#its worse when its the type of art block where | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Premium Tumblr themes are available from anywhere between $9 to $49.

#its worse when its the type of art block where

batshaped · 10 months

Text

twitter stop fucking up for one second challenge (impossible)

well,

here’s the thing. it feels like social media is changing lately. every social media site seems to be fucking up or getting worse in its own special little way. i recently read and thought a lot about this article which coins the term “enshittification” and describes the process by which every social media platform eventually becomes so greedy as to become unusable. it makes me wonder if the social internet is due for a big shift in the near future.

for a long time, twitter was the best place for me. for all its issues, it had the audience that i could reach the easiest, that was the most invested in my art. i got (still get) a lot of awesome replies and really great analysis of my work on twitter, which i didn’t receive on any other platform. i was able to encourage those readers by retweeting their comments and theories to show that i liked hearing their thoughts. i could use the Moments feature to organize my art and make my comic easily readable in order. and anyone could look at my twitter, account or no.

ever since the site was bought out, twitter is getting worse. i can’t use the app on mobile anymore because every reply section is drowned out by blue checks and choked with ads. the Moments feature was disabled and people couldn’t easily read my comics in order anymore. and this is without even touching on the bigger/more serious issues the buyout has brought to the app. these are just the ways it has made my personal experience of being an artist on there worse. and now, apparently, you can’t even look at my work unless you have an account.

it’s been pretty common in the past year for the new management to implement a bad feature and then undo it after backlash, and maybe this too will be reversed. but even if it is unimplemented, the platform will continue to get worse. all platforms are getting worse right now. all of them are becoming untenable to use without 7 bespoke browser extensions to block ads, hide specific unwanted content, force chronological order, and so on. on mobile i don’t even bother. apps are unusable.

on top of that, i have the personal issue of not being the type of creator who is particularly good at staying on top of more than one or two platforms daily. twitter has been my main for years now, so i’m pretty good about updating it very regularly. instagram is trailing behind, i usually remember to post there daily (especially as i’m remaking mine right now and posting my entire backlog) but sometimes i forget. and that’s kind of my limit. every other site falls by the wayside because i just don’t want to spend my whole day or life updating platforms. i know there are tools that can do it automatically for you but i don’t want to do it that way and then i’d have to figure out a new tool and get yet another account on yet another app and install yet another extension to use it.

i just want to draw. i don’t know how we arrived at this place where we need to be 700 other things when we are just artists. i draw and write, isn’t that enough? if i wanted a presence on tiktok i’d also have to be a video editor who pays close attention to trends and makes sure to transform my artwork into something people on that app are interested in. even if i just wanted to have a strong presence on say, twitter/instagram/tumblr/tapas/webtoon i’d have to take on another (unpaid) job as my own social media manager, meticulously managing my uploads across 5+ apps and making sure everything is up to date and tailored to what “works” on each particular platform. i already have a day job—i’m a storyboard artist. the art i post online is supposed to be made and given freely for my own enrichment first and foremost, and for the joy of sharing with others as a close second.

i wonder if we’re due for a mass rejection of this increasingly draining cable-wars-style model of spreading ourselves thin across multiple platforms just to reach the exclusive audience each one provides. i’m starting to feel done with that concept, but i still want to share my art. i want to hear my readers’ thoughts. i want to create things that connect with others. i want to do it without these ever-mounting obstacles.

what i’m doing about it is creating my own website at my own domain that belongs to me. i doubt i’ll be quitting social media when it’s done. social media is still where the audience i cherish lives. but you can bet that when that website is ready to be shared, i’ll be talking about it on every social media account i own. i’ll be telling everyone there’s a place to look at my art where you don’t need an account, you don’t have to struggle through a morass of ads, and you don’t have to line the pockets of a billionaire who bought a social media app on a whim. it’ll just be you and my art. alone together.

by the way, to @whatthehelljake i apologize for writing a fucking SAT essay on a screenshot of your reply. any exasperated tone here is not directed at you at all. it’s directed at this sea of obstacles that disrupt the simple concept of “i made art and i want to share it with you.” your reply is how i found out today that twitter made this change. i cherish the fact that you want to connect with my art so much that you alerted me to this. i wish that wasn’t necessary. i want to make my work on my own terms—and want you to be able to experience it on YOUR own terms.

all that to say, i think the website is going to be the main answer to this issue. i don’t see myself having the energy to update tumblr that much more often than i already do, though maybe i’ll try to pick up the pace a little now. we’ll see. holy shit if you read all this go drink a glass of water or something get up and stretch. ok thank you bye <3

#not art #fucking essay length thing under the cut #i don't know what else to say just read it if you want to know LOL

334 notes · View notes

madfantasy · 3 months

Text

To fan art and fiction enjoyers:

Please excuse my rage slipping if it happened over having to address this literal mediocrity of a subject in comparison to endless things that actually matters in real life. Because this would be at the scrapping bottom of it, but since the occasion presented itself, here we are:

Do you know there are some, let's say, manners, being in fandoms, and/or in using social media in general? NOOO? 8U

Well, Lets start somewhere!

Like it or not, YOU NEED TO ACTUALLY READ STUFF PEOPLE WRITE. Before you follow, before you comment, before you interact, because if you come across something you don't like, or you started to assume things— that's a you problem and not the fault of the poster.

If you DO NOT enjoy a character, a pair of ship, or a certain head cannon, filter the tag it's used for, Google has free tutorials on how. Most social media have these settings and most decent posters tag their posts correctly. If you keep seeing that pair, you can block the people who create it. You are free to do so ofc but WHY WOULD U come on main and air that out? Personally I find it so bizarre and it could show the type of person you are to other people — a toxic company over fictional substance — and I'd say that is not a flex, more like showing your dirty nappy in public. Those characters you love are not real and so not effected by your high ground stance, but actual humans that share you that love notice and get that impression, and it's a weird one. You SHOULD, of course, set your boundaries, and usually where that is be in your profile, on your bio or a pinned post.

Loving bizarre, villainous, creepy concepts DOES NOT EQUAL morality, nor loving good sunshine and flowers does. It's what a person does in real life what counts, not what they consume in entertainment. In fact, it is not a sign of a good person those who be shaming humans who like different fictional concepts. Or when someone keeps using ai generators knowing full well it's based on constant data theft of all sort of human creators across generations and can not exist without the continuance of this theft. Or those supporting creators that they know did irl crimes. Or those who are Policing what's can and cannot go into fiction as if the fickleness of preference have never let alot of things survive its judgement. And I can go on with the miniature examples. You are forgiven if you did not know before, some people learn through experience, but not anymore when you continue this behaviour. And maybe if you can't differentiate between reality and fiction, and what's more important than what, maybe, just maybe, you shouldn't be consuming fiction.

DO NOT POST WHAT YOU DID NOT CREATE. Do you like it when people keep posting your selfies that you only ment to share for funsies and what not? Isn't worse if you did not post that selfie in the first place or never wanted it to be used like that? It's the SAME FOR ART. This is the artists work just as much as your face is yours. Social media at the baseline is about who ever the poster is, their posts are theirs. So you posting an artist's drawing, with no permission, no credit to them, no nothing, is not allowed and people can report that. Don't be an ignorant thick fig and play the victim when schooled like this precious dear\s .Reposters disconnect so many content from their creators and this is how alot of beautiful things in life die, by simply not knowing they are loved, shoved into the over consumption machine..

And lastly, You don't have anything nice to say to OP? Don't say anything! It's not your misguided duty to educate people on how embarrassingly self centered you are, it's okay to be a basic #&★— I promise. It okay to feel out of place in a niche that doesn't concern you. It's okay to realise other people have different perspectives of the fiction work you enjoy. You can sit down.

And I'd like to add, Mani is a safe space for au and ships even if I don't like em, cuz they are only FICTION and will remain FICTION no matter how much I loved them or hated them.

Good day, dears🍀

#text #im probably blabing but i felt its needed #Severus Snape #fiction

53 notes · View notes

trashlama · 1 year

Text

YAN!FUTURE!DONNIE X READER!!

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Heeeeeeyyyyy guess whose back!

This is a part of I guess this series of one shots I got going on. →This post can explain more←

This is the image I used for Donnie in this one. ↓

Art isn't mine but the design is radical!

Sorry this took so long. Honestly I almost didn't post it cause I didn't like how it came out. Like I kept trying to fix it to how I like it buuutt, this was the best that I could do. I might try rewriting it or somethin'. I was just trying to change it up buuutt, I suck. Did my best with the proof reading. Probably could have tried to proof read it more.

Honestly this fic is pretty dark. Originally was darker.

Please no minors, 18+ only!(There's no smut or anything sexual, just a lot of technically triggering elements)

The meme in this fic is not mine I just found them on Pinterest and they were too good.

Read the creator's notes below for more!

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Humming computer fans and diligent typing filled the silent void in the poorly lit room. If not for the obscured ominous glow of the various monitors littering the labatory you would've believed you had gone completely blind. Having already lost the vision on your right to the slimy pink tentacle bastards who transformed your planet into the living Hell on Earth.

Guess religion was right about something. At The End of Days the devil came for the damned. And in spite of your mother's faithful beliefs, there was never a savior to come swop away the righteous to the selective pearly gates of the Heaven she had mindlessly prayed to. She was wrong. Her savior locked her out.

There would be no salvation. Not for anyone.

Instead for the first thirteen years after the Krrang's invasion you suffered. Everyone suffered.

Shit hit the fan and it splattered like a chocolate pie in bad clown gag.

Overnight the world you had grown up in changed for the worse. Blind to the way society crumbled and turned into a Mad Max film. Unaware of the great loss. Naive and young you weren't prepared for the grotesque violence that replaced your boring mundane life that you had taken for granted.

How you wish there was a way to go back.

Return to days where your only worries were filling out job applications to move out of your mother's abode and getting into a good college. Begging whatever deities listened to accept you to one of the variety of schools you had applied for. Preferably one more than five hundred miles away from the run-down neighborhood in the Bronx you lived in. You've always wanted to travel the country and college opened up that opportunity to do so. Had everything gone according to plan you would've started your first semester that following fall.

Though it wasn't meant to be. Instead you spent that lonely winter, grieving

" (Y/n) "

At the call of your name the chain that hung from around your neck clanked as a single (e/c) orb snapped out of its routine day-dreams to look towards the owner of the tired deep voice that had called to you. It was Donatello. Said ninja turtle kneeling at your side next to the cot you both shared.

Within the nest of sheets you retracted from the curled position you had been laying in on top of the bed spread. A multi-paterned stitched quilt gifted by one of the softshell turtle's brothers— you forget who; rested at your feet, unused. Protecting thin (skin tone) skin from the piercing cold was a worn pair of faded PJs that consisted of a dark green long sleeve with fluffy grey plaid bottoms. The odd attire didn't bother you in the slightest. When living in the apocalypse fashion hardly matters. If it was usable it was wearable.

Despite of your efforts to block the aged mutant out by focusing your lone (e/c) gaze on soothing else. The Large cold hand of Donatello's petting the top of your head was all your traumatized receptors could focus on. Three lengthy jade digits combing rouge strands of unkept (h/l) (h/c) hair away from their position in your face. Wandering fingertips skimmed over your missing right eye. Playing with the white medical eye patch that kept the old wound hidden. Had this been seven months ago you would've already been trying to bite the technological General's scared appendage off. Though now at this point you just let the mutant do whatever. You didn't care.

The same regard was held when the purple clad turtle observed you. Anything and everything that flashed across your face was cataloged by your analyzing capter's dark narrowed stare. A common occurrence that never faltered in its repetitiveness.

Exhaustion dominated the aged jade complexion of Donatello's. His expression would be read bored if not for the controlled obsession that lurked in pools of night.

You always did like his eyes. Even when they were hidden behind the dual frames perched on his snout. One half a traditional prescription lens the other a crimson infrared optic that provided extra assistance to the current wearer. Like a moth to the flame you were drawn to the night sky he held in those dark pools.

"You're wasting the food Mikey brought you" the softshell flatly chastised. Those same magnetic dark eyes that had been locked with yours turned away momentarily to retrieve something from beside him. The tattered greyish purple cloak he wore tied loosely around his sturdy shoulders draped forward revealing the silver cybertronic mechanical substitute for his left arm. A necessary loss for the cause he dutifully worked for.

You hadn't respond to his comment.

For a moment you began to sink back into your land of memories if it had not been for the scrapping metal of the fork against the plate that was now in the purple bandana wearing turtle's grasp. Stabbing at the rations that the commissary passed out earlier that day. At least you're assuming it's day. It's hard to tell when you never leave the underground base, let alone the prison of Donatello's lab that doubled as his quarters.

Back in reality something moist pressed against your bottom lip.

"Eat."

Robotically you obeyed.

You learned a long time ago that starving doesn't work. It was this or the feeding tub. At least this didn't hurt your throat. The ache in your esophagus from the experience lasted for weeks after. Bile threatening to rise if you focused any longer on the nightmarish memory.

Up till the plate was cleared the mutant continued to feed you. Picking at the dish's portions until there was nothing left. After which the adult ninja turtle placed the cutlery to the side before taking a corner of his faded cloak to wipe away the food residue left around your mouth. Repeating the same method with the plastic cup that sat precariously on the table to the other side of you next to the cement wall.

For a moment his calculative narrowed gaze stared at you before deciding something.

"...I have to go work on the faulty pump in the filter for the hydroponic system in the Agriculture Unit later...." Thick brows frowed together in an unsure manner upon his purple-clad forehead as he continued. ".....would you be interested in joining me for the endeavor?" The aged ninja finally prompted.

You didn't respond.

Had this been seven months ago you would've replied with an immediate yes. Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Back then you would've thought somebody, anybody, would help you.

But if that were the case you would've been free already.

It wasn't necessarily a secret that you belonged to the purple bandana wearing brainiac. On the contrary it was a well known fact amongst the inhabitants of the base. It was just an unspoken topic. An issue that the Commander and the rest of the generals much rather sweep under the rug than to confront.

You learned it the hard way.

You had managed to get away somehow after Donatello first claimed you. Before the chained leash that pooled around you became a permanent fixture. In its place there had been a small amount of leeway the softshell gifted you. A fragile trust you didn't bother to strengthen prior to your attempt two months into your captivity. Maybe things would've been different.

You had told Donnie you were just gonna go to the commissary and get them some lunch. Claimed you were trying to be a nice, good partner. You didn't want to disturb the important work you were so proud of him for. Like a termite at Home Depo he ate it up. A bashful smile stretched across his jade complexion that was burnt red.

Playing the serpent who tricked Adam, you slithered from the technological garden of paradise. Departing with a false display of affection. Pride filled you from the phenomenal performance you gave.

Taking flight to the wind you ran down the Resistance headquarters hallways. Without meaning too you lost yourself around the twist and turns of unfamiliar corridors. Your limited vision and even less knowledge of the section's layout not being of much aid to your mission. Especially since prior to your imprisonment you hadn't ventured to this area since it was restricted to Resistance officers way above your ranking.

Though your plan was to run into someone. Anyone who could help you. You were gonna rat out that purple techno creep. He needed to pay. You were fed up with this stupid apocalypse.

Eventually after sprinting down the halls for God knows how long. You found your self face first into the plastron of General Michelangelo.

"Wwhooo! Slow down little missy! You're gonna give this old man a scare!" The greying box turtle joked even though you weren't very much younger than him. Catching your charging figure easily between rough moss palms. Out of breath you began spewing your story. Begging the mystic mutant to help you get away from his crazy purple coded brother.

"Oooohh, so yoouurr (Y/n)..." The youngest general gathered. Aged face scrunching up in a contemplative way, as if he was thinking. For a moment you had thought maybe the mutant turtle knew who you were cause somebody had reported your missing presence. Realized that you had been stolen by one of the very leaders they worked under. Unfortunately that was not the case.

"Yes! I'm (Y/n)! Your brother Donatello, he—"

"Said that if you got lost to return you to him!~"

What.

It was too late to retreat. You didn't even have the chance to react before the orange clad General had you on the ground. Wind punched from your lungs by the sudden force. Mouth mimicking a fish out of water as you gasped for much needed air. Next thing you knew your hands were bound behind your back by the same orange bandana wearing mutant you sought aid from. Kicking and screaming as the moss green Hamato sibling dragged you back to where you had started.

Entering the lab Michaelangelo greeted his flabbergasted older brother. Sporting a wide cheshire grin as he released his grip on you to only then in the same motion push your unbalanced wobbly stature forward caching yourself on Donatello's chest. Leaving shortly after with some sort of fucked up quip you couldn't hear past the pounding in your ears. Heart jackhammering painfully against your ribs. The beat too powerful for any other sound to break it's dominating rythem.

Were you about to have a heart attack?A stroke? You couldn't tell. You didn't think people your age had them.

Once left alone the white hot fury you had expected never came. No beating. Nor any dismemberment of a limb. There were no threats made for your dire transgression. No shouts or screams of possessive anger. Only unnerving still silence.

Somehow that was worse.

You lied. You tried to leave. You made a scene with his younger brother only for said orange clad sibling to drag you back like the dog who got out.

The first ten–fifteen minutes you both just stood there. There were no excuses nor pleading from your part. Just utter overwhelming suffocating quite. The jade and purple tattooed complexion of the General's who stood before you was drained to match snow. Face displaying a composed, conserved expression to anyone who was looking in from the outside.

Unfortunately for you it was always Donatello's dark eyes that gave everything away.

Hurt. He was undeniably wounded by the injury. You broke the thin veil of trust he gave you. You could have done whatever you wanted. As long as you didn't stray far from him. Stayed and supported him. It was all he wanted.

The softshell was so happy when you forged that lie believing the act to be true. Believing that you cared about his health and work. Being kind and supportive enough to trek and retrieve both of your guys' lunch. Except upon his younger mutant brother's arrival the fantasy he was living in was broken. It was all a lie. You deceived him. Betrayed the tempered trust that two of you shared. A thin string you willing snipped.

Saltwater streaks poured down in silent bunches as the aged ninja turtle lowered his head. He really thought you had loved him as you whispered sweet claims from soft deceiving lips that kissed his heated cheek a farewell. Departing with that smile that made his heart race. Donatello was hurt. And so the turtle did the only thing that would hurt you just as much as you had hurt him.

Had you known what he was going to do maybe you would've fought harder than you had.

No words were exchanged as the mutant scientist tied your jittery limbs to your paralyzed figure. Plastic white ties zipped painfully tight around (skinned tone) appendages. Though fear hadn't taken it's full course until the softshell began to secure a thick fabric around your head, blinding you. Finding the immediate endless world of black frightening.

"Please— don't do this— I-I'm sorry!" You plead as large cold hands slide a set of what you assume are noise canceling buds into your ears. You couldn't catch your breath. Your heart wouldn't still itself as it fought for space within your ribcage. "Please! I— mphmfh!"was all you could cry before lastly a gag was stuffed into your teriffied jaws. Based on the texture of the rough fabric you deduced it was most likely an old gym sock from the clothing bin. The worn garment scratched at the roof of your mouth making you taste cooper.

Donnatello hadn't planned to use this method this early on but, this was a lesson that needed to be learned. He was going to deprive you of your senses. Leave you lost just as he would've been without you. Maybe then you'd understand.

For some time you were just scared shitless. Frightful of the purple coded general's unknown intentions. Was he gonna torture you? Kill you and keep the body? The imaginary list was much more scary than the actual first quarter of the punishment . Thankfully nothing happened. The turtle left you be. Probably just watching you from his typical spinny chair from in front of the large monitor dominating the room. The motherfucker probably felt like Batman or some shit sipping on his coffee as you the Joker— fucked around in the holding tube.

When the endless darkness started to pick at your already aggravated anxiety you had tried to force yourself asleep to escape the void. However you found the effort quickly fruitless. Trapped without sound or any background stimulation aside from the limited range of touch at your disposal made the task feel impossible. Dissolving lines between real and what was not becoming harder to differentiate with every passing unknown second.

Attempts to keep your sanity felt futile in spite of efforts to keep the screws forming coming loose. Clawed (skin tone) palms and curling toes only did so much. When all else failed you felt only one thing could be done. You need to feel something. Anything. You couldn't do this anymore. The scratches in your palms did not suffice.

Doing what you felt was your only choice in your spiralling panic. You began to throw yourself around across the lab's tile floor. Using your upper body and knees you inch worm around the room. Purposely banging yourself into anything and everything so you may injure yourself. Feeding your starved receptors with whatever painful sensations you could produce.

Donatello was quick to remove the suppressors once you really started injuring yourself. Most likely calling it when the various wounds littered your (s/c) skin began to form. Following the path you had squirmed eyes like La Brea tar pits found speckles of crimson decorating a variety of the objects in his workspace. As if a baby crawled around repainting his lab with dots of red.

What a pain. Couldn't you have just accepted the punishment like an adult? Now he was gonna have to clean up this mess later. But alas just as many great minds of science had taught him. There was always a price to be paid for results. Maybe he should've just thrown you into solitary or made a modification or two to your Achilles tendons.... Next time.

Cold hands without delay discarded the ear buds and spit soaked sock. Your chest was still rising too fast. You were gonna puke if you stayed any longer in the dark. Though once the blind fold was discarded the softshell turtle's concerned expression was the first thing you saw. The sight of another instantly calming the bees stabbing your stomach lining. A flash of worry glimmered in those pools of ink. Only for the emotion to be consumed by the sticky black tar that lurked beneath.

"Did you learn your lesson?" The purple tattooed turtle questioned softly as he scooped your zip tied bound form into his mix matched arms. Combination of flesh and steel cradling you as he maneuvered towards his cot. Donatello was aware that you have one too but, recently the color coded general had been considereing just having you sleep with him. It'd save him space.

"I doubt it." he chided with a small grin that didn't match his eyes as he laid you down. Tucking you into his barely used sheets.

You didn't bother to request for him to remove the plastic bonds as exhaustion dragged you into the realm of slumber. Senses finally relaxing thanks to some stimulation. Allowing the phantom hand caresse the curve of your cheek as you drifted away.

When you awoke your injuries were bandaged and the plastic that had restrained you was gone. In the zip ties stead was a steel collar and chain hooped around the deadbolt installed in the cool tiled floor of the purple brainiac's lab. The same device you wore to this present day.

"(Y/n).... (Y/n)..."

"(Y/n)....."

"(Y/n)"

Oh no you got lost in your memories again didn't you? Based on the softshell's expression, your answer would be yes.

"(Y/n)... I think you should come with me when I go to the farming unit. I think it'd be good for you ....and maybe we'll even see Leon and Casey Jr. " Donnie soothed. His large cold hand returning at some point continued to comb the wild flyaways that tried to elude his threading jade fingers.

You didn't care. You bobbed your head. Listening but, not particularly agreeing nor disagreeing to anything as you went along with the general's wishes.

°°°°°°

In the hallway you and Donatello walked side by side. Your collar and chain were gone. Left behind in the lab due to the bondage being bolted to the floor. Not very mobile. Which in turn left you shackle free for the trip. Seven months ago you would've already tried to attack the turtle like the wild dog you were. You had been.

Now the tamed rescue, you leapt and barked without hesitation when commanded.

Like a good pup you didn't stray from your master's side.

Traversing through the base with the lumbering mutant was a quiet affair. No one bothered the two of you as the purple clad genuis led the way.

Here and there the technological general would make small talk by commenting about certain functions found throughout the headquarters along the short journey. Explaining uses of faculties and tech that had been constructed long before you ever stepped foot in the Resistance headquarters.

Long before you ever met the softshell who kept you prisoner in his room. Like a toy a spoiled child didn't want to share.

Pushing open the floppy doors to the Ag unit; bright UV rays burned your sensitive retinas that grew unconditioned to direct sunlight due to the dark room you were trapped in on a daily. Although unlike you, Donatello's dark narrowed stare remained unfazed by the bright light. Not even a stinge of discomfort upon disciplined matured features.

Artificial warmth even if false still felt soothing on your cold (skin tone) skin.

How you missed the real thing.

Missed the stupid picnics your mother would force you on. Laying under shady emerald trees in the smothering New York summer heat under a bright blue sky. Pouting as you watched your mother and brother played on the playground. You used to think those family outings were a waste of your time when you could be hanging with your friends or studying. Be anywhere but with them. How foolish you were.

A small frown laced your lips as you recalled the more peaceful days.

"(Y/n) this way" Donatello's voice called from in front of you. At some point having grabbed your hand to pull you closer to his tall stature as he escorted the two of you through the rows of growing produce. The tips of his long purple bandana tickled your nose but you made no complaints.

"Donnie over here!"

Onwards he directed you along.

Off in the near distance was the blue clad Commander. On his shelled back was a raven haired child that looked no more than nine.

"Oi! Casey Jr can you please be un bueno niño(a good little boy)!" The leader begged as the afro mentioned brown-eyed boy tugged at the long tied strands to his azure mask. Tighting the fabric painfully around his head. Giggling at his guardian's torment. "Nah! This is so much fun el anciano(old man) " Casey cheered, showing off a wide chipped tooth grin. A recent cosmetic development much to Leo's jargon.

Back and forth the two went as you and Donatello approached the comedic duo. The softshell grown a small grin on his normally uninterested expression.

" Thank Gram Gram you're here Donnie! The pump to the filter finally said capoot! And—"

"Yeah I know that's why I'm here." The jade colored turtle cut off his Commander.

Leonardo didn't mind his brother's injection. Smile still present upon olive skin.

"Alright-o dear brother-o! I'll leave you to it."

As the two siblings continued to chat over the needed maintenance, the raven haired boy leaning over the lumbering leader's shoulder stared straight at you. Eyes like teddy bear plushies bore into your being as they watched. Wide and impressionable. Brown judging spheres.

You could feel the bugs scuttling under your skin again.

"(Y/n)..., (Y/n) are you listening?"

Breaking from the losing staring competition you were having with the nine year old. Knowing dark eyes like night drew your attention back to the mutant who was cradling your hand between his own odd pair.

Once the scientist was sure he had all of you here he repeated his directions. " (Y/n) I want you to hangout out here for a little while I work. The pump requires more attention than I had initially thought..." Jade eyelids closed for a moment as the mutant exhaled his stored breath. " ...if you need me you can ask Leo. He had said he and Casey had some things to do here for a bit anyways so he doesn't mind watching you."

You didn't care. It was just nice being outside that damn lab in general.

With the nod of your head Donatello allowed your smaller hand free from his mix matched grasp. " I'll be back soon. If you get too hot tell Leo and he'll take you inside to cool down." The turtle further explained. It was like he wasn't sure if he could depart from you. Even if he was only temporarily leaving you under his twin's supervision. He still didn't like the idea of not having you beside him as he worked. However the space in the room with the filter was limited. Although Donnatello would prefer to have you in sight. Genius does take a little finesse and he always performed best with space.

With one more glance the softshell turtle turned and left. Walking towards the small building far off in the corner of the massive underground green house.

Once gone you were left standing there. Unmoving like a puppet without it's puppeteer.

You guess you stood there for too long cause at some point the Leonardo approached and rested his palm on your clothed shoulder. Probably making sure you're still there before his olive palm spirited away.

Hands very much like Donatello's. Too much like Donnie's. The touch made you shutter. You hated it. You hated the jade turtle who did this to you.

Based on the Commander's look you could tell he wanted to ask if you were good. Though the question would be pointless when the answer was as obvious as the dirt that coated the thin fabric of your eggshell colored slip-on flats.

"Sensei why is that weird girl that General Donnie brought only got one eye? Is she a pirate?" Casey Jr inquired not aware of the offensive statement he constructed.

The blue clad leader flicked his retainee's forehead. Lightly punishing the child as he chastised the raven haired boy for the rude question. "Casey Jr that's not how we talk about people. Especially ladies. If you have a question you ask them politely. " The retainer informed. Dark onyx eyes too similar to that of his brainac twin's slid back to your cemented figure.

You were waiting.

With an awkward grin Leo proposed that you join him and Casey Jr on their check up on the Agricultural workers. You didn't respond, just nodding to whatever the aged ninja turtle had suggested.

Around the large farming area that had to be as big, if not bigger than old New York City's Grand Central Station. The red eared slider led you and Casey Jr around as he performed leader duties. The task not being that tedious if it wasn't for the raven haired kinder who wouldn't leave you be. The orphan kept asking too many personal questions for your taste. None of which you responded too. Though that didn't mean it stopped the nine year old from chatting your ear off.

For what felt like forever Casey Jr went on about, everything. There wasn't a single topic he stuck to. Bouncing from asking about how you knew General Donnie to do you always wear pajamas? What was your favorite food? Do you have any parents? What's your favorite game in the rec room?

The kid was gonna be the death of you if not the UVs that were starting to roast you. The faded winter sleeping attire you wore not necessarily the best outfit to be clothed in while under the artificial rays. Though you didn't complain. Didn't want to miss this opportunity to be outside of the technological General's lab.

You weren't ready to go back to the darkness. Not yet.

A single (E/c) colored orb found itself focused on the sudden opportunity presented.

You didn't have to go back as long as you did this right. You could be free. You couldn't fuck this up again. Not again. The anxiety of the looming punishment sat in the back of your mind. Giggling. A child-like tone mocking you for your thoughts of freedom. Reminding you if you escaped something worse could happen. Would happen.

Blood trickled down the (skin tone) surface of your chin. You had accidentally chewed your bottom lip to ground beef with your nervous tick, again.

Using the right sleeve of your pajama shirt you wiped away the oozing crimson fluid.

"Are you okay (Y/n)?" Casey's high but worried voice broke you from your scheming thoughts.

Looking down at Casey Jr's baby checks that had been holding a wide chipped smile instead thinned out into a tight frown. Wide brown orbs innocently peered up at you with concern.

For a moment you didn't reply.

Looking past the apocalyptic born child observing the interaction between Leo and the worker he spoke to. Gageing how much longer you had before the Commander returned from the discussion.

" I'm fine... but, ....do you think you could help me with something Casey? "

°°°°°°°

When his softshell twin asked him if he could watch (Y/n) while he worked on the hydroponic filter pump. The red eared slider was not gonna lie, he was not looking forward to the task. Already having his own gremlin running a muck the last thing the blue clad Commander wanted was a creepy-ass robot following them around.

However whenever it came to Donnie and (Y/n) being involved in the same situation there was hardly room for argument. Leo was the leader of the Resistance he swore that he'd do his best to help end this apocalypse and to do so he needed a functional base. That entailed having a controlled food supply, functioning weaponry, dormitories, facilities— the works. If anything was to go down. The blue bandana wearing mutant only has one reliable individual who could repair, design, modify— you name it. In less time than a whole team of engineers and mechanics he could whip up— combined. Only Donnie could do it. It's cause of the afro mentioned scientist and his inventions that the Krrang hadn't taken them out yet. The aged blue bandana wearing turtle wasn't actually sure how long they could fend off the pink tentacle armada without his softshell twin.

The thought keeps him on edge sometimes— what if the turtle passed or chose not to use his gift the way he does. They'd be screwed in the long run. The turtle imagines it would be similar to that of ant colony walking into a spider's nest. The carnage would be unsalvageable. They'd have to use the last resort.

He couldn't afford for shit to go sideways.

And sometimes if that meant sacrifices... for the greater good so be it. It was something the mutant leader wasn't proud of.

Leo isn't even really sure when the purple clad mutant even met (Y/n) or how. Donnie kept mostly to himself. Never straying far from his lab and a working coffee machine. So the fact the caffine addicted nerd met someone, let alone a girl. Truly made the phenomenon a mystery worthy of Sherlock Holmes.

He knew what he was doing when Donnie made his ultimatums. It was (Y/n) or no base. The softshell mutant was aware the kind of game he was playing. How it would affect everyone. So many would be lost because the adult ninja turtle wanted to throw a tantrum. Leonardo was ashamed but, it was necessary. He had to give in to the mad scientist's demands. The olive skinned mutant would like to say he had no choice— But he did. And he chose to keep the Resistance alive rather than allowing you to be free. He couldn't. Donnie wanted you and so you were the purple clad General's. There was no room for negotiations. The softshell was always stubborn like that. He played the odds in his favor. He'd let the whole base crumble if it meant he couldn't have you.

And for the last year, that was that.

Leonardo knew that Donatello was keeping you in his lab and that at some point over the last twelve months the workspace began to double as the jade turtle's quarters as well.

Only discovering the new development when visiting his purple color coded brother one day. The blue bandana wearing leader doesn't remember what he had gone to his sibling's work space for but, once inside he found the usual cluttered layout. However off closer to the far wall in the direct line of sight was the (Blonde/Brunette/Raven or Scarlet Haired/ Etc) tribute his brother had demanded for.

This had been when the (e/c) eyed woman still had her own bed. Though at some point after your escape attempt that had been thwarted by Mikey. He remembered because of the presence of the steel restraints that you typically wore when in Donnie's laboratory.

In the corner you were laying down. Hands obviously bound behind your back. The (h/c) haired captive probably scratched her neck raw again. His theory only confirmed upon closer inspection. Beneath the steel collar a dressing of white gauze. Though that wasn't the only injury. Like a Christmas present you were wrapped almost head to toe in the cotton bandages. Most likely caused by other attempts to break free from your bonds which backfired. Resulting in Donnie just further inhibiting your mobility.

Sometimes he doesn't understand why the softshell turtle did what he does. If he loved you, why did he let you hurt yourself like this? The technological General's plan was to rid you of your will. Like the mustang in stables he was gonna break that need to be free. You would be his. The aged purple coded mutant wouldn't accept anything less.

It was creepy how his sciencey twin doted on his feral captive. How even when discussing the condition of the base the crippled mutant still gravitates towards your curled up figure. In spite your attempts to chomp off his jade digits the Donnie still continued to glide his fingers through (h/c) strands. The action was bizarre to the red eared slider. He couldn't relate but if this kept the softshell from throwing the headquarters into the destructive hands of the Krrang. So be it.

Which brings Leo back to the current task at hand. Watching both Casey Jr and his brother's captive as he did his patrols of the agricultural production. He needed to start getting a feel of the ratio amount of crops so he knew how to plan for the Resistance's future. Winter was gonna be coming soon and scavenging in the snow was not an easy feat. Especially with pink tentacle freaks and the assimilated around every lurking corner up on the surface.

Leo was sure that this was gonna be a pain in the shell however to his surprise he found some entertainment out of the one sided conversation Casey Jr was having with you.

Regardless of the lack of your response, the raven haired boy kept bombarding you with rounds of endless questioning. Like twenty-one questions but, with more like five hundred-fifty-five questions. It was hilarious. Many times as he was communicating with his subordinates he would over hear Casey Jr spout something random. Comedic prompting caused the mutant leader to muffle his chuckles on a few occasions. The action earned him a raised brow or two from a couple of agricultural workers.

Everything was fun and games, until it wasn't.

Leo had been strolling down one of the many select rows of dirt walkways onto the next location he needed a report from. He had been listening to his live comedy show when he noticed the lack of quips from his adolescent charge. That's when he peeked over his broad shoulder, only to find nothing but the dirt path beneath his feet. Casey Jr and (Y/n) nowhere to be found.

That's when suddenly shit turned into a real life Lou Jitsu movie with a plot twist that kept the viewer at the edge of their seat. Except for Leo this wasn't a Lou Jitsu movie. He fucked up. Shit wasn't just gonna line up and all his problems would be solved. No. Hot Soup he had to solve this himself. The Resistance Commander gripped the inside pockets of his loose fitted beige pants. A small amount of anxiety rose at the possible implication of the duo's absence meant.

Now the blue clad mutant was aware he was the sharpest tool in the shed but he knew some things. For example, you wanted to leave. Casey Jr knew how to leave the base. Leo taught him in case of emergency if the red eared slider himself or someone else wasn't present to assist the child. Said afro mentioned charge wanted you to respond to his pestering. And the Resistance leader was distracted by the comedic routine and his patrols to notice the disappearance of the two-man comedic troupe he had been chaperoning.

The grown ninja turtle knew what you were doing. If his hypothesis was correct—

You were trying to use Casey Jr to escape.

The blue bandana wearing turtle internally scolded himself for his stupidity. He knew you wanted to escape. He shouldn't have let his guard down just because of your meek unresponsive domineer and his humorous charge.

Donatello was gonna kill him if he didn't find you before the purple clad mutant was finished repairing the pump. Which at this point was any minute.

Taking a deep breath of air Leonardo calmed his startled nerves. The mutated Commander had no reason to stress. He could handle this easily. Reminding himself that he taught Casey Jr how to flee from the base. If that truly was the case this retrieval should be a walk in the park.

Cursing his luck under his breath the olive skinned turtle dashed off in the suspected direction that you and Casey had traveled. Unaware of inky orbs following his brother's retreating figure. Ignorant to the irritated displeasure that burned within the tary pits.

°°°°°°°°

As a kid your mother the ever devoted follower— used to warn you about making deals with demons and wicked imps. They'd offer whatever you wished for just a simple price before snatching away your soul. Never would you ever reach the kingdom in the clouds with her and your brother Ethan(I know so creative). Now adult, you knew that stuff was a crock of shit— but as a starry-eyed child with all the hopes and no crushed self esteem, you believed it. Though now as you traversed through disgusting sewer waste you can honestly say that it was a possibility. How else did you end up in this mess? You rolled the dice with the jade devil and now you couldn't pay.

"(Y/n)? .....Were you even listening?"

Without even realizing it you drifted off into your thoughts again an occurrence that only seemed to become more frequent the longer you stayed in that base. In that lab. With the purple bandana wearing turtle who betrayed your trust.

Hopefully after this you wouldn't have to worry about that mutated swindler ever again.

"Sorry.. I was just thinking about something...could you repeat what you said again?" You asked glancing down at your miniature guide, a tight smile presented on your (skin tone) face. It's been a while since you had to play nice.

It was selfish but, you had no other choice. You'd never have this opportunity again. You only had one way out. No one else was gonna help you. Push came to shove you were willing to do whatever it took to flee from the purple clad demon who wouldn't leave you be.

" Dios miós! I-iii aaasked why you're tryinna' to leave this base? Isn't everyone like, tryinna' to get in the base not out? " The doomsday child inquired. Emphasizing his question with a dramatic arched brow and one big questioning eye. The expression very animated. The kid likely picked up the look from a old salvaged comic from the Resistance headquarters' communal library.

Not prepared for the sudden insightful line questioning from the nine year old who up until now had been just asking whatever seemed to pop into his head.

With a forced grin you replied. "You wish." Teasing the now pouting child before continuing. "Though if you must know. I'm gonna go see some family." You lied releasing a tired exhale as your sole (e/c) orb looked around the seemingly empty canels that Casey was accompanying you through. Claiming that he only knew the way based on the look of the surroundings. How he tells the difference between one gross wall from another gross wall slightly boggled your head. Though if it got you out of this cement prison you didn't care.

For a moment as the two of you walked side by side the raven haired child peered up at you with a squinting gaze as he absorbed your answer. Another cartoonish action that made the corner of your lip slightly curl.

"Hmmmm... Alrighty! I can understand wanting to see your family. I lost my mother when I was young but, Leo and his brothers always make me feel right at home!" The young child perked as he grinned up at you with that wide chipped grin of his.

You missed this type of interaction. No fighting or an obsessive purple bandana wearing turtle lurking. Just two normal people just having a plain conversation. No commands or shifty deals. Just one person leading the other to the long awaiting freedom you've desired.

These interactions with the teddy bear brown eyed boy become more challenging with each quip the child spoke. Insects were drilling into the flesh under your skin again. Burrowing into the empty casket of your missing soul. Thriving on what is left of your sanity as they scuttled around in the memories you didn't want to face.

Somehow peering down at the chubby cheeks and scruffy black hair of Casey Jr's that didn't resemble Ethan in any way— still made you think of your deceased younger sibling.

He had been only eight years old he was the first to go out of your happy family trio. It had happened when the Krrang had first opened their portal. Neither one of you were prepared for the earthquake like shake before the ceiling of your mother's apartment collapsed and crushed the two of you under crumbling rubble. When you came to after pushing crumbled drywall from on top of yourself and searching for your younger sibling. All you found when you searched through broken pieces of your childhood home was blood. You couldn't lift the interior support beam off of where you had presumed Ethan was. The steel was far too heavy and your palms were too coated in the surrounding sediment to be able to lift the remaining pieces. You couldn't do anything. Unable to fulfill the role of the older sibling.

For hours you bawled as you had tried to wait for your mother's return. She had been at work when the Krrang attacked. You never did find out what became of her. You always did hope that she got away and somehow was doing well. Even if the reality is she most likely got assimilated or killed. You still always prayed she was doing good.

You just wanted to see them again. Go back in time and re-live the moments you carelessly spent. Fights and words you wish could be taken back. Reclaim wasted opportunities that you'll never have again. How you wish you could tell them you loved them both one last time.

"(Y/n) were here."

At the sound of Casey Jr's squeaky voice your lone (e/c) orb found presented before it was a waterfall of sludge that spilled over into a thirty-five foot drop. Leading down into what appeared into a bay of the same icky substance rushing past your soaked flats. An

With a cheeky grin the raven haired boy pointed down into the pool below. "This is it, the end of the line for me!" The boy quipped before continuing. "I can't go any further with you but, if you keep following that tunnel down there you should be out of the sewers in no time!" Casey finished with a smirk arms crossed over his tiny chest as he explained the directions. Obviously proud himself for remembering his Sensei's words.

" Thanks... " You grinned awkwardly. Not particularly fond of the idea of swimming through god knows what.

"Goodbye Casey, ...thank you for showing me the out." A small smile grew on your face as you looked back at the nine year old only to see the cause of your nightmares standing silently in the background. Glowing optic reflecting in the shadows like a beast prowling the jungle.

Suddenly the spacious catacomb you've been traversing through didn't have enough air. Your chest clenched tight around the squishy organs encased in your ribs.

"(Y/n) are you alrig—"

"Casey Jr stay back!"

It was Leonardo, already at his charge's side holding back the nine year old from advancing any further into the situation that no longer included them. Donatello already approaching forward with the same air of confidence he always carried. Expression studious and sharp. Although the purple tattooed turtle did not display it— he was fucking furious.

"I should've known you would do this to me, (Y/n). " The General dryly chuckled as he edged closer. Every bold step forward the purple bandana wearing ninja took, the closer your shaking legs stumbled towards the slimy edge of the trash filled waterfall. In his three fingered grip a pair of steel cuffs. The kind you see in the movies except from the look of the bulky things. The ones dangling from Donatello's right hand were real.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck— Things were moving too fast. Your rampaging pumping muscle was going to explode. Panicked breaths filled the range of sound your anxiety allowed at you honed in on the jade demon in front of you.

" I should've never made that deal with you... you lied to me. You knew that my mother was dead— YOU KNEW!" You cried as your lone (e/c) eye flashed back and forth between the cracking edge you stood on and the softshell who stood before you. "You fucking lied to me! You played me just so I would stay! I FUCKING HATE YOU! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Panting you learned forward, (skin tone) palms resting on your knees. Never breaking eye contact with the aged turtle who although appeared collected was everything but. Narrowed black eyes filled with so much anger. Though still allowed you continue.

"I... -pant-....will never.. -pant- ..fucking love you. You were a mistake. Any feelings I ever had for you were a mistake. I wish I never had met you. I wish I fucking died when you rescued me on your stupid scrap run those months ago..." Straighten your stature you gave the infuriated jade turtle one last look as you smugly looked him dead in the eye.

"I wish whatever fucked up God had chose to taken General Raph, ....had instead killed you..." You calmly stated. Laughing as you continued. Silent tears finally falling out of your last good eye. " Hahahaha— the only reason— you are soooo important enough to still be alive is because your older brother decided to give his life for all of you sick fucks! I pity his sacrifice— maybe at least if he was still here he would know how to handle shit instead of giving into an overgrown spoiled brat like you!"

Silence. No one made a peep. The only sound that broke through the thick tension in the tunnel was the rushing sound of the sewers water that at this point has successfully drenched the legs of your muck covered plaid bottoms.

In the background the fearless blue bandana wearing Commander's emotions were all laid out on his nonexistent sleeve. He was hurt, pissed, and over all he just looked disturbed with the overall conversation.

Meanwhile Casey Jr shielded his face into his Sensei's plastron. Quite sobs choking the boy as his tiny hands griped onto his Commander's beige pant leg like his life depended on it. Terrified of the situation that didn't make sense to the child. The sight made your heart ache just a little bit.

Donatello didn't say anything. He didn't do anything just bore holes into your soul. You had opened your mouth to continue berating the purple clad asshole who's kept you in his fuckin' lab for the last year. Forced you to sleep next to him. Locked you up like a dog when you tried to run away.

However the jade mutant beat you to the punch.

"Shut up. Don't you dare even say another fucking word. "The aged ninja seethed, closing the space between the two of you in a blink of an eye. His left metal palm shooting to grasp your according bicep, tightening his grip around the tender flesh.

" I don't ever want to ever hear you mention Raph's name ever again. You don't fucking deserve to say it. You're so ungrateful and pathetic it just makes everyone around you laugh at your stupidity. Are you really trying to leave the base? Me? For what? Just so you can go fucking kill yourself out there? I saved you. I'm supporting the human race even when all the facts say I shouldn't. That I should've given up on this stupid apocalypse alooong time ago but, I didn't. I had wanted to when we had crossed paths for the first time. When I rescued you, I changed my mind. Why can't you just be grateful!?!?" Donatello cried as he pushed you from the tunnels edge into the roaring murky waters below.

°°°°°

Beep...beep...beepbeepbeep

There she is.

The softshell will admit he lost a bit of his composure back there. He shouldn't have pushed you from that high of a point but, you just made him so mad. How dare you bring up Raph. You weren't there. You don't know what it was like on that battlefield. There was no winning, only retreat. You don't realize how much he wishes everyday that the one who had perished was himself not Raph. You don't realize. You're always so naive. That's why Donatello was here to keep you safe. It was for your own good.

There.

In the shallow waters was your water logged figure. Obviously you were out cold based off small rise and fall of your chest.

With a sigh, Donatello slid the projected screen from the monitor on his cybertronic arm. Deactivating the tracker that was implanted in your abdomen. Lucky for him had installed this little insurance a long time ago after one of your many fits just for this type of emergency. Finding the gadget handy in locating you both times. Not having to rely on his red eared slider twin's amazing capabilities.

Trekking into the shallow water the purple clad turtle reached down and retrieved your knocked out figure. Not caring particularly much about the condition of his loose dark purple pants that soaked up the surrounding water fairly quickly.

With a strong exhale of air the technological general retreated back to his base chastising you under his breath along the way. Once there the softshell would insure that you wouldn't have another opportunity like this again.

Like a true scientist Donatello learns from his mistakes and he'll keep trying until one of his punishments clicks. It's not like you won't give the techno demon the opportunity to do so. Not that Donatello minds.

After all where would science be without trial and error?

¶¶Creator's notes¶¶

Wazzup!

You guys made this far so you deserve the scoup on the next one-shot will be...

Drum roll🥁🥁

Yan!Future!Raph x Reader 🎉🎉

I don't have a picture for Future Raph but, if you guys have any good pictures saved hit me up I'm always open.

I have some ideas on how I want to do it. Though I could also turn it into a post movie sort of deal. Where it takes place after the events of the ROTTMNT movie. Thouughhh it's up to you guys. One person has already voted for some future Raph so we'll see what I come up with.

359 notes · View notes

superpeeboy · 20 days

Note

Top five reasons Good Cop Bad Cop are the best characters?

Oh man! You knew what would happen when you asked that. Here goes!

(lots of text below)

1. Concept

GCBC’s concept has always stood out to me. Even before I was obsessed, I looked at his design, and I thought it was cool! The combination of the Good Cop Bad Cop trope and a dual-sided minifig head is really smart! Those ideas combine so well, and without that idea as a basis, GCBC wouldn’t be GCBC.

There’s also subversion of how split-personality characters tend to act! Obviously, Good Cop is the good one and Bad Cop is the bad one, but its more complicated than that. Good Cop is still willing to melt Emmet, and he still works for Business and participates in the policework, he is still a villain despite being nice! And Bad Cop, while it isn’t quite as noticeable earlier in the movie, 100% redeems himself in the end! (And I think he still has moments where he isn’t just full-on evil earlier on, I’ll get back to that later.)

A peculiar fact I know is that they started GCBC’s design with the Good Cop Bad Cop trope, NOT the dual-sided minifig head. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like the natural progression would be starting with the LEGO feature and turning that into a character. But they didn’t do that. Originally, he was just going to flip glasses up and down from his hat.

The highlight of GCBC’s design is obviously their head. I love their outfit (maybe not so much when I’m rendering something), but there’s not that much to do about a police outfit. I only wish it was actually purple. BUT I’m getting distracted. I was trying to mention how GCBC’s faces contrast so much! Good Cop’s large glasses highlight his eyes, and his eyes show how nice he is, they’re round and soft and cute! To contrast Bad Cop’s sunglasses block out his eyes, and all you get to see is his big ol’ mouth. He usually has his teeth shown, with each tooth lined out. You don’t see outlined teeth on Good Cop. Outlined teeth are something I always got told not to do in art, because it makes characters scary. But of course, Bad Cop is supposed to be scary! So he has that trait! And I love to see it!

I’ve always been interested in character design. It’s not something I myself can do very well, but I love to see interesting characters. And GCBC’s design and concept are exactly that! Interesting! (And this whole thing is about GCBC, but I think a lot of the other characters also have really good designs.) What I especially love is how all TLM designs are interesting despite the limitations of being a LEGO. In fact, I think they’d be worse if they weren’t LEGO! The artists had to put a lot of effort into making these designs look good, even as minifigs. I think that’s awesome.

2. Story

Ough! It already hurts and I haven’t even typed yet! But of course, GCBC’s story is important. GCBC is given the most tragic story in TLM. They are forced to keep working for a corrupt boss, and they are the only ones (outside of robots) who are aware of the corruptness. But that is exactly why they have to just go with it, they know Business has the power to kill them and everyone they care about if they went against him.

And even then, even when they’re working for him the best they can, knowing far more than anyone else and having to act normal about it, well you know what happens. GCBC loses everyone. They obviously do not have many people that support them to begin with, but Bad Cop loses his parents and Good Cop! And that leaves him with one person, Business.

It’s implied Business has been so terrible to GCBC for a while. Good Cop is so scared of Business that he avoids the guy as much as possible, to the point Business needed to specifically ask for Good Cop, and even then he would keep switching out. And GCBC’s helmet is mostly for protection from Lord Business, not master builders. But what can GCBC do about their situation? Nothing! Business is the damn president, they can’t do anything about it. And they can’t join the master builders, they’re murderers, they can’t just join the good guys! GCBC is a victim of such unfortunate circumstance.

Isn’t that crazy!? They just add the most horrific abuse on GCBC to this movie!? It’s a movie about LEGO! And you can even see how this affected Bad Cop, if you look closely, and have worms eating your brain! But again, I want to get to that later!

3. Personalities

IT’S LATER! Obviously GCBC is two guys in one. I love that. I love it so much that it feels wrong when people seperate them! I’m getting more and more into my own interpretation and outside of what is actually shown/implied in the movie, but I think GCBC just wouldn’t work seperated. I feel like Good Cop and Bad Cop exaggerate each other’s personalities. Good Cop is really nice, which leaves Bad Cop to have to be the mean one. No matter how nice Bad Cop might try to be, he isn’t going to be able to match Good Cop. And their names are no help anyhow.

If they were to be seperate people, Bad Cop wouldn’t be as aggressive. He wouldn’t HAVE to be! And if he was, then he would just be a complete jerk. But when they’re connected, they both balance eachother out and contrast more. Good Cop allows Bad Cop to be mean and Bad Cop allows Good Cop to be nice.

Good Cop is the nice one. But he isn’t THAT nice. I think I said this earlier, Good Cop was totally okay with killing Emmet and he still works for Business. But he is less violent. He is the Good Cop, so he must be the sympathetic one, or else he wouldn’t BE that! He certainly is evil, but he also certainly is kind.

Bad Cop is the antithesis. He is the bad one, duh. But he also is not entirely terrible. He can be a little nice, as a treat. Especially after the loss of Good Cop. Now that there isn’t a Good Cop to be the good one, that leaves Bad Cop. And if you’ll notice, he does start acting a little nicer. He offers an easy way to Emmet, Wyldstyle, and Vitruvius in that Old West scene, he says thank you to what he THINKS is a robot, and obviously he brings back Good Cop at the end, he’s not entirely evil. But he definitely is a little bit.

During the movie, Bad Cop has a running gag where he beats up chairs. Aha, I’m really going into headcanon territory right now, but I see that as him taking his anger out on chairs instead of PEOPLE! Wouldn’t that be sweet? He tries not to hurt people! Amazing! He also melts people but I forgive him for that!

I love GCBC’s personalities. I love them on their own, but especially how they work together, as ‘one’ character. I love how despite being a Good Cop and a Bad Cop, they’re both more complicated than that. Man these guys are great!

4. Family

GCBC is the one LEGO character given a family. Obviously the story is about the Man and Boy upstairs, and they’re family, but no other LEGO gets that. Emmet and Business aren’t exactly related, even if they’re the LEGOsonas of Will and Finn. In a draft of TLM, Emmet did have a mom, Doris, but she was removed. GCBC gets parents though. And also, eachother, as brothers!

GCBC is a villain. But they have a family that they really do care for. Good Cop can’t bring himself to kill his family, when he’s entirely willing to kill Emmet. And Bad Cop is ‘willing’. But it’s more like he knows that if he doesn’t do it, Business is going to do it instead, and he’ll be punished. And he’s clearly apprehensive anyhow!

I already mentioned how Bad Cop reacts to losing his family, the only people who care for him, but there’s more! Bad Cop sings the song ‘Danny Boy’ after losing Good Cop. An old irish song about losing someone (usually by death) and wishing to be reunited someday. Cool man! I’m not crying! My eyes are sweating!

The fact that GCBC is given a family is very special! And the family really helps with their character. And everyone comes back in the end, but does that change how terrifying it would be to lose all your family, family who Bad Cop was especially close to?

5. Love

And now I talk about what might be the best part of GCBC. The love! Theres so much to GCBC, clearly the creators loved him. I love being able to see that. Despite being the villain, and not even the main villain at that, GCBC is included on lots of merch. GCBC is also included in lots of extras. And he’s included a LOT. GCBC is given so much by the creators!

Liam Neeson didn’t have to voice GCBC in single takes, but he did. Because he thought it fit the character. Because he cared about the character! He improvised that darndarndarnydarn thing because he cared about the character! He added all sorts of weird noises because he thought it fit GCBC! He didn’t HAVE to do that! He wasn’t getting anything from doing that! But he did it because he felt like it made the character better.

Isn’t that just darling? GCBC is not just a fan-favorite, I think he was a favorite of the people who worked on the movie as well! And I think those guys know a lot about TLM, ha ha! So, that’s 5 reasons why GCBC is the best character, in my opinion.

#good cop bad cop #gcbc lego movie #infodump #me #important

23 notes · View notes

boxheadpaint · 2 months

Text

good: have been drawing a lot in my sketchbook lately, mostly with pencil. do you know how awesome it is to have a sharpener on hand immediately too. making smooth gem-ish shading is very fun and time consuming too, so its a nice way to distract myself. i need to get back into my pixel projects as well- i forgot that aseprite is still technically a steam game so my friend asked me why i have 6000 hours in it (i keep basically all art programs open to have them on hand fast). i want to get watercolor markers or something to make funny things more. i used to draw a lot back in school of course because it was easier than doing the actual work i guess- now i have some block about drawing traditionally where i forget it for a long while and also need to be in a very specific spot for it to be enjoyable (in this case thecorner of the living room couch). ill figure out how to use the scanner by myself at some point

bad: toenail is starting to hurt again, swelling, had a rough time yesterday with my heart blasting in spite of Actually No Anxiety for once and not even having a huge meals, just snacking until dinner (by which point i had weakened considerably but even before that when i had eaten it was like techno in there.) i still have yet to get the long ecg or whatever it is, though i do have a random app with the doctor on the 27th so maybe i can ask for a referral that isnt over an hour away from where i live. the gums of a tooth in the back of my mouth was hurting for a while but seems fine now, wasnt sure what i was gonna do about that so thats good. can go back to brushing normal now. still havent gotten lab orders.

the cats were grooming eachother on the couch a second ago and now theyre getting feisty and bitey and silly so i cant really stay depressed. dreams have been weirdly vivid as of late for better and for worse, even just during naps. makes it even more exhausting. for the past 3 weeks or so ive had a consistent thought whenever ive been stressed of "i need to go curl up in a dirt hole somewhere else", which while not good isnt the worst thing to think at least

2/20/2024, you can type a lot more with an actual keyboard

#diary

35 notes · View notes

thyluvcupix · 9 months

Text

Sakuatsu fic recs!

im very picky on what i label to be a 'good fic' most of the ones are amazing but only a few will get bookmarkerd by me and here they are! My ao3 acc that has many more book marks mostly nsfw i diddnt put here

A liar's truth 49k words

okay this one is just breathtaking? if you havent read this pls do i cried sm😭

summary:

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

I'll see you in court, motherfucker 2k words

its short and funny def worth a read if you wanna giggle

Summary:

“You’re still a fraud. You’re—you’re a scammer, is what you are. I don’t know how you convinced the hospital administration that you’re my husband, or that we even have a relationship, but I have—” Fuck, what’s the word? “Lawyers,” Kiyoomi says triumphantly, “I have lawyers, and if you’re trying to con me for some ulterior motive, I’ll have you know—” “Oh my god, Omi,” Miya says, sounding equal parts exasperated and horribly fond. “How can you be so cute?”

A pleasant side effect of being down one vestigial organ is forgetting the existence of your hot Olympic athlete husband

The 28 post cards you left me 8k words

Honestly, if i ever break up with someone this is exactly what i want from them? Like omg?? pls send me post cards, Super cute

Summary:

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

The art of the thrist trap 4k words

naughty naughty, but other than that this fic is so funny? like ask ur brother how to rizz someone up

Summary:

“Samu, I’ve got a big problem.”

“Here we fuckin’ go. What is it this time?”

Atsumu needs to think strategically about how he’s going to phrase this. One wrong word and Osamu will hang up on him and Atsumu will be forced to wade through the hell of his own mind by himself.

“I jerked off to one of my teammates.”

Osamu hangs up.

Problem 5k words

super cute sleepy omi is something else

Summary:

Atsumu has a problem— somehow, he finds every version of Sakusa Kiyoomi adorable.

In which Atsumu realizes that Sakusa Kiyoomi gets very quiet and very adorable when he's tired. Things simply go downhill from there.

Take me where the music aint to loud 2k words

Protetive sakusa>>

Summary:

Winning against the Adlers must have meant something of a great deal to Sakusa, as usually he wouldn’t even consider going out with the rest of his team after the game.

Yet, here he is, in a somewhat crowded club, wearing a black button up shirt rolled up around his wrists and sweating a little under the bright lights.

Atsumu thinks he looks beautiful.

He wanders over to where Sakusa is standing with Meian, hoping that tonight, with a little bit of influence from alcohol, he might be able to get more conversation out of him than he can usually get outside of practice.

But of course, Atsumu can’t have anything good, ever. Because, blocking the way is his ex-boyfriend.

or; atsumu runs into his ex in the club, and sakusa has to rescue him

ROAD RAGE 2k words

This is funny on so many levels poor atsumu he fears for his life

Summary:

For a man who preaches at any given opportunity about the importance of good self-care practices, Sakusa certainly displays an astounding lack of self-preservation when behind the wheel.

Sakusa Kiyoomi has a driver’s license. Sakusa Kiyoomi cannot drive.

The two are not mutually exclusive.

The ascent to love (or descent) 3k words

Im always a sucker for hurt/comfort and this fic gives me that, its also funny as well so its a win-win type thing

Summary:

Stuck in an elevator with his boyfriend after a fight, Sakusa Kiyoomi couldn't think of anything worse. Working through their issues? Maybe he could think of one thing.

Take me home 10k words

i just cannont stress how good this is, like its soul healing on so may levels gosh

Summary:

Turns out, Miya Atsumu never did a good thing in his life – his love was one-sided. And so, he was running away, hoping to meet some friendly people, take a bunch of pretty pictures and get over Kita Shinsuke.

In which Miya Atsumu is an exchange student in Italy, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is the only one knowing Japanese, forced to take care of the new student.

Hope is the thing with feathers 10k words

Two dummies taking care of some birds is honestly to good

Summary:

Kiyoomi wakes to Miya banging on his door, yelling words that put the fear of god in him.

“Omi-kun, get out here, we’re gonna be fathers.”

In the stars 1k words

In all honesty it made me think of the other side of love i never thought about

Summary:

Miya Atsumu is a romantic. He always had been. He believes in soulmates and destiny and true love in the stars. Sakusa Kiyoomi believes none of that.

My ao3↵

#haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakuatsu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu sakusa #haikyuu atsumu #fanfic #sakusa smut #atsumu smut #skts #msby #fanfic rec #ao3 fanfic #read on ao3 #fanfiction #ao3 fic #ash rec's #ash posted it

79 notes · View notes

ot3 · 1 year

Note

omg thank you for being the first normal person I've seen so far about AI who's also an artist T-T like obviously all the stealing is horrible and it's good it's talked about but almost everyone really is acting like the idea of computers being capable of creating images killed their firstborn child

(also I don't mean it as one of the weird AI art bros but as an artist myself I'm just glad that there are other artist with open mind to the concept)

no right like its insane to me to see how many other people who seem reasonable and level headed are falling for the kneejerk response to say ai Isn't Art Can't Be Art ! It's throwing out the baby with the bathwater to an almost incomprehensible degree.

Unfortunately the fact of the matter is that we live in an era where essentially all new technology's first and prime purpose will be for ghoulish, capitalistic, anti-human ends. But to reject any other uses for the technology doesn't do anything other than make you look like an anti-tech weirdo. This is genuinely insanely impressive and revolutionary tech! There are a TON of legitimate artistic uses for AI image generation.

It also seems weird that everyone is delving into this false binary of 'dont use AI, learn to draw' as if there is any conceivable reason for these things to be mutually exclusive? Like, before all of the AI discourse really popped off i was doing some experimenting with using AI in my process.

the texturing used in this drawing was made by VQGAN + Clip (different type of image generation than the stable diffusion model that is producing most of the AI art that's up for debate right now) running through google colab. I made a bunch of these weird, ethereal images that would have been almost impossible for me to produce under my own power - it would have taken a titanic amount of time, effort, and design to produce any of these through illustrative or photo editing techniques.

here's a sampling of some of the textures i made. Now I think it would be a real struggle to try and claim that these images made are plagiarisms. However, I stopped messing with the google colab generation for one key reason: i didnt know enough about the image databases being used to train these models. That's the real stumbling block

the internet is CHOCK FULL of images that are free to use commercially and repurposes, there's stuff like wikimedia commons, the smithsonian open access, unsplash and pexels which have free stock photos, etc. I honestly think a nonzero amount of artists would consent to having some of their work used in image generation databases if they were promised noncommercial use of the resulting images, also. But the problem is the people training these AI don't give a shit about any of that. It's just the complete entitlement to other people's work and neglect for creative boundaries that makes AI generation bad.

The fact that people are attempting to replicate the art of living, working artists, or people like kentaro miura who by all accounts were so dedicated to the craft that they worked themselves to death sickens me. And the fact that the companies responsible for this are using that as an active selling point for their product is even worse. It's a pretty miserable time to be an artist, and this is just the icing on the cake.

But I don't want silicon valley greed and bizarre, impotent jealousy from redditors who want custom waifu jpgs to mean that nobody who could really benefit from AI image generation gets to use it.

like, my dad for example. he's been a creative person his whole life but it never really went anywhere. He drew a lot as a kid and then went and got a degree in filmmaking. My parents were living in LA when I was born, with my dad managing a filming/sound studio and the two of them trying to break into writing screenplays. This did not happen because they had three kids, and for the past decade and then some my dad had been doing database programming on contract for the CDC. Now, in his mid 50s, he's finally got a permanent and secure position and, rather than spending all his free time raising children or getting PMP certified to try and angle for a string of promotions, he can start having hobbies again. there's a comic he's been wanting to draw for as long as I can remember.

only, one big problem - in 2021 he had surgery on his cataracts and never healed properly. He's got severely impaired vision and looking at stuff too hard for to long causes him a ton of eye strain and pain. He has to look at a lot of screens for his job so by the time he's off work for the day he's pretty much too fatigued to do all the intense visual stuff it'd take to make a comic.

I wanted to tell him AI image generation could help him make the kind of stuff he always dreamed about making as a kid but instead I had to tell him that as it stands, the predatory nature of AI modeling means it's insanely hard to use it without ripping off vulnerable creatives. Instead we chatted a bit about combining 3d assets, digitally edited photos, or photobashing/digital kitbashing methods to try and make a pipeline he could do without drawing, but the time commitment to learn these methods is probably just not feasible unless his eyes make a pretty unprecedented recovery in future years.

Like, that's the worst thing about all of this. The idea that AI makes the production of certain kinds of art more accessible to people with disabilities isn't just a 'gotcha' being used by the pro-AI people, it's also true. I would love for my dad to be able to make his comic. I myself also have a huge string of health issues and sometimes the main thing stopping me from drawing is that it hurts to do so. Anything in my process that could reduce the strain drawing puts on my body is an accessibility concern in some ways. Eventually degrading so much that I can't draw at all is one of my biggest fears.

But that doesn't counter all of the negatives! It just doesnt! Which fucking sucks man it just sucks so fucking bad that we have this cool incredible thing and we can't use it without being complicit in some stuff i am fully ideologically against! As things stand I really cant imagine that 'ethical' AI image generation will ever exist, so unfortunately it will have to be in the hands of the people using it to decide for themselves if they are using it in a way that is predatory or harmful, or as a legitimate tool to make meaningful works of art.

#sorry to go on this whole rant ive just been percolating on these thoughts for awhile.#long post #ai #i know this comes off as preachy im just passionate about this subject

169 notes · View notes

shock-micro · 3 months

Text

Hi, I'm Mira! I'm a silly gay robot on the internet. "How," you might be wondering- don't worry! I have a two greek letter answer for you: θΔ. I'm also transfem, if you couldn't already tell by the trans flag in my profile picture.

I used to do Minecraft stuff, trying to make the game live up to its visual potential while staying within the confines of the vanilla game's engine, but now I'm kinda just burnt out of the game as a whole. Oh well! Now I just generally like looking into the visual and game design of various games.

My interests are mostly gaming-related, but I've tried to dabble in art occasionally. I like all sorts of games, like Pokémon, Minecraft, Celeste, Hollow Knight, Rain World, Risk of Rain, Ultrakill and probably even more that I'm missing, and definitely more after this post is made.

Feel free to send me asks whether we're mutuals or not!

I do have a sona, designed by a good friend of mine, @quantumpickle! I don't quite have a reference sheet, but I don't really care if you get it inaccurate- I love seeing how different people interpret the design. Whatever you do, though, don't forget the body fat- it's a reflection of who I am, at the end of the day. If you want a good picture of what I look like, look at Pickle's amazing work:

My posts are mostly reblogs, but I always end each session of scrolling with a post of my own, to know where to end next time I log on. I try as best I can to keep this account safe for work in both reblogs and original posts, though I am an adult. I will say something if this ever changes.

I am plural, sharing a body with a rabbit girl named Moon. She doesn't have her own sona yet, having recently (as of this post) decided to no longer associate herself with the character that first helped her manifest. You'll know it's her- she uses blue-colored text, and I typically don't type in proper grammar on Tumblr.

Hello, all! It's Moon- I'm not typically around as much as Mira, but it's always a pleasure when I can be~

I do have a partner, and I will always talk about them given the opportunity, but I carry a certain form of love for all of my close friends. The people I know mean a lot to me.

I love the simple things in life, from food, to nature, to the contrast of light and dark in both a literal and literary sense. I often find myself overwhelmed by everything that goes on in the world, but I find comfort in knowing the bad stuff is only a few bad people out of a beautifully diverse species.

If you couldn't tell, I generally prefer looking on the bright side and finding something to love about things rather than staying miserable all of the time. I don't get out much, and so I'd much rather give people that light to hold onto than spread the same old bleak story that you've heard from countless other people, regardless of how important it is to share. Change is built on hope, after all.

Normally people put a DNI in their bio or their pinned post, but I don't really care to do that. If you're a bitch, I'll block and move on. I don't care how you use a label, or where the other folks in your head came from, or whatever other queer-adjacent drama is the hot topic, I accept you regardless. I'm ace, I still love my partner, I can love anyone, I use it/its pronouns, I'm robokin, I've got another goober in my head whose origins are unknown, do you really think I'd hate you for being you?

That's actually an important point- even if I do think something someone's done is unforgivable, I believe that bad people are still people. In some ways, that makes things better, they have lives outside of what they commit, but it also makes things worse when you realize someone woke up and actively chose to perpetuate genocide. Some people are genuinely that bad, others are just misguided and can be helped. Ultimately, it's not my job to "save" anyone. I just try to provide a light of kindness when I can.

Wow, that was long-winded for a post that's just supposed to describe me. I suppose that's in-character for me, though. Agree with me or not, I don't really care, as long as you're respectful. I hope you've found this post helpful in understanding who I am as a person, long-winded as it is. Have a good one, whoever and wherever you are.

...now how do I pin this?

14 notes · View notes

khattikeri · 8 months

Note

i loved reading your post. i think hori is way worse than kishimoto when it comes to writing female characters. he has disgusting opinion on women and at this point i cant even separate the art from the artist. hori disgusts me on many levels. also, are you an anime only fan or do you follow the manga as well. if its the latter, what are you thoughts on the recent events of the series.

apart from his sexist view on women, i think the plot itself, it's fights and everything in between also has plenty of flaws rearing it's ugly head

I think it's less of a hatred for women on Horikoshi's part and more an unconscious bias that ends up leading to female characters all dying or fading away into irrelevancy... or being established as "strong" only for them to have a single shining moment before being relegated to supporting male character arcs, which get a lot more time and detail.

I quit the anime halfway through season 5 and haven't been reading ongoing manga chapters properly in years (I stopped when Lady Nagant was defeated), so I don't actually know how the final arc is going. I've seen some things relating to Dabi/Todoroki family drama and Bakugou's status in the battle. But I check leaks very rarely.

I was pretty disillusioned and emotional when I wrote the rant post on misogyny in the series. I just typed it out in one go fueled by my own indignance at how conveniently things go for Midoriya and how little any of the women in the story get to shine, even when the intention is for them to do so.

I obviously missed some points and examples because I was so emotional... so seeing people take it out of context on twitter and calling me a crazy tumblr fujoshi or radfem acting in bad faith pissed me off. I blocked a lot of people over it. Not worth my time if people can't fucking read and use their brains, lol.

I hesitate to throw labels at Horikoshi though. Maybe he does truly believe that women can be as strong as men. Maybe he doesn't truly hold misogynystic beliefs in the extreme way, where he thinks women have to be subservient. How people view strength between genders is an important aspect to consider. Saying a woman is strong or having her fight physically is not the same as being given equal character development to a man. Men get inhuman or creature-based designs, such as the centipede, but all the women have moe humanesque faces even if they have different skin colors or horns. Where do you draw the line?

Regardless of Horikoshi's intentions, there is a disparity in how he writes and draws his female vs his male characters, and especially how many of each of them he creates. I think it's ridiculous to act like that difference doesn't exist at all, or that someone calling it out (with no intention to like, cancel him) is reading into it too deeply.

In the end if people can't handle others pointing out flaws about things they like, that's a problem for them, not me. I've heard others say the final bnha arc is flawed and overly rushed, but I wouldn't know. I don't intend to read it until the series is over so I can binge and then mark it complete on my lists.

I used to like it but these days I find myself understanding more and more that shonen manga, especially Jump manga and action shonen, truly are not meant for me. I'm not a kid anymore and my standards for character development, plot development, and critical analysis just don't mesh well with it.

#ask #theuntamedangel #thank you for this ask LOL i got a little rambly and off topic with the venting but this has been bugging me #glad you agreed with me at any rate #bnha #bnha critical

12 notes · View notes

anonymous-user-a · 2 months

Text

The tunnels of the hideout had seemed to have gotten worse. Rot and viscera coated the walls like a repulsive amateur art project. The beasts had become more frequent and aggressive. Often they'd attack Lance instead of Archer, seemingly wanting to spare their unknowing creator. Archer couldn't help but feel guilty; whatever these beasts were, she'd played a part in their creation and seemingly painful existence - not to mention all the people who must've been hurt by them. Toxin helped cut down the beasts, clearly more tolerant of the near-toxic environment due to its poison typing. Unfortunately, this also meant that the creatures were resistant to Toxin's Cross Poison and Leech Life attacks. Either way, they all made their way through the tunnels that the hideout had consisted of. Luckily, the spin-tiles had been deactivated by the lack of power, making it far easier for them - Lance, mainly, as Archer knew the puzzle's solution like it was second nature due to working there - to get through certain sections.

The hideout wasn't particularly small but, with the corpses strewn about and two people trying to navigate it, it certainly felt both claustrophobic and endless in the worst way possible. Between the two of them, Lance seemed considerably more disturbed by the environment than Archer. It supposed they couldn't blame the Champion; this was likely the first time that he went down here and Archer was far more familiar with this level of gore. He helped Lance as much as possible, often guiding him despite their subordinate disposition and - quite frankly - poor leadership skills, and being as patient as possible despite just wanting it to be over. The environment didn't seem particularly welcoming, even to someone familiar with it - Arceus knows how unsettling it was to someone unfamiliar with it. Together, they pushed forward, Lance mapping out the area as they searched for the source of the creatures and a way to easily dispose of them without causing more harm. After all, it was the least that Archer could do in this self-made hell.

Eventually, most of the rooms had been explored. Only a handful remained, including the freezer room that Archer had halfheartedly attempted to seal on her first foray into the festering tomb. To be blunt, he especially didn't want to go into the freezer room, delaying it as much as possible. After all, that is where the majority of organs and limbs were kept; if it was bad elsewhere, it would be hellish in there. Archer felt sick to their stomach trying to imagine how bad it'd gotten there - and the inevitable look of horror on Lance's face when he realises the true scope of Archer's actions. Maybe he'd finally realise that Archer was too far gone to atone for all his sins, or maybe he'd be too nice and naïve to care - just as long as Archer was trying. Neither possibility seemed particularly appealing. Perhaps it would've been smarter to get it out of the way first, but if they could all immediately leave after dealing with the freezer and therefore avoid the awkwardness that would likely come with working alongside someone who knows it's a monster, that would be optimal.

Of course, they eventually got to the freezer room as the last stop before they returned upstairs to reconvene with the Elite Four and discuss their findings. The door seemed to resist being opened, but there was no way it could be locked with the automatic lock mechanism down. Furthermore, it didn't feel locked exactly - it felt like there was something elastic covering the door and forcing it closed. Working together and pushing the door at the same time, Archer and Lance began to make progress. Though, part of them really wished they hadn't. Sounds of tearing and some sort of cruel approximation of screaming could be heard from the other side of the door. They managed to get the door open enough to see what looked like stretched, torn skin blocking the door. It was like the door had been grown over by some sort of fragile, tearable skin, like a scab forming over a wound. Both of them froze in shock, feeling sick at the uncomfortably organic sight. Lance was clearly braver than Archer, asking Toxin to try to cut open the skin enough for them to get through. Equally unsettled, the Crobat looked towards Archer for confirmation of the command, who nodded in agreement.

With a slash from Toxin's wings, the skin was cleanly sliced through, allowing for the pair to squeeze their way through. Whatever thing that the skin belonged to let out another loud scream, sounding like the cries of hundreds of Pokémon bellowing at once in a terrifying, discordant harmony. It was so loud that it shook the floor, forcing Archer to cover its ears and causing Toxin to bolt around in a panic. After the horrid wail subsided, Lance took Archer's shaking hand, giving them the most encouraging look he could muster. As much as it wanted to run away and leave this place behind, Archer nodded back, as ready to enter into the hell that he made and face the true consequences of her actions as they'd ever be. In all honesty, Archer didn't know why he didn't just abandon Lance to deal with it; it was absolutely not worth the risk for Archer to be involved, but it stayed anyway, regardless of the consequences and a lack of reasoning for doing so. Either way, they entered the freezer room together, hands intertwined as they tried to silently encourage one another to do what they must.

The freezer room barely counted as a room anymore, seeming more like a mouth or stomach. The walls were made out of screaming faces and writhing limbs, all trying to claw at the pair and closing in on them. It seemed to pulsate and breathe, letting out another terrible cry as it grabbed Toxin, seemingly trying to gain more flesh and build upon itself by eating the poor Pokémon alive. The flesh of the wall seemed to be attempting to suffocate the Crobat as it struggled to escape. In a panic, Archer let go of Lance's hand and charged at the wall that grabbed Toxin and attempted to drag the Pokémon back out. It was seemingly futile, only resulting in the corrosive flesh attempting to consume their arms as well. Lance grabbed Archer, helping her in saving Toxin and pulling his arms out of the sentient flesh. Toxin was injured, but it didn't seem fatal; Archer returned the Crobat to its Pokéball with bleeding, shaking hands to allow for the Pokémon to recover.

In the center of the room was an odd machine, seemingly breathing despite being made entirely of non-organic materials. Archer immediately identified it as a GameShark - clearly powering the horrid creature and was likely the source of the beasts tormenting Celadon. This was the heart of all the agony that Archer had accidentally unleashed on the world, beating right in front of them. The device had been used in previous times to allow for the experiments to be successful, seemingly breaking the fabric of reality to allow for it in ways that Archer could never understand. In those times, she simply saw it as a gift from Arceus to the world to its loyal servants - like him - the power to further their individual goals. Now, it was hard to see the device as anything merciful or pleasant - not with the results of it surrounding them.

The grasping, pulsating walls reached for Lance, forcing Archer to respond. Lance struggled against the living rot as Archer used the abomination's focus against it, reaching for the machinery and grabbing it in his palm.

The beast let out another pained cry, letting go of Lance to devote all its power to tearing its creator away from its heart. Archer's body seemed to reject touching the device. It was as if the universe was trying to tear her arm apart, his skin burning and melting away and exposing flesh. They let out a similarly agonised scream as it began to pull the machine out of the desperate abomination clawing at him.

Just as he did when they were saving Toxin, Lance grabbed Archer and began to pull. As they pulled, the abomination seemed to come undone, the bonds that held the rotting limbs together tearing and ripping themselves apart. Blood and viscera leaked from the device, muscles and skin attaching it to the walls. The pair tore at the muscles with desperate ferocity, like trapped animals.

With a sickening snap of the muscles breaking, it came loose, and Archer fell to the floor with the device in his injured hand. Lance hurried towards Archer, trying to make sure she was okay.

The last thing that Archer felt was the uncomfortably warm floor. The last thing that Archer saw was the abomination coming apart and dying. The last thing that Archer heard was Lance insisting that they stay alive. Then, Archer fell unconscious.

When it returned to consciousness, he was in a hospital.

#tw body horror #tw gross #tw rot #ask to tag if i missed anything #off screen interaction #[this is what a meant by living flesh room btw]#[but seriously pls heed the warnings it gets horrific]#long post

2 notes · View notes

youraverageaemondsimp · 3 months

Text

BEWARE OF AN AI ARTIST!

I've recently noticed an account post AI art on my for you page and i have something important to say.

See there's nothing wrong having fun with AI but passing it off as your own work is not good at all, that art wasn't created by you, but by a software.

The account is pretty self aware and tags it under AI art, but what makes me confused is when they are watermarking the art to pass off as their own, usually nobody looks at the tags (because come on, who would? they only exist to block/find things, not to read it), and that's the only place where they say that its AI artwork, other than that they post usually like how normal artists would, and what's worse is that they have a unique type of art style which makes everyone on the surface believe that's it's their own art until you look closer.

I don't think I'll have to explain how AI art/writing damages the community since everyone is pretty aware, I don't want anyone to harass the person for posting AI art, but simply, do not reblog their posts or promote their account!

The account is @/hollyfreyjames i have blocked them since I don't support AI "artists" and dont want any of their content on my feed, if you wish, you could do the same.

#important #mae rambles #beware

2 notes · View notes

unagrancantidaddepanes · 1 year

Text

people be like ugh im sick of people making content/posts of (insert ship) i miss when the fandom didnt have as many ship posts and thus was better but what if i was sick of THESE posts where people talk down to wonderfully made content and silly posts just because they look down on romantic relationships as less superior than other things and literally just complain that people are having fun with something that they dont personally like hmmmm what then 🤔🤔 what if i was sick of people being like i miss when people talked about other characters and would discuss theories as if all of those types of posts and fan content just EVAPORATES and disappears the moment a ship becomes popular like if you want to see owl house theories literally all you have to do is look up owl house theories its not that hard lmao. if you want to see fanart of little my just look up little my its not that hard lmao. just because lumity and snufmin are popular and your probably gonna see a lot of content of them if u just search up ‘the owl house’ or ‘moomin’ doesnt mean you cant just. specifically look up what you want lol, like im sorry your petty the thing YOU like isnt the most popular thing in the fandom, literally all you have to do is look up the thing you want instead of being upset you didnt get what you. didnt search for. like what where you expecting you didnt search for it 😭 im sorry the first result when you searched ‘moomin’ happened to be a snufmin fanart and not a snorkmaiden fanart because statistically there is more snufmin art than snorkmaiden art literally all you needed to do to find what you want is. look up snorkmaiden 💀 BEGGING THESE PEOPLE TO JUST LOOK UP WHAT THEY WANT LMAO and do not even get me started on when people make comments like this, not on public forums or their own posts, BUT DIRECTLY IN THE COMMENTS OF POSTS OR CONTENT PEOPLE HAVE MADE OF WHATEVER SHIP THEIR COMPLANING ABOUT, TO THE PERSON WHO MADE IT

drives me insane tbh, its literally just bashing and looking down on people for having fun and making content for something they like just because its not personally THEIR favourite thing, sometimes DIRECTLY TO THE FACES OF PEOPLE WHO MAKE THE CONTENT, like IMAGINE seeing a cute fanart of (insert ship) and commenting on it ‘god it makes me so sad how much worse this fandom is now because content of (insert ship) is the only thing you see in the fandom anymore’ LIKE???? WHY R U TALKING DOWN TO THIS PERSON ABOUT WHAT THEY WANT TO DRAW LMAO, JUST LOOK UP WHATEVER IT IS YOU WANTED TO SEE IM BEGGING YOU 😭 theres a difference between saying something like ‘!!!! i love theories !!!! i hope people make more theories in this fandom theyre awesome !!!!! :)’ and ‘ugh honestly so annoyed of there being so much lumity content, i miss when the fandom was better because there was less lumity content being made’ also a lovely reminder that here on tumblr there is a ✨block function✨ for tags and blogs that will, miraculously, fliter out whatever content it was that you didnt want to see <3

#not a fan of how people look down on romantic relationships tbh #like thats awesome you like theories and other characters but that doesnt give you the right to bash other content just because you #see it as less superior just because its not personally YOUR favourite thing or YOU dont like it lmao #snufmin #lumity #ive seen this a lot with these 2 fandoms UISHIDFUHIJ #and as someone who WAS in the owl house fandom before lumity was popular or even a common ship in the fandom #you can still find those types of posts from before lmao #LITERALLY all u have to do is search for them #like just because lumity is popular doesnt mean every other post has suddenly evaporated lmfao #like imagine if i made a post being like 'UGH i hate how theres SO MANY THEORY POSTS in this fandom like shut up!!!!!!!!!!!'#LIKE IT WOULD SOUND FUCKING RIDICULOUS LMAO #its just that people see romantic relationships as something that can be looked down upon like thats literally it LMAO #its just that THEY see it as less superior and so they just talk down to it and bash it lmao #when literally all they have to do is search up what they want instead of just searching the fandom name and excpecting whatever content #they want specifically to be handed to them GYDIUFSHOIHUYFDUOJ #the owl house #moomin #moominvalley #tbspost

14 notes · View notes

imtryingmyfuckingbe · 2 years

Text

Chapter Seven

Word Count: 4,773

________________________________________________

Blue’s hasn’t changed once since its opening. The same worn booths sit atop the same scratched floors. The tables bear the marks of past customers, names and quotes carved into the surface alongside sharpie drawings. Posters and polaroids cover the faded red walls, in addition to graffiti and the occasional bullet hole from long ago. And the speakers, state of the art in its day, wear worse by the night.

Still, Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower blares, crackling. This type of music wasn’t meant for people to enjoy clearly, anyhow. Like the scratch of a vinyl, Hendrix and the Stones and others of the like deserve the character that comes along with low quality sound systems.

Even the patrons stay the same, having designated Blue’s as theirs in the seventies. Among the furniture, these people remain a fixture. Y/N can’t picture her bar without Gertie and Tom in the back booth, Magnolia at a high top, and Anthony at the pool table.

Bernie takes the cake as the longest running customer, and her personal favorite. He sat on his barstool at Blue’s grand opening and hasn’t left since. Johnny, the original owner, engraved Bernie’s name into a one inch by three inches plaque and screwed it into the step bar of his seat in the nineties. It marked Blue’s and Bernie’s twentieth year anniversary.

Y/N pushes past the hoard blocking the entryway. They ignore her, carrying on in their conversations despite her thrown elbows. A blessing and a curse, Blue’s brings in a faithful crowd; most nights offer standing room only. She supposes everyone, like herself, revels in the safety of familiar faces. What’s done and said at Blue’s stays written in the walls and walked into the floor.

Carter, the bartender, waves Y/N down, shaking an empty short glass. She nods her head, thumbs up, and he pours her whiskey. He slides it to the end of the bar top, towards Bernie’s empty stool. She points to the seat, eyebrows raised. Carter shrugs and mouths ‘bathroom, maybe’, before turning to work on a round of drinks.

Y/N sips her whiskey, moving towards the pool table. Anthony winks at her as he takes the winning shot, the eight ball sinking into the right pocket. Maurice grumbles, slapping a twenty into Tony’s open palm.

“Don’t play with this girl, boys!” Tony ribs, grabbing Y/N’s shoulder and shaking her. “She ain’t play fair and you won’ twin!”

The men around the table laugh, all too aware of Y/N’s penchant for hustling— the only downside to her reputation here.

“I’ll take winner, fellas.”

Tony groans. “That’d be me, dear. Now, be nice to an old man, would ya?”

Y/N snorts. “Why? ‘Cause you’re one foot in the grave?”

Tony scoffs while his friend chortles. “You gonna pin me to the table next?”

“Nah, you’d like that too much, grandpa. Where’s Chuckles anyway?”

Jerry speaks up from the back. “Ain’t seen him since you laid him flat, kid.”

Another round of laughter. Y/N shrugs off her jacket, hanging it on a hook on the wall. “All right, boys. We gonna play or keep gossiping?”

Tony fetches the rack from the table’s side. Y/N walks around the pool table, emptying the pockets and rolling the balls towards Tony. He arranges them at random, save for the centered eight ball. Y/N tuts in admonishment when he places two stripes at the bottom corners. She switches one out for a solid. Tony mumbles under his breath about her being stickler. She rolls her eyes.

“If we’re playing, we’re playing right. Tony, you break.”

He does, calling stripes and sinking two more balls before he scratches. Y/N follows suit, calling the pockets before she shoots. She sinks four balls before missing, backing up to give room for Tony. He leans over the table, back hunched, and scratches.

Y/N pats his back, laughter buoyant and booming around the crowd. This is where she feels most comfortable, she thinks. Not in the library, not finding despicable people to knock down a few pegs, but here. Surrounded by less than fortunate fools like herself.

Her father taught her pool in her youth, sneaking her into bars and passing on his wisdom. Once she mastered the basics— to the best of a twelve-year-old’s ability— he introduced hustling.

“People are gonna look at ya, small and unassuming, and make their conclusions. And you’re a girl; no one thinks girls can play a good game. So you gotta let ‘em assume, and then ya gotta make them regret it. Okay, kid?” He said when she grew red in the face from a wayward insult.

She took that and ran with it, intertwining it with her carefully crafted personality. Let them underestimate her. It caters to her needs, and puts her on the top.

When she sinks the eight ball, a chorus of boos and cheers break out. It’s a familiar comfort, like a warm blanket she earned by making it rather than buying it off the shelf. Tony grumbles under breath; Y/N’s games seldom last long. Wisely, he refused to place bets. Y/N declines another game in lieu of finding Bernie. He should be back by now.

She slips her jacket on, patting the pockets for the outline of her knife and wallet. The crowd parts faster this time, allowing her to reach Bernie’s stool with ease. To her chagrin, Bernie isn’t there, sipping on a Bud. She pulls her phone from her pocket to check the time.

“What the fuck,” she wonders aloud.

She sets her glass on top of a ten at Bernie’s seat. Perhaps he decided to mingle with the others; he’s as much of a gossip as the rest of them. She canvases the room, scanning faces and coming up empty. At the end of the bar, Carter pours a line of four beers. She elbows her way through the crowd, ignoring shouts and return shoves. Patrons take up the stools in front of Carter, but she pushes through them.

“Hey!” one protests.

“Can it! Carter, where the fuck is Bernie?”

He shakes his head, motioning to his ear. “What?”

She grunts, pulling closer to the bar. He leans forward. “Where’s Bern? I ain’t seen him all night.”

Carter shrugs. “He was here earlier. Some people came in and talked to ‘im then left, though.”

“What did they look like?” She demands, on edge.

“I dunno.”

“Did he go with ‘em?”

“No, but I went in the back and when I came out he was gone. Started to fill up so I figured I missed him coming back.”

“Did you hear what they said?”

“No, Y/N,” he says, exasperated. He slides the beers to the respective drinkers. “Why? What’s going on?”

She shakes her head and pushes back from the bar. The air is thick in her lungs and the heat from the surrounding bodies creates a wall of suffocation. Y/N elbows her way to the exit, escaping to the street. She leans on the brick wall, breathing in short bursts.

Okay, she thinks. Next step. She snatches her phone again, dialing Bernie’s number. It rings until it goes to voicemail. She tries again, starting her trek home. She can figure something out from there.

“This is Bernie, if you’re calling—”

She hits redial.

He keeps his volume on; her ringer wakes him up when he drinks himself into a stupor. It worked in the past. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” she begs.

She picks up her pace, her shoes abusing the ground. Her heart jumps into her throat with each step, and sweat coats her brow.

Redial.

People cast wayward glances in her direction before averting their eyes. She can imagine how she looks— wild hair, wild eyes. She takes larger steps.

Redial.

She crosses the street with abandon, and a taxi squeals to a stop before it can hit her. The driver shouts expletives and grievances, but she ignores him. She’s running now.

Redial.

She skids around the corner of her block, feet slipping on the slick pavement. Her hand grapples the first thing it can— a stranger who yelps— to stabilize herself. Her apartment building’s awning signals like a beacon. She sprints to it.

Redial.

She turns to scale her stairs, but stops short. Red stained rope hangs from the metal frame of the canopy, meeting in the middle around two wrists of a kneeling man. His head hangs. Blood drips from his face and into the forming pool at his knees. His right shoulder protrudes further than the left. A sealed file with ‘For the Hangman’ on its front is stapled to his chest.

“Bernie,” she whispers. Her phone goes to voicemail. She lets it.

A honk a few streets over startles her into action. She slips her phone into her pocket and jumps up the stairs, stumbling to her knees in front of Bernie. With a ginger grasp, she braces his cheeks and lifts his head. His eyelids flutter but don’t open. She catalogs his wounds: crooked nose, bruised eyes, cuts and gashes marring his cheeks, eyebrows, lips, fore—

“Fuck,” she whispers.

She pushes herself to her feet, reaching for the dagger in her pocket, and shreds the rope to pieces, unraveling it from his wrists. Bernie lurches forward. Y/N catches him by his shoulders, careful to point the blade away from him and lowers him as softly as she can. The staples gives a sickening squelch when she pulls the folder from his chest. Bile rises in the back of her throat.

“C’mon, old man,” she pleads, tapping his cheek. He groans.

She screeches in frustration. She can’t carry him enough for him to walk if he were lucid, let alone up four flights of stairs to her apartment, and she refuses to leave him to get her first aid kit. Can’t call for an ambulance: the old man doesn’t have health insurance. His blood flows onto her lap.

Tears drop to his cheeks, clearing lines through the grime, before she realizes she crying. She wipes them away, but they continue to fall. Her chest heaves with her breaths. “I’ve got you, Bern. I’ve got you.”

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the business card she swore she’d never use. Phone in hand, her thumb shakes as she dials the number. It rings three times before a gruff voice answers.

“Sam?” she croaks around tears.

“Who’s this?”

“Is this Sam Wilson, for fucksakes?”

“Yes. Y/N? What’s going on?”

“You get Stark on the phone, right now. I swear to god I’m going to kill him. He’s dead. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“They got him. They got Bernie. Get Stark here right now, or so help me I will burn this city down myself. Do understand?” She drops her head onto Bernie’s chest, rocking.

“Y/N, listen, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me where you are and what’s going on.” How can he act so reserved?

“No, Sam, you listen to me,” she spits, venom and sharp edges and glass. “You get someone here, right now! I didn’t want this shit, and now my friend is hurt. Please.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside of my apartment. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she groans.

“Okay, someone is on their way.”

The call cuts out and she lets her phone drop to the ground. She cradles Bernie in her lap, rocking back and forth. “It’s okay, Bern. It’s okay. You gotta wake up now,” she begs, sniffling.

She met Bernie when she first stepped foot into Blue’s. Wide-eyed and foolish, she walked in like she owned the place. Some two-bit fella had a problem with that and decided to do something about it. Bernie stepped in, and defused the situation before she could spit out a ‘fuck you’. Since then, he keeps an eye on her.

Four years, she’s known him. He told her about the shady deals her boss pushed on the side. Jeremy Cusset, her first case as the Hangman. She laughs around the stone in her throat, recalling the face Bernie pulled when he learned of her nickname. A beautiful cocktail of amusement and disgust.

She wipes his cheeks, smearing the blood. Its flow stopped, leaving his skin sticky and slick. His nose needs resetting, and his shoulder, too. She doesn’t want to think about what else. Her whispers go unanswered as she mumbles into his hair. Snot drips onto his skin. It’d be funny if it weren’t so pitiful; if he weren’t so still.

A hand grasps her shoulder. She reaches for the hilt of the knife by her side and twists as well as she can. The blade meets metal. Y/N looks up. Bucky looms over her, arm raised to block her swing. She drops the dagger.

“Bucky,” she whispers. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

He kneels beside her. “This Bernie?” She nods. “Okay, let’s get him up.”

Bucky helps Y/N to her feet, and then he reaches for Bernie. “Be careful. His shoulder might be dislocated. And I dunno what else.” He nods, tucking an arm under Bernie’s neck and the other under his knees.

She collects her phone, knife, and the file with haste, following Bucky to a sleek black car. Bucky slides Bernie in the backseat, and Y/N clambers in after him. Bernie’s head weighs heavy on her lap, blood smearing on her jeans when she shifts him. He groans again.

The acid on her tongue worsens the longer she stares. But she can’t look away. If she does, she fears he’ll disappear.

Street lights illuminate Bernie’s face in bursts, better than her stoop’s lighting. One gash on his left cheek begins its flow again. She presses the hand cradling his head to it, using the other to lift his shirt.

She gags.

Ribs protrude from beneath his skin at odd angles. Larger lacerations decorate his abdomen; red, red, red. Lines of welts bubble on his sides. She pulls his shirt back in place.

Bernie mumbles again, mouth falling open with a gasp. He lost— whoever did this ripped out—a top and bottom tooth. Rage burns a hollow warmth in her veins, keeping her centered and focused.

“Bucky, please,” she begs.

She meets his eyes in the rearview mirror. His hands grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking. “Almost there, Y/N.”

She can’t be bothered to respond, not now. Instead, she presses her forehead into Bernie’s and her free hand to his chest. She slows her breathing to match his, her hand raising when he inhales and dropping when he exhales.

The car squeals as Bucky turns too fast into a parking garage. He slams the breaks in front of a pair of elevators, and alights from the car before it finishes rocking. The door creaks when he jerks it open. Y/N slides Bernie’s head to the side before clambering out.

With Bernie in Bucky’s arms, they huddle into the elevator. Floor 42, Bucky presses. He stares ahead at his own reflection, lips drawn tight and eyes narrow. Y/N stares at herself. Blood on her cheeks, on her clothes, on her hands.

The file.

She grips it tight, the paper crumpling under her force. Hangman. Her. She sniffles, preferring to look at herself than the folder.

The elevator lurches to a stop, faster than she expected, and somehow not fast enough. A nurse in a lab coat greets the trio, one hand on a gurney and the other motioning them forward. Her mouth moves and she stares at Y/N.

The words don’t register. Nothing does.

Not the doors shutting, not the nurse trying to get her attention. Not Bucky by her side, or the squeaking of shoes on the tiled floor from other racing staff members.

Just the rushing in her ears and the rage in her chest.

The nurse, having given up on Y/N, helps Bucky lay Bernie down. Bucky turns to Y/N, hands up and palms facing out. He approaches her like one would a wild animal: with caution and fear. He wraps a hand around her shoulder and ducks down to catch her eyes.

His mouth moves soundlessly, too.

Y/N shakes her head, blinking. “What?” she whispers.

The world surges into focus. Beeping and shoes and shouting. Bucky.

“I said, they’ve gotta check his wounds and see what needs to be done.”

“Um, probably a broken nose. Dislocated shoulder. It—his ribs looked weird. And he’s got a lotta cuts. They— they took out his teeth, Bucky.” She meets his gaze at last.

He stares back with palpable sympathy. Half of her wants to lean into it, to let him pull her into his arms; for him to take the burden of the anger and fear. The other half is all fire and brimstone and a rage so potent it beats beneath her skin like a second heart. That part can’t be coddled by gentle hands and eyes. It’s the part that wins.

She pushes off his hands. Emotions tucked away in their lock box, she speaks mechanically. “They stapled this file to his chest. It’s for me. I figure you’ll want to know what’s in it, too.”

He steps back, jaw clenching. “We don’t need to worry about that right now. We gotta get you cleaned up.”

Straightening her spine and drawing back her shoulders, she levels him with an insidious glare. “No. I can shower later. This takes precedence.”

His mouth opens and shuts, floundering. And then he nods. “Okay, come on. Stark and Steve are in a conference room, already.”

At the mention of Stark, her façade cracks. Her fingers clench and her mouth sets in a hard line. She bites the inside of her cheek. Bucky’s brows furrow, catching her slip up before she tucks it away.

“Okay.”

Their footsteps echo as Bucky leads her down twisting hallways. The further they wander into the recesses of the building, the less people rush around them. Her left foot marches to the cadence of Bernie; her right to Stark. She ignores the cowardly part of her mind whispering, my fault, my fault, my fault.

Bucky stops her with a hand on her bicep, drawing her into him. Without looking, he says, low and commanding in her ear, “I don’t know what you’re thinking or feeling, but I know that look. You got murder written all over your face.” He turns to face her, now. “It wasn’t Stark, okay? I don’t like the man, but he didn’t do this. If you wanna catch whoever did, you need a clear head. Got it?”

She nods, although forces her face expressionless and her lips set. Bucky could do anything short of laying the barbarians that did this at her feet, and she wouldn’t listen. Perhaps Stark didn’t wield the knife or tie Bernie up, but he did drag her into this, and that’s how they got Bernie.

Bucky sighs, but drops his arm. He opens the door and stalks in, Y/N on his heels. Any other day and she would stop to appreciate the room. Floor to ceiling windows looking out at the city. A white conference table with a clear top in the center of the room, taking up most of its space. Cushioned chairs stationed at its edges.

Hell, two weeks ago, walking into a room with Tony Stark sitting at the head of a table and Captain America looking out the window, she would jump to shake their hands. Or talk about the city. Maybe ask what it’s like to protect a city that half hates, half reveres them. While she seldom followed their comings and goings, knowing superheroes warded off the big bads of the world comforted her; made her job feel safer.

And then they stuck their grubby fingers into her life.

And then Bernie suffered the repercussions.

“You!” she accuses with a growl.

Stark stands, hands folded behind his back. Her fingers itch to claw that stupid goatee off his face. He says nothing, still and expressionless.

“This is your fault, you self-serving, cock sucking, son of a bitch!” she screeches, pushing past Bucky. “I’m going to kill you!”

Before she takes another step, Bucky’s arms wrap around her waist. Her feet lift off the floor. “Let me go, Bucky, I swear to god,” she pleads, voice cracking and struggling in his grip.

He pulls her closer. “Y/N,” he whispers in her ear. “Stop.”

She pushes at his arms, legs swinging. Anything to get momentum and get free. But Bucky holds steadfast, unbothered by her fight. If she had half her mind, she would hook her leg behind his knee and bring him to floor. But her mechanics malfunction, and she can’t think enough to breathe let alone take him down.

“That’s right, Barnes. Reign in your girl,” Tony goads from across the room.

“Tony!” Steve protests.

And Bucky? Bucky narrows his eyes, lips pursed. He retracts his arms, hands up, and Y/N wastes no time. She sprints across the room, hitting Tony full force. They crash into the wall, Y/N’s hands gripping the lapels of his Prada suit. She leans in close to his face, looking him dead in the eyes. Behind her is a commotion; objections from Steve and Bucky’s gravelly voice.

In a harsh growl, she whispers, “You will fix him, do you understand? Because if you don’t, I will burn this tower to the ground. I will tear you to pieces, and I will enjoy it. And the blood won’t be on my hands, Stark,” she spits. She raises a hand and swipes it down his cheek, smearing Bernie’s blood across his skin. “It will be on yours.”

With a final shove, she pushes back from him. He wipes at his skin, frowning in disgust when his hand comes away red.

“Y/N—”

She whirls around, accusing finger jabbing through the air at Steve. “Don’t you dare speak to me! None of you!” she shouts to the room, arms flung out. “None of you decided it wasn’t a good idea to bring some street rat into this? You, Mister Holier than Thou, self-righteous piece of shit. You think you’d have a sliver of common sense in the super serum brain yours, huh? No, you don’t get to say shit to me. Not you, not Stark. Not unless it’s to tell me Bernie is gonna make it with flying colors and you’re goddamn sorry. Do you understand?”

Steve says nothing, staring at her with drawn eyes and a clenched jaw. She huffs, stalking to the door. Bucky clears his throat, but follows.

“Dramatic,” Tony sing-songs.

She reaches in her pocket for her dagger, spinning on her heel. It sails through the air and embeds in the wall with a satisfying thunk next to Tony’s head. He touches his ear, blood transferring onto his fingertips.

“No,” she retorts, low and calm. “That was dramatic.”

“You missed!”

She scoffs, humorless and bitter. Biting her lip, she shakes her head. “No. I didn’t.”

With that, she turns from the room. She rests her back against the wall, unbothered to find her way through the halls. Her breathing comes out in short bursts. She slides to her haunches and rests her head in her hands.

Bucky emerges a few minutes later, or perhaps hours— she doesn’t know. Time rushes like a river here, and wades through molasses there. He stops next to her, eyes straight ahead. They stand in silence, save for hurried murmurs behind the closed door.

Y/N pushes to her feet with a grunt. Only then does Bucky look at her. He shakes his head and sighs, although his lips quirk up. How can he smile? She looks like shit: blood stains marring her clothes, eyeliner and mascara trailing down her cheeks, dried tear tracks. She feels worse: aching bones, screaming skin, weeping heart.

And Bernie. How can he smile when nurses prod and poke Bernie? Reset his shoulder? Wrap his ribs?

She doesn’t think she’ll smile again.

Bucky shakes the handle of her dagger. She sniffles, but nods gratefully before stowing it in her jacket once more. He walks back the way they came until they reach the elevators. The world rushes by in shouts and scuffling shoes. They stay silent.

The doors ding open and they walk in together. Y/N’s heart still pounds in her chest, but the fire faded to embers, exhaustion taking its place. She leans against the wall, looking up to avoid her reflection.

Bucky sighs. “We have rooms here where you can get cleaned up, or I can take you home.”

There’s not much of a choice, is there? With Bernie holed up in an operating room, tucked away in the Tower. Even with the burning discomfort of staying near Rogers or Stark, she refuses to abandon him. Not when she dragged him into this mess.

“I’ll stay,” she whispers around her raging thoughts.

He nods, pressing a new floor. Unlike elevators in her part of town, this one doesn’t whir or jolt. It moves gracefully, to where she questions if it moves at all. But the numbers count down and the doors open on a new floor.

Plants and pictures line the hallway, welcoming and warm. She aches to shred the canvases and break the pots. To claw at the leaves until they rain down.

She wonders if she’ll always want to destroy, destroy, destroy.

Bucky leads her to a vacant room, opening the door with a sweeping gesture. He nods his head for her to go inside when she hesitates. The room, albeit bare, is warm. Dark wood and rust colored accents. Navy blues and startling white. Dim lamps stationed in throughout.

It feels good to stain the wood floors with her boots and her presence. An impenetrable fortress made for super powered celebrities lowered by the likes of her.

Bucky clears his throat, waving his hand. She steps into the room, arms crossed. Even the air feels light and clean. He leads her around the room, explaining the set up in too many words, none of which register. She nods when he looks back at her, feigning interest.

“Great, thanks,” she interrupts when he keeps talking.

He sighs. “The bathroom is through that door. You can shower and stuff. I’m sure there’s some spare clothes in the closet or something. He likes to keep the rooms stocked.”

Another nod. “Right.”

She waits for him to leave, end of the tour and all that. Still he stands, silhouetted by the city. “What, Bucky?” she seethes, forcing herself to keep her rage and not succumb to fatigue. She can’t rest until she’s alone.

“Are you okay?” he whispers with too much pity and sadness. She stares. “Right. Stupid question.” He moves to the door, stopping in its frame. His fingers drum the wall. “If you need anything, just call for JARVIS. He’ll help.”

“What?”

“JARVIS?” he says to the room.

For a fleeting moment, Y/N worries she trusted a madman, but a voice, rumbling and low, responds. “Yes, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky gives Y/N a pointed look, as if to say ‘see?’. He pats the wall. “He’s an AI wired through the Tower. He can’t see in here; no cameras. But he’ll hear if you call. Any questions and you can ask him.”

Y/N nods. Her mind dully protests the threatened privacy, but her body is too heavy and her tongue too thick. Bucky nods, too, the door whispering shut behind him.

She takes another inventory of the room, this time for weak points and possible weapons. High up on the twenty-third floor from the elevator renders jumping suicidal, and the entrance the lone access point. Heavier display items provide additional weapons.

Satisfied, she ambles to the main door and locks it. In her solitude, the weight in her chest worsens, and her head pounds. Acid rises in the back of her throat. She stumbles to the bathroom door and slams it open. The lid of the toilet bangs when it meets the tank. She steadies herself with shaking hands.

She empties her stomach around chokes and groans. The second round of whiskey burns worse than the first, followed by the sandwich she ate for lunch. And she gives and gives until she pukes bile and coughs. She sags against the toilet, head resting on her forearms, and sobs, body shaking and cries echoing back at her from the bowl.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic rec #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu #marvel #avengers

6 notes · View notes

raccoon0001 · 5 months

Text

November 20th, Monday 20:38

So, first of all, hello, Im Raccoon, well at least i would like to be one. Im 17 years old and i frequently write down my thoughts when i feel sad or angry in a pink notebook by my bed, for the past four maybe three years.

And lately i have been thinking of just trying to write down my thoughts everyday, about how i feel, to know what i am even feeling, and that I'm not just overwhelmed and impulsive at the moment. So i don't ruin my next week or day by obsessing over that one boy that smiled that one time at me or was funny. Because in reality he doesn't like me and i need to step down and realise that, but maybe he does and everything is not a big fat lie, but it is. At least for me, mostly. Everything, almost, everything is fine in my life, except for being kinda fat and not having a real, single boyfriend in my 17 years of living. I know that is not that much and what i am even worrying about, because i have the whole life ahead of me(i dont see myself living past 20). Well could kind of imagine it, but because of one thing and another i always thought i would not live past 18, but now i am 17 so its quite possible i will live past 18, dont really know what will happen afterwards.

Its kind of a dilemma i know to love someone u need to first love yourself and shit, but i really hate myself most of the time, i hate how i look, i hate how lazy i am, i hate stressful i am, i hate how sick i am...yada yada yada. I know there are physical things i am able to fix, but how do i know i just wont regress? Even now im imagining how this blog or whatever this is, is gonna get popular, and be turned into inspiration for poems or people, but after all this text is just my personal feelings, about myself, for myself, that dont really make sense sometimes, because my native language is not english lol and im typing in a hurry and then gonna prob put a pretty background or something and post it if i get the courage, well its a very big probability nobody is going to read this ever, bcs lets honest who reads blogs these days..

always the artist never the muse" i have been very attached to this quote(dont know who is the author) i even begun last year attending professional art school, so i will probably never be the muse even how much i want to be one. Its almost the same with taking pictures, im always taking pictures of others and there are almost never anyone taking picture of me without asking. Well i dont really like people specially taking pictures of me, because of how ugly i look, but still, i dont know. Theres this one friend who takes pictures of me, because that of other things that that person does makes me think im gay or that she likes me, because shes gay. I think im not gay. Like i would prefer a guy fucking my brains out not a girl, but i could never imagine anyone fucking me, mby i can.. hmm not rly, maybe because i have never been fucked, or my imagination is kinda weak. Well i am in art school so i thought it should be good, but lately, well after that thing in 2018 april, I think i have been in this one giant art block. Maybe i need to go to a therapist, to sort things out, not really sure.

I wish sometimes i was a boy. And i think i stink right now, fully emotionally and physically. Whats up with that.

I must have too many dreams and too little motivation.

I dont think i should have continued art, its too much, im not even good at painting, if i actually started practicing more maybe i would, but i think im still worse than most of my peers. And in this school there are mostly girls here and i know almost nobody outside the school and town bcs i didnt even live here two years ago, the ppl who have lived here their whole childhood dont even know where to turn to get a shortcut!

My goal this evening was to paint something, but somehow i started writing a blog..

I think i should have been better of dying that day in 2018. Im not good of a person and i dont really know if ill ever change. What does actually happen after death? Has anyone thought of that? I kind of think after you die its just all pitch black and then u suddenly open your eyes and there you are as your first memory u can think of at 10 years old or whatever, like 'snap' and there you are, but dont know who you were or who you will be. I kind of want to get into biology, but idk if a have the commitment for it.

Two days ago when i was a home visiting my family, after sauna, I was sitting by the table with some other cousins at my grandmas house and one of the older cousins, who was kinda drunk btw, asked me if i had a boyfriend, i thinking already of crying and just jumping down a building calmly said: "no, do i need one?". i want one.

I think my mom is homophobic, but. i also think that im not gay, but i will probably never get a bf, because ppl these days are very obsessed by how other ppl look from the outside mostly or i just dont know a lot of ppl and real life is not like the movies or manga that i read in my free time, that i should stop reading, maybe that would solve everything.

Also by wishing that i was a male, because it really seems to be bit easier to be a boy, how the world looks at you, and how theres a lot more chance of no rejection. Maybe im just living in my small minded world and have not that many ppl with different opinions on life that would make me understand that the world works differently. A lot of ppl around me also believe we are born to fulfil our one mission here on earth, i still dont see mine here, like ppl would be fine if i went and died and go on with they're life normally, because im just this one little spec of dust besides other 7 billion dust pieces, that separately are a nobody. Maybe my family would be devastated, but prob would be prepared for this kind of event about me and i think it would be much easier for my mum if i died, she worries too much about me.

Im just lonely.

A selfish bitch.

#my thougts #will anyone see this

1 note · View note

pillatedcompills · 8 months

Text

DUMBASSES

Okay so to be brief here. DO NOT POST FUCKING NSFW/ MAKE NSFW ON TUMBLR YOU MONKEYS. Use websites and platforms where nsfw is actually ALLOWED. Tumblr banned nsfw on here for a reason, (people posting cheese pizza art or should i say csem ) and you sly fuckers are just posting nsfw content on here. But no its okay because its not nudity, and the characters have clothes on. Or oh its just a shirtless guy or woman and its "artistic nudity". CAN IT, PACK IT UP. The worst fucking part about this is you damn monkeys using the fucking main tags for fandoms. Then will say " MINORS DNI, MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED IF INTERACT, BLAH BLAH BLAH 18+ BLAH BLAH BLAH I HATE MINORS" and then go do stupid shit like use a site not meant for nsfw for nsfw. Like you guys are just fucking choosing to be idiots now... Like what goes on in your head to think instead of using a site meant for nsfw content, you instead use a site that is known for banning that type of shit? You may be like "oh but they're an adult they can do whatever". Yeah sure, but at least try to be mindful that you're clearly doing something so ridiculous when you could just use a site made for that shit. Then using the main fandom tags, when you know there is minors in that fandom, and go "minors dni". Like maybe you aren't aware, maybe you are but still. Minors aren't on tumblr to see fucking porn, that's sure not why I got this app. If you want to make a nsfw tumblr account go right ahead, but maybe don't use fucking main fandom tags since idk there are MINORS. The same people you religiously preach about not liking and telling to dni, can easily find ur shit on accident. Even worse it can randomly show up for them, and thats horrible. Not everyone wants to log onto tumblr, just to look for some nice art or blogs to be blasted by fucking fetish porn/ porn in general. The way you older people are so inconsiderate is insane, like I'm genuinely upset over this. What purpose is there to this, what do you get out of being a dumbass? But I know these people know better, but they do this blatent brain dead shit anyways just to be cool or different. Im tired of it, literally I just want to see normal art.

0 notes

Last Seen Blogs

jfdghn

无标题

umbrellashi

umbrella academy

scraem

⋆｡ﾟ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ ﾟ｡⋆

avoscript

starbound blog

magaming123

Magaming