinel and rebuilding society with the power Alpha Trion entrusted to all four of them. Yet, the paths they took to achieve that goal were starkly different. Orion saw how broken the system was under Sentinel and sought to create a better system. D-16, on the other hand, wanted to kill Sentinel, destroy everything he built, and rebuild from the ashes.

To think that, in a better world, their initial dreams could have actually been realized... it's just so sad. I need someone to write an AU where Dee gets to lead that expedition he always wanted and Orion to get that opportunity to learn about Cybertronian history,maybe in a world where Sentinel never succeeded in killing the Primes by a deux ex machina they survived so the two of them were able to grow up and live normal fulfilling lives 🥹.

Also I think it was also mentioned in another storyboard that Elita's dream was always to become a soldier imagine in this perfect scenario she gets to enlist in the High Guard or something like that,since they were the army of Cybertron before Sentinel took over, (although honestly I feel like she'd still try and overwork herself either way, she's still very much a perfectionist)

I wonder what B-127's dream was I don't believe it was ever mentioned,he did say he wanted to work for the government but I'm not sure of an exact profession for him.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

ORV is about enduring the horrors in real time.

(for @everyonesfavoritebastard)

[treeprince]

decided to watch dandadan today

moodboard of my emotions so far

[projectiondepartment]

had the immense privilege of seeing david cronenberg's new film at a festival and wanted to write about its narrative logic of grief (spoilers if you squint, but not really at all)

[jilyandbambi]

so a Yellowjackets AU where mari says something to get herself kicked out of the cabin, and she dies of exposure and gets eaten at the bachanalian banquet instead of Jackie, who LIVES, who's there at Shauna's side when she goes into labor, stroking her hair and letting Shauna squeeze her hand hard enough to sprain her fingers, who keeps Shauna calm enough she has a (comparatively!!!!!!) easier delivery, who is the reason the(ir) baby lives.

who finally, after months of feeling adrift and useless because she’s not a hunter or a butcher or a prophet or a captain (anymore) finds her purpose in the wilderness. who painstaking sews patchwork baby onesies and cloth diapers from the girls' spare clothes (Offerings, not donations). who makes a baby sling from animal pelts and backpack straps. who makes a rattle from sticks and pinecones and some light blue pebbles Jackie found by the lake one day and saved. who makes sure the cabin stays warm and clean for Luke Dylan (from 90210--they couldn't decide whether to go with the actor or the character).

who builds them another shelter from blankets and animal hides after the cabin burns down. who keeps shauna and their baby warm through that first terrible winter and the one that followed.

and one day in 1998, Canadian forest rangers happen upon that American high school soccer team that went missing 2 years back. they find a group of starving teens and a baby, a little over a year old, two of the girls wrapped around him--and each other

and when the rescue team tries to separate them the one with tangled, golden brown hair bears her teeth and Growls

[grimmseye]

Man. I really can't read any fic where Arthur gets his sight back. It's just too weird.

[faultside-tap]

((Just oneeee more prescripted post and then this blog actually lives up to its genre and starts reacting to messages I promise. I juuust had to actually like. Show you the ACTUAL main character of the blog and then next comic I actually explain a little about what's going ON to get you started!

ALSO MY GIRL IS HEREEEE MY CURRENT BLORBO ASIDE FROM SHINY GLITZ :}))

[medicangels]

i love them your honour

[mustardyellowsunshine]

Does it seem to anyone else like a lot of contemporary writers just don't trust the intelligence of their readers?? Because like. I've recently read three popular novels ("had to wait four months for my library hold to be fulfilled" kind of popular) by three different writers in three different genres, and every single one of them bread-crumbed conflict which they then instantly resolved. No space for the conflict to build and breathe, no space for it to accomplish anything in the story, no space for character growth or relationship development to occur in response to it.... just, hey, here's a conflict I laid some groundwork for, annnnnnd solved!!! In only three pages, baby!! Whoo! No need to fret! No need to sit with any discomfort!! It's already over!!!

Like. I'm sorry. I thought we were all here to watch a story unfold?? Not to be spoon fed mashed bananas like an itty bitty wittle baby? I don't understand the point of even introducing conflict that gets resolved within three pages. And that is not an exaggeration. In one of these novels, a potentially relationship-breaking interpersonal conflict happened between two main characters, and then literally three pages later it was all fixed. As if it hadn't happened at all. And it was never discussed again. WHAT IS THE POINT OF THAT???

To me this feels like writers not trusting me to stick with the story through discomfort, y'know? Like they think the second anything hard or worrying happens in the story, I'll bail immediately. Like they think I need to be constantly reassured that everything is going to be fine, like they're calming a fussing baby. As if I'm not here to enjoy a story unfolding.

I do not need to have food regurgitated into my mouth, actually. I am fully capable of chewing on the meat of the story. Just let the conflict actually matter. Let the characters feel and struggle with and respond to it. Stop treating me like I'm too stupid and fragile to engage with a real story.

[isjasz]

The Promised Neverland manga spoilers!

[Day 201]

Everyone blame cherrysherin2 (go check out this art that made me absolutely lose it) I take no responsibility

[puppppppppy]

Been LOVING your lil magician folks recently please continue they're beautiful and very cute and cool and also very well-designed!! 🥺❤️

thank you for the kind words !!! im not much of a writer, but i do have some sort of story in mind for them.. theyre bitter rivals who end up as roommates bc of their scatterbrained elderly landlord lol

[tennessoui]

more hunger games au anyone?

(first snippet) (1.6k) (dark. hunger games. canon typical violence for both sw and thg) The cannon rings out over the arena. It’s a sound Anakin has heard so many times before that he hardly even registers it now.

The Anakin on the television screen does not recognize the sound either nor does he seem to understand what it means. From an outsider’s perspective, he looks wild, eyes flashing, nostrils flared from his heavy breathing as he stabs the hunting knife again and again into the chest of the tribute from District Two, long past the time he has died. 

So long in fact, that even members of the Capitol audience turn away during this replay, looking vaguely sick. 

Anakin watches though. Anakin knows what’s coming. 

Anakin had not lost his mind at all, but from an outsider’s perspective, he can see how this must have looked as though he had. 

But everything had been calculated. Every stab had been with intent. Anakin had been in control the entire time.

He wonders if that would make the citizens of the Capitol more scared of him, if they knew that. If they knew how in control Anakin was then and is now. 

On the screen, a girl screams for the fallen Tribute. Anakin makes sure to deaden his eyes, to straighten his posture, to flinch at the noise. 

On the screen, the girl reaches out to clasp at Anakin’s shoulder. She probably thought she could out-manipulate him. She probably thought he would never kill her outright. After all, his entire strategy had been to convince everyone he was hopelessly in love with her. He couldn’t just kill her after weeks of loving her. Hell, maybe she even bought his act. Maybe she thought he really loved her. 

She should have just stabbed him in the back.

On the stage, the couch, Anakin watches as the girl’s hand falls onto his shoulder. He watches as the Anakin in the Games turns around and stabs her in the throat. 

The hunting knife goes clean through. She is dead in seconds. 

The audience sobs as one. There are screams, though this is just a rerun. Anakin wonders about their reactions during the live showing. Did they faint? Did they care? Did they care so much they thought they would die? Was he a tragic character? Was he a villain? 

After all, they just watched him kill the love of his life.

Obviously, he had not meant to. Anakin on the screen recoils in horror. He pulls out the knife and watchs his fellow district 4 tribute drop to the ground.

Dead. 

The cannon goes off at the same time he begins to scream, eyes wide and mouth wider, bloody hands scrabbling useless at her open throat. He is still screaming, dry sobs leaving his parted lips as he tries to repair what can never be fixed.

Anakin on the victor’s couch watches his breakdown dispassionately. He should have cried, he decides. And right as he puts his face down to muzzle into her hair, the cameras pick up a hint of a smile.

Amateurish.

“Anakin,” the host says, as the screen fades to black. His tone is commiserating, sympathetic, pitying. He leans across the space between his seat and Anakin’s couch and puts a hand on his knee. Anakin does not have to pretend to flinch away. He is sick of people touching him. There is only one person in the entire world he wants touching him right now, and that man is in the audience watching. 

Anakin wonders suddenly if Obi-Wan had screamed when he watched him kill the girl. If he had cried out. If he had been relieved.

Anakin had been relieved, but he makes sure to hide that relief now. 

“Anakin,” the host says again. “I am so very sorry that I had to show that to you.”

Anakin turns his head away. He clenches and unclenches his jaw. He makes fists with his hands and then uncurls his fingers. “You watch it,” he says. “I have to live with it.”

The audience makes appropriate noises of sympathy. There are a few jeers, some boos. The girl from his district had been some people’s favorites to win. He knows this now. 

He bites back the urge to call them all idiots. Every last one of them who thought she could win. She never could have. Not when Anakin was there. Not when Obi-Wan told him shakily, that last night before the arena, lips pressed to his forehead and face wet: come home to me.

“What was going through your mind, Anakin?” The host asks, still in that same sympathetic tone. “You’d just killed your sixteenth tribute. It was just you and Robin remaining as soon as Diamond died. We were all so worried for the pair of you, weren’t we?”

He turns to the audience and the audience screams back. Anakin sits there. Anakin thinks. 

“I know more than a few of us were hoping the Gamemakers would create a rule change, just for the two of you. What I would have given, to see you and your beloved go home together.” The host shakes his head, hand on his chest. His eyes remind Anakin of the sea predators he pulled from the ocean in his district. He has shark eyes.

Anakin has killed and gutted a hundred sharks. Anakin is still in control.

What the host does not know is that he will go home with his beloved. And no one in the Capitol will ever bother them again.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Anakin says emotionlessly. “It was instinct. It—”

He swallows and shifts on the couch. From the pocket of his pants, he pulls out a thin slip of paper. It’s dotted in blood. It had come to him in a silver parachute, folded neatly within a thick blanket: his only gift from his mentor.

ROBIN. is all it says. 

But it’s in Obi-Wan’s handwriting. And Anakin knows what it means. He’d pulled it out countless times during his days in the arena, rubbing his thumb over the ink. To an outsider, it must have looked like he was worrying over the girl’s name, a token of his affections, visible proof of who he was thinking about at night when he stared out into the manufactured desert instead of sleeping.

Only he and Obi-Wan knew who he was really thinking of. Only Obi-Wan knew he would forget the girl’s name without a concrete reminder in his hands.

He runs his thumb over the word in Obi-Wan’s handwriting once more. He must get this right. They are so close to being able to live forever happily undisturbed. He just needs to lie for another few hours. Then he will get his reward.

“It changes you, the arena,” he says quietly. “I felt…entirely like a different person. And I was always on my guard. I had no allies—” he had killed all his allies— “and I was alone. I cared only for one thing. One person.” This isn’t a lie. “And then—it’s so hard to keep count. When—” he glances down at the paper in his hand. “Robin touched me, I thought I had counted wrong. That there was another tribute, not her and not me. It was…instinct. I thought I was eliminating a threat.”

“I am so sorry,” the host says with his cold, dead eyes. “I cannot imagine killing the love of your life.” Neither can Anakin, of course. He’d chew off his own arm before he hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi. Instead of saying this, he looks down. He needs to cry, but the tears won’t come.

“It feels like it was someone else,” he mutters. The microphone attached to him will pick it up. “Someone else’s hands.” “But they were yours,” the host presses against the perceived bruise in what Anakin can only describe as restrained glee. “They were your hands.”

“Yes,” Anakin agrees. He looks out into the audience. He cannot see Obi-Wan, but he knows the man is there. He had been the first to hug him once he exited the arena. He had hardly been more than five steps away from him since then.

He keeps shooting Anakin looks, as if afraid that he will suddenly collapse into tears and shatter apart. After all, he just killed seventeen people in the span of one week. Obi-Wan had made it through his games with only three kills under his belt, and each one haunted him to this day.

But Anakin is fine. Anakin won. Anakin was back. Anakin had Obi-Wan, and so Anakin is fine. 

His hands start to shake when he thinks about losing Obi-Wan, and tears of fury gather in the corners of his eyes. He would burn the world down if they were to try and take Obi-Wan away from him. Seventeen people would be nothing.

“And what do you have to say to the people who think you planned to always kill Robin?” the host asks. “That you never wanted her to win the Games?”

Anakin shakes his head and then rubs at his eyes, brushing the tears away. “I loved her,” he lies. His thumb rubs over Obi-Wan’s handwriting once more, the swoop of the ‘o’, the slant of the ‘b’. “When you love someone the way I loved her, you’d do anything for them. It makes you crazy. To love like that. You’d do anything for them.”

“Are you saying you thought that you would die in the arena so she could live?” the host prompts, hands folded neatly into his lap.

Anakin shakes his head and then nods. And then he shakes his head again. The host takes pity on him. “Now that you’ve won your Games, Anakin, what will you do?”

Anakin’s thumb swipes once more over the writing on the paper. “I just want to go home,” he says. And this time, it’s the truth. 

[mariinqueerland]

Last night I watched all four eps of Top Form and I. LOVE. IT. SO. MUCH.

The honey scene was just the cherry on top of a very delicious sundae goodness, honestly.

Also, it reminds me so much of Haru Wo Daite Ita (I guess that was the name), from back in the days I read and watched a lot of yaoi. It was my favourite.