A Dork

That's it I'm a dork

[nerdpoe]

There's an up-and-coming Tech Giant, called Fenton Works, and Batman is determined to prove that the company is a front for a villain.

Danny, after his parents turned from Ghost hunting to being the first official Ghost Anthropologists, decided to repurpose some of their weapons.

And, well, there was a contest being run by Wayne Enterprises; whoever can design a robot that will help the environment got prize money and a grant.

Danny, in all his mechanical engineering prowess, was bored. So he designed a thing. Repurposed the Fenton Guns into a cute robotic tortoise that would clean the beach.

It spiraled from there, and now Fenton Works is the leading name in green technology that's cleaning up the Earth bit by bit. Sea Dragon robots that clean oil and trash from the ocean; beach tortoises that clean the sand and beach and deposit their hoard of trash into designated receptacles that Danny uses as material to make more robots; Cryptid "stalker" robots with long legs that delicately patrol forests to perform "fuel management" and clear out the underbrush to help manage wildfires; moving gargoyle robots that sit on top of skyscrapers to help clean the air with huge sail-like wings, etc.

Basically, Danny pulls a Doctor Elisabet Sobeck, but with less world ending and more actually helping. (Not that the world ending was Elisabet's fault, of course, but different franchise)

And due to the number of times aliens try to attack and rogues send their own robots to attack people, naturally Danny installed self-defense protocols, along with one single golden rule written into the very OS of every single robot; Save Humans Whatever the Cost.

Problem is, Batman has never seen robots like this not be used for evil purposes, and he knows that their power source (a closely guarded Fenton Works secret) is some sort of liquid that glows green.

He really only knows of one liquid that glows green.

So he's determined to find everything he can about Fenton Works, because there's no way that Daniel Fenton isn't actually a villain in the making.

Danny's just thrilled for the chance to work with Wayne Enterprises.

[fishbloc]

first batch is here!!! thank you to those who sent in suggestions!!!

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (subscription post | masterlist)

Subscribe to this post for notifications when new chapters of Formaldehyde are posted. I’ll update the post with links to each chapter, and will also post the links in the notes.

Do not comment on this post, as it messes with the notifications for other people. I will remove the comment and probably block you if you do. Reblogs are fine.

(Prologue)

(Pt. 1)

(Pt. 2)

(To be continued)

[yusakiiiii]

Pluto — A Limited Life AU Fanfic

The sound of thunder ripples across the server as lightning strikes Martyn’s hourglass. Setting it ablaze. The tattered visage of Impulse watches the timepiece burn. His shirt, cut with clear stab marks, barely clinging onto his body, and his skin is marked in purple bruises. He walks slowly to the edge of The Rock, gripping his bow and an arrow. Ready for the coming fight.

Across the sea, Martyn is clinging to the rocks of the Corals Isles, barely hanging on. His shirt slashed down the centre by Pearl revealing his chest, now covered red with a mix of blood and water. He clutches what remains of his shirt to his chest and yelps out in pain as the salt seeps into his wound. Scott, in the water below the hourglass, kicks away Pearl’s body and resurfaces not too far from Martyn just in time to hear his yelp of pain. He had been excited. It was only Impulse left to go! But hearing Martyn in pain his happy face turns to one of concern as he rushes to Martyn laying down by their chests, frantically asking, “Are you okay?”

Martyn pushes himself up to a wobbly stand, straining as he says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Scott smiles weakly, seeing through the obvious facade and telling him, “Sit down, wait a second.”

Putting a warm hand on Martyn’s shoulder forcing him back down to the ground. He makes a cup with his hands and takes some of the sea water, before trickling it down into Martyn’s chest wound. Martyn winces as Scott then traces a line in the wound with his index finger, the cut slowly closing up behind it, leaving only a faintly discoloured scar in its place. Martyn looks down, now feeling much better saying in surprise, “Wow! You’re magic!”

Scott can’t help but chuckle as he dips his hand back in the water to wash the blood off of it, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

He then takes Martyn’s hand and they stand up together and Scott declares, “One more to go.”

Suddenly, Martyn’s eyes seemed to be filled with black swirling clouds, and he then hears a deep voice bellowing from within them, “But there isn’t just one. There is still two. And nought should be left but you!”

The clouds in their eyes seem to change and contort with each word as if they themselves are speaking. Then, all at once, the clouds disappear and Martyn can see clearly once more. He doesn’t reply and just clasps Scott’s hand close to him before letting go and walking out to their small dirt bridge back to the mainland. Scott opening their pointless door and leading the way saying, “My shield broke in my fight with Impulse. We should be able to take him together though.”

The billowing clouds shout in the recesses of Martyn’s brain, “You see he’s weak! Will you really let the win go to one so meek?”

Faltering, Martyn replies, “Yes.”

And follows Scott along round the bay. Brushing away branches Scott then pauses and guesses, “You don’t have too many arrows left. Right?”

Martyn hesitates for a moment thinking, “How did he know? Well, he always had been the observant type.”

He starts to reply, “No I…”

When the clouds once more shout into his mind, “He is not observant! He is oblivious! You could kill him right now. Couldn’t you? My little servant.”

Over the shouting Martyn can’t hear what Scott is saying and only feels the result of a bundle of arrows forced into his hand. He stares blankly at Scott, saying “Thank you.”

As Scott turns away and continues walking round the coastline to Spawn.

The deep voice returns, angrily roaring in Martyn’s ears, “Don’t thank him! He should be your victim! This is a game of death! You must make sure he breathes his last breath! His kindness has no place here! Shed this thin veneer! Stab him through the heart! Tear his soul apart!”

Martyn can only sombrely ponder as they trail behind their friend. Only looking up when they notice Scott stop in front of them.

Impulse looks down at the two and they stare at each other for a moment silently. Before Scott tries to clamber up the rocks to him, he slots an arrow in his bow and aims at Scott. Then, a crack of bone and half a gasp. Martyn has run their sword through Scott’s back, emerging from the other side coated in his scarlet blood. Impulse, in shock at what Martyn just did, lets loose his arrow and slightly misses, it only lightly scraping Scott’s earlobe. Scott, in this state can only let out a faint, “Why?” in response.

Martyn replies, “Because you don’t deserve this.”

In Scott’s healthy ear. Martyn’s voice sounds like there are two speaking. One, his normal voice, sounds sorrowful as he speaks. The other a deep booming one, speaking callously.

Martyn twists their sword and Scott evaporates.

Scott: -1 Hour

Martyn: +30 Minutes

Martyn looks down at their sword covered in blood. Then remembering Impulse is also there they look up, ready to fight, only to see Impulse there in front of them with a defiant look on his face and his hand held out. Although he has his other hand on the hilt of his sword. He then adds to Martyn’s earlier remark, “No, he doesn’t.”

Martyn chuckles, still speaking in their twin voice, “I did not expect this.”

Before taking Impulse’s hand and pointing their bloody sword to the Clocktower. The look in their eyes said it all. Martyn pulls their hand away and clambers up the rocks to Spawn.

Impulse begins to follow Martyn up, his sword in one hand and his shield in the other. An image flashes through his mind. Etho, his friend, dead in the grass by the ruins of Bread Bridge. He has one hand in the water beside him. He had been so close to safety. But the charred fabric on his torso told a story. A firework. His friend had been killed by Martyn and Scott. He would not forget that.

Pulling himself over the ridge to stand up beside Martyn, they watch as Scott stabs the earth with his sword in the area where Skizz and BDubs had fought and brings himself to half stand up. Hunched over the hilt of his sword. He stares at Martyn, a pained and confused look in his eyes.

Then from behind him he swings a hand under his torso. A loaded crossbow. He aims at Impulse and shoots. The arrow embeds itself in Impulse’s shield and the uneasy alliance charge at Scott. Martyn affirming, “Still tact as ever, I see.”

As they take their first step forwards. Scott discards his crossbow, pulling out a pufferfish in a bucket from somewhere. Standing up straight and hurling the bucket with all his might at Martyn’s face. They are able to slice the pufferfish in two as the water splashes on them. But between the parted fish Martyn notices too late that the pufferfish was just a diversion. Scott had charged inwards and had his sword ready to thrust into Martyn’s face. He lurches forwards, only for an uppercut to come from the side from Impulse, forcing Scott’s sword slightly skywards. It plucking Martyn’s kelp headband from their head leaving a small cut rather than a gaping wound thanks to Impulse.

Impulse then fits his shield to his shoulder and begins charging into Scott with all his weight, pushing the both of them to the floor. Behind him Martyn looks astounded for a second. But as a drop of blood from Scott’s cut drips towards their eye, they brush it away, smirking and stating, “Thank you, Impulse. But only one can remain.”

As they skewer Impulse, his shield and Scott with their sword. Impulse falls down the sword, laying on his shield as the two evaporate.

Scott: -1 Hour

Impulse: -1 Hour

Martyn: +1 Hour

Martyn looks up ahead to the centre of the muddy circle as Impulse and Scott materialise there on the floor. Impulse knew what was coming, he knew not to trust Martyn. Why had he turned his back? Why had he given Martyn the opportunity? The animosity emanating from him was palpable. But just as much aimed at his own incompetence as Martyn’s betrayal. Next to him, Scott’s crestfallen face stared blankly at the ground, he was a broken man. Not wanting to give them a chance to breathe, Martyn quickly loaded and aimed their crossbow at Scott. Scott didn’t attempt to dodge it; or block it. Impulse didn’t step in and slice the bolt out of the air. It sank cleanly into his heart. And Scott, once more, evaporated. The arrow falling to the floor.

Scott: -1 Hour

Martyn: +30 Minutes

But whilst Martyn had been loading and aiming at Scott, Impulse had been charging shield first at Martyn. The beaten up shield obscuring his body, Martyn raised their sword to stab right through it. Yet they only hear a small k’shunk of the metal against the wood as Impulse forces his shield aside, taking Martyn’s sword with it, to reveal Impulse ducking low down. And Martyn let out a splutter of blood as Impulse charges his horns right into Martyn’s abdomen. Winded by the sudden burst into them, Martyn drops their crossbow as Impulse lifts them up to the sky, impaled on his horns. Martyn fades into smoke as the white cloud whirls around Impulse. His head soaked in Martyn’s dark red blood.

Martyn: -1 Hour

Impulse: +30 Minutes

The Mean Gills both materialise together at spawn. But this time Scott reacts first. Lurching at Martyn, grabbing them by the neck and pushing them to the ground. Scott is grinding his teeth in a grimace. He can’t say anything. What could he say? The pain in his chest was too much to bear. Martyn, realising they’re at Scott’s mercy, unable to speak, can only plead for their time with their eyes. In response, Scott starts to press his forehead to Martyn’s gently, before forcefully headbutting Martyn so hard there was an audible crack. Although it’s unclear who was hurt more by it. They then hear the squelching of Impulse’s feet in the mud. Scott doesn’t take his eyes off of Martyn’s. But Martyn can only look up and over at the slowly approaching Impulse. His burgundy crown dripping down his expressionless face. He simply raises his sword and says, “You don’t deserve this either Martyn.”

As he brings down his sword, decapitating the both of them. Martyn evaporates under Scott who’s limp body slumps into the mud, his severed head sticking in enough that from afar you may not be able to tell how he died.

Scott has run out of time!

Martyn: -1 Hour

Impulse: +1 Hour

Impulse then looks around for Martyn to rematerialise. And as they come into being they only have a second to turn around before the cold steel blade rips through their neck once more.

Martyn: -1 Hour

Impulse: +30 Minutes

They materialise again only to feel that precise pain slicing through their neck.

Martyn: -1 Hour

Impulse: +30 Minutes

Again. No time to react. No time to plead for mercy. No time left.

Martyn has run out of time!

Impulse: +30 Minutes

Impulse stared blankly at Martyn’s decapitated body. Slunk into the earth. He places his hand against his forehead and pulls it away, only to see it stained red. He could only let out a small sob he choked back as he turned away from the Mean Gills to T.I.E.S Tower. Their concrete Bow Tie 3/4 blown up, barely hanging on. He then looks out to the remains of the Bread Bridge and sets out for that colossal wreck.

He slides down the rocks to the river and pauses for a moment. Before plunging his blood red hand into the river and taking a deep breath before forcing his head down with it. Half a minute later pulling himself out and wiping the water from his eyes he stares at the now murky red water for a moment. Before picking himself up and walking over the makeshift bridge that had been used to kidnap Grian then through the Dark Oak forest before he stops at a clearing. The water from the bridge crashing down and pooling in Creeper holes. He walks over to Etho’s body by the water and stares at it. Before squatting down and apologising, “I’m sorry I wasn’t with you.”

As he brushes the hair out of Etho’s face and slides his hand under his friend, hauling him up in a Princess carry. He walks back through the forest, over the makeshift bridge and around the river bank, and all the way back to T.I.E.S Tower where Impulse lay him down on the sand.

Impulse then walked back over their bridge, past Scott and Martyn’s bodies, to gaze over the ridge towards Martyn’s birthday party, he then looks down. And there, barely 3 metres from the top of the ridge was Tango’s splayed body. His flaming hair had gone out revealing the rest of his head to be charred black. His knees were not bent the correct way, and his sword had clattered down the mountain. Who was he chasing again? Did it matter? The still sombre Impulse slid his arms under his friend once more and lifted him up before once again returning home. He lay Tango’s body beside Etho, fixed his knees into a natural position. Then turned back to the tower.

He swam high up to Skynet and walked slowly across the precarious walkways to Windsor where he saw Skizz’s body face first down on the cobblestones. A wide slash across the top of his back, dried blood staining his dazzling white wings. Impulse folded Skizz’s wings neatly behind his back before turning his friend over, looking to the sky. He then carried Skizz’s body back home. Leaping into the ocean before bringing them both to shore. He lay the body of his old friend on the other side of Etho before just standing over them, watching their lifeless bodies for a moment. Like somehow, now that they’d come back together, they’d come back to life and everything would be fine. But that didn’t happen. They just lay there. “Sleeping”, Impulse thought. So he decided to lay with them, flanked by Tango and Etho he lay in the sand, staring up to the heavens. Watching the Sun, Stars and Moon circle above him. He slowly closed his eyes to sleep, waiting for his time to tick down.

With his eyes still closed, Impulse then felt some small slaps repeatedly on his cheek and a familiar voice saying, “Hey. Dippledop!”

He opened his eyes to the bright light of the sun and a shadow looming over him. He sat up and wiped his eyes, and he moved his fingers away to see Skizz sitting cross legged over from him. Impulse simply replied, “Hey Skizz.”

His angelic friend spread out his arms and wings and embraced Impulse, smothering him in feathers exclaiming, “You did it buddy!”

Impulse instinctively replies, “What did I do?”

Skizz pulls out of the hug and grips Impulses shoulders and a little angrily yells, “What do you mean what did you do? I was hoping one of us would get to the top 3. But you pushed the envelope man. You won dude!”

Impulse then noticed Tango and Etho behind Skizz. Tango shouting, “Yeah man! What are you talking about? You’re amazing!”

As the two of them shuffle around Skizz’s wingspan to embrace Impulse into one big hug. Impulse smiles a little, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Afterword: (Just some notes)

Since this is an AU. I don’t want anyone to think I didn’t like how the Limited Life ending happened. It was brilliant. But I am a big Impulse fan so I can’t help that my mind wandered into how it could have gone differently. How might it have been changed if a few things were different. Could Impulse have won?

I’d also like to note some inspirations. The design for the TIES members I had in mind whilst writing was that of this animation by Lemobread. I highly recommend giving it a watch. https://youtu.be/m16hSweXlEw

The scene in the afterlife was inspired by this comic by cj-the-random-artist on Tumblr. It’s brilliant. https://www.tumblr.com/cj-the-random-artist/715352676364320768/i-dont-know-how-i-managed-to-do-this-in-a-day

The fanfic is called Pluto because there is the running theme of winners being related to celestial bodies. Grian being the Sun because his name literally means Sun in Irish. Scott being the Stars because he has those things floating around his head that kinda look like stars and he was a Starborne on the Origins SMP. And the Moon because PearlescentMoon. And people are undecided on Martyn but I’m personally an advocate for “The Void of Space” because of his relation to the shadow and the watchers. But anyway, amongst Imp and Skizz fans, people often liken them to a devil and Angel respectively. That is an explanation for the design choice in Lemobread’s animatic. And being a Devil, the celestial body I can relate Impulse most too, would be Pluto, the Roman God of the Underworld. Equally, if Skizz ever happened to win, Jupiter would be the most apt parallel for him.

You may have noticed, but as the watchers took over Martyn I shifted the pronouns used for him from he/him to they/them to indicate multiple people. (To clarify, I know they/them pronouns can be used in the singular but here I’m aiming for a plural to indicate multiple people controlling Martyn.)

I also had it in a few situations where it’s ambiguous as to whether Martyn is talking to The Watchers or Scott. And a couple double meanings when it comes to Martyn. Like when he said to Scott, “Because you don’t deserve this.” The “this” is intentionally ambiguous. The Watchers in him are saying Scott doesn’t deserve to win. Martyn is saying he doesn’t deserve to be betrayed like this. He doesn’t deserve the pain. I was hoping to get that across with subtext but if you didn’t get it, this afterword sort of explains those intentions.

Also, as a note, this is the first time I’ve properly written anything beside D&D characters since I was 16. I’m now 20. So it’s been a while and I barely passed my English GCSE’s anyway. So this is probably very basic in terms of writing. There wasn’t really any specific writing technique I was going for, I was just sort of writing passively. So I don’t know if anyone is going to enjoy this at all. Thank you if you have read this far though! I’ll take constructive criticism, but I can’t say I’ll learn from it since writing is hardly a career I plan on pursuing.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Hybrids can talk to the creatures they are hybrids of! This is a fun trick... unless you're a creeper hybrid, or a wither hybrid, or an enderman hybrid, or... really, any hybrid where your kind are farmed. Cleo scored it good with zombies not being very smart, though she's still trying to forget the ones who remembered who they once were, with their screams of terror as the axes were brought down. (It would feel too bad to tell the others who they're slaying. It's just a small secret, right?)

Oh, no...I never thought about that aspect of it. This is such a good, horrible idea...

A Non-Exhaustive List Of Things That Will Never Be Said But Possibly Should Be:

The final sharp hiss of a creeper when it dies to fall damage is actually a curse. Not a curse in the swearing sense - a curse in the "death and rage to you and your pack for seasons and seasons to come" sense. Doc has heard thousands - probably millions - of them in his lifetime. He hopes they have no actual power...but if his own affinity for worldbreaking dark magic is anything to go by, he might not be so lucky.

Some of the zombies Cleo hears die still know their name. Others don't. That's the worst part, honestly: there don't seem to be any rules to how much they remember, or which ones do and which ones don't. It seems to be just random luck. What does that mean for her...

Slimes only ever say one thing. The light, the light, the light, the light, the light. From the smallest to the biggest, that's all Jevin ever hears from them. He hasn't figured out what they mean by it. He's trying not to feel worried about the fact that he himself doesn't instinctively know. What exactly did he lose, when he became a player?

Impulse is. Well. He has a lot of practice. With focus, and centeredness, continuing working on his wither rose farm no matter what other thoughts might be hammering through his ears. Concentrate, no breaking [RELEASE ME] focus, don't let your hand near that [R̵̺͒̅Ȇ̴̡Ļ̸̟̚Ḛ̴̈A̴̠͠S̸͎̝̽̀E̶̩͚̎ ̷͚̻̐M̸̧̏͗E̶̞̫̋͘!̸̯̠͛] pickaxe you don't need it you aren't breaking [R̶̤͊͐E̷̪̎L̸̯͖͗̃E̶͈͘Ą̷̞́̓S̸̡̒́Ė̵̦̗͘ ̸̨̕M̶̡͚̌̓E̶̢̮̐́,̷̙̰͒ ̷̼́̀P̸͕͈̚Ú̴͉̼͒N̵̡̊͜Ÿ̸̫̤́ ̶̥̯̇͘Ẁ̵̭͇Ĕ̷͙A̸̲̯͒K̷̟̹̄L̵̮̿̚Ȋ̵̦͒N̶͎̺̋̕G̵̢̛͔̿ ̸̺̖͒T̶̼̂̒H̴̼͂Ḯ̷̙N̵̟͚̍G̵̻͊] any blocks right now. It's bedrock anyway. He can't break it. [T̵̗͒Ḥ̴̡̀E̷̳̓͛ ̶̖͛͑Ẁ̷̞Ơ̸̻̺͑R̵̫̍́Ľ̶̥̼̃D̵̮͔̀͠ ̵͓͔̓̓W̷͓̗̅̏Ǐ̸̭͠L̴̘͕̊͑Ḻ̸̯̍ ̷̩̎̃Ḳ̷͋͘N̴̘̚Ỏ̷ͅW̴̗͊̏ ̶̡̈́P̸̪̒A̴̲͂͝I̵͕̼͒̀N̷̞̅͜ ̶̞͐Ả̴͔͔Ṣ̷̰͋ ̸̟͕̆͒I̸̟͇͆̔ ̷̛̩͇͝D̸̘̲͐͌Ơ̸͈͈] He knows. He's tried.

Sheep get ticklish when they're being sheared. Zed thinks that's pretty cool! :)

[niggazinmoscow]

cheat code

[amoisthobo]

This will work, I used to be a recruiter. Recruiters don’t got time to read every single resume they see, they look for keywords, find what they want, Call and do a preliminary interview. That’s it lol

[afronerdism]

This is amazing

[thesagexoe-deactivated20190522]

Omg!!!

[between-stars-and-waves]

Boosting this!

[thefingerfuckingfemalefury]

AMAZING :D

I will remember this tip!

[bitchesgetriches]

I have no idea if this works at all, but I don’t see how it could hurt. I’m all about resume cheat codes. Here’s some more advice:

How to Write a Resume so You Actually Have a Prayer of Getting Hired

How to Write a Cover Letter like You Actually Want the Job 

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Hey, if it works, it works! 

And there’s that initiative they’re always wanting you to have! 

[rose-lord-of-simps]

If someone they do found out you’ve done this- to protect yourself legally in case they try to sue you for fraud or something put in a section on your resume title “description of the job I’m applying for” but in more professional terms and keep it in white. That way they can’t say you were advertising you had all of their requirements!

[ingapotejtoo]

The Captain’s Wrath

[ave-venefica]

Mercy

→ Noun. A blessing; something to be thankful for.

---

MARTYN DREAMS OF FALLING.

Or…at least he thinks he is falling.

It’s hard to tell what direction one is falling in where there isn’t any indicator of down or up. Of anything at all really. Wherever he is, it is unbearably dark and unbearably cold, and there’s nothing but the abyss behind him and an endless void in front of him.

But he must be falling, right? He could feel hair whipping in front of his face and his limbs outstretched and dangling high above him. And if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the wind roaring in his ears.

“What are you on about, Martyn? There’s no wind in a vacuum.”

Martyn wakes up.

He’s in the Southlands.

All five of them are, really. They’re seated at a long, rectangular dark oak table in front of the central tower. Grian is seated at the head of the table to Martyn’s right. Across from Martyn is Mumbo and Impulse, both conversing with Jimmy who’s seated on Martyn’s left. The four surrounding towers—and the heap of wood and cobblestone above Mumbo’s bunker—are still standing tall around him. The walls are still intact, unbreached by enemies. From what Martyn could tell, not a bit of wood was even singed.

It’s twilight. The sky above is painted in strokes of deep blue and indigo, the last vestiges of sunlight slowly fading away over the western wall.

Grian is looking at him. Elbows on the table, his head cradled on the back of his hands, and a wide, placid smile stretched across his face. He tilts his head. “It’s nice to see you with us, Martyn.”

“A-ha-s if I would miss this.” Martyn laughs, confusion plain on his face. He thinks he could hear Jimmy tell him that was his one free aha of the day, but he wasn’t quite sure. “Uh, speaking of which, what exactly is this?” He leans back on his chair, gesturing to the feast of empty plates and a Southlands that was actually clean and tidy sans the few pumpkins that were haphazardly strewn about.

Grian tilts his head the other way, his feathers circling his head like a halo. (Did Grian always have wings there?) “You could interpret this however you want.”

Impulse, Mumbo, and Jimmy all laugh at a joke that Martyn somehow missed. Mumbo spears his plate and makes cutting motions with his knife; a pantomime of eating.

Martyn turns the question back to Grian. “Well, how do you interpret this?”

Grian hums in thought. He reaches for the empty glass decanter in front of him and tilts it slowly into his cup. A liquid pours out; red like Grian’s sweater.

“I’d like to think of this as a...blessing, of sorts.”

He drinks from his cup, and the liquid stains his mouth red red red—

( Grian turns to face Martyn, red on his hands, red on his face, red on his blade, and his name still gleaming gold. There’s a dead-ness to his eyes that doesn’t match his manic smile. Martyn could smell the ozone that clung to Grian’s skin, as plain as the appearance of Mumbo and Jimmy’s obituaries on their communicators.)

Grian smiles. “Looks like you’re finally catching on.”

[ He’s Learning ]

Martyn chuckles. “Actually I feel like I’m more lost than ever.”

This whole...thing, as far as Martyn could tell, was an elaborate charade. The Southlands was dead. The fortress burned and raided to the ground. Its people, his friends, scattered to the winds, red then dead dead dead. The moon was actually a giant eye, the shadows were a beautiful lie, and none of this was amore.

He stares at the facsimile of his friends with a simmering anger. Mumbo looks sheepish at the face of Jimmy’s red-faced fury, accepting the newly crafted spyglass from across the table. Impulse is doubled over with laughter, cheeks a rosy pink as he rests his head onto the table with a soft thump.

Martyn turns to Grian. “Are they even real?”

“If you believe they are.”

He lets out a derisive snort. “Tell me the truth, Grian— or, is it even Grian? Maybe you’re just another one of them. The voices. The shadows. They promised that we’d see the end, you know. Gave me hope, for once, in this godforsaken world, but no.” He slumps into his chair. “No. I just misunderstood everything.”

“I wouldn’t fault you for that. The Watchers absolutely love wordplay.”

“The Watchers….you mean the shadows? That’s what they’re called?” Grian nods. “Right, how do you even know—”

He clutches his head in pain, fingers digging into his scalp as his mind felt like it was melting trying to process all the memories that came crashing in. The world shudders. Splinters. Breaks at the seams.

The Southlands glitches. Mumbo and Impulse and Jimmy were gone. The table shifts and disappears. The towers gone and replaced with the bedrock floor of Spawn—

The chopping block of the Red King—

Where he first heard the voices—

Spawn—

The void nonono—

A symbol carved from bedrock—

The End.

The End.

A lonely, barren rock. Empty of the endermen, vanquished from the dragon. He’s teetering close to the swirling vortex in the middle that would allow him escape from this wretched place.

He remembers the world of Evo. Of fighting the enderdragon. Of jumping down this portal and finding out that one of his friends was plucked from the world, never to be seen again.

“You’re one of them.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “You’re a Watcher.”

“Yes.”

Grian— and it is Grian, Martyn’s sure of it now, even if the man standing on the other side of the portal looks nothing like Grian— steps foot into the endwaters. He doesn’t disappear, doesn’t sink down, merely wades across the swirling vortex as if it were a shallow pool.

Martyn steps back. “You don’t really look all that different.”

“You’re simply not looking hard enough. Besides,” he laughs, “You’ve always been better at listening.”

[You’re more of a...Listener]

“They hate you, you know.” Martyn takes a step back every time Grian moves closer. “The Watchers. Said you were only meant to watch.”

The world flickers, and they are on the outskirts of a ruined Southlands. He could feel the ghost of an end crystal in his hands, and could smell the ozone in the air. Would he die here, too?

“But you didn’t. You joined us. You were a willing participant in whatever twisted games they’re playing.”

They’re in the ruins of Scott's tower, encased by bright red lava that will never stop burning.

“I’d always wondered why we were the ones picked. Sure, some of us were in Evo, but Bdubs? Impulse? Mumbo? Why would they be here?”

Grian stopped.

They’re at the peak of Magic Mountain. Martyn manages to catch himself before tumbling down the steep edge.

“Then I realized it. The common denominator between all of us was you.”

The world shifts to the ring of cactus atop Monopoly Mountain. The moon is high in the sky, bright and full and watching.

“Why did you put us through this, Grian? Aren’t we your friends? Where’s your sense of mercy?” Martyn asks. He clenches his fists. “Or did the Watchers get rid of that when they decided to remake you in their image.”

“We’re in a death game, Grian!” Martyn shouts. His voice echoes across the empty dessert, hurt and confused and raw. “You— you and your ilk have forced us all to kill each other for your amusement. And you—” He rushes up to Grian, shoves him up against the walls of the cactus ring, arm shoved up against this throat. Grian grunts, but otherwise gives away nothing which only goads Martyn even more.

Grian steps back, as if burned. Hurt flashes across his face. “Mercy,” he parrots. “What do you know of my mercy, Martyn? As far as the circumstances are concerned, I’ve been very merciful.”

“You’re the worst of the lot,” he hisses. “Did you enjoy it at least? Taking us all for fools. Did you get a kick out of all of us fighting for our lives while you sat all high and mighty knowing that none of this matters? Did killing Jimmy and Mumbo mean nothing to you?”

He pushes himself away, chest heaving. “How is any of this merciful?”

Grian extracts himself from the cactus. A hand coming up to rub his throat.

Martyn felt exhaustion heavy in his bones. He drops to the sand with a huff. There’s a spot close to him where the sand is darker, dyed a deep dark red. He’s careful not to look at it too closely. “You took me here for a reason. Just— get it over with quickly. No more faffing about or any of this pretend nonsense. Just—” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and lets out a shuddering breath. He won’t let these Watchers see more of his tears. “Please.”

Grian’s silent.

“I wanted—” Grian hesitates. Massages his throat. “I wanted to confess.”

Martyn looks up in disbelief. “Just because I can hear the voices of angels doesn’t mean I’m a priest, mate.”

“I know.” Grian sits, legs crossed, in front of Martyn. “I want to, anyway.”

The world shifts. They were in the Southlands again. Not the pretty and peaceful version from the very beginning. Not the burned remains from the end. They were...somewhere in the middle. There are scorch marks on the walls, yes, but the holes have been hastily repaired. Mumbo’s bunker is still visible. The wheat farm not yet been trampled. The base not yet rigged to blow everyone inside it sky high.

He and Grian are sitting on the same spot they would use to watch Mumbo’s intro.

It would be so easy to make himself believe that they were still living in more peaceful times. That any minute now, Jimmy and Impulse would come bounding through the entrance, excited for their daily rituals of watching Mumbo’s intros. They would pull out their spy glasses and try to spot Mumbo from inside his bunker, and Martyn would let out his best impersonation that would have everyone roaring with laughter.

Grian, voice so soft that Martyn nearly missed it, spoke. “I miss Mumbo.”

“You shouldn’t have killed him then.”

“He would have died either way. I’d rather it be from my hand than anyone else’s.”

“Is that your confession?”

“No,” Grian’s smile is lopsided. “Far from it.” He pulls on the stray threads of his red sweater. “It— the first game— was supposed to be a cooperative. Or at least, that was the impression given to me by the Watchers.”

“Cooperative?” Martyn snorts. “So much for that.”

“Sometimes I wonder how everything would have ended if I never interfered like they said. People might have lived longer. Peace might have lasted longer.” He leans back onto his hands, eyes closed. The cool night wind flutters through his blonde hair, though the white wings shield Grian’s face from most of it. “My only saving grace for interfering was the chaos I caused. The Watchers— they feast on tragedy. On war. On conflict. They liked that I pushed the server closer to annihilation.”

“But they still hated you.”

“They made their displeasure known when they gave me two hearts the second run.” Grian clicks his tongue. “Thought it wasn’t ‘propper’ for a Watcher to be a Player. But— Martyn, they haven’t liked me since Evo, remember? I’d always find a way to anger them.”

“They mustn’t have hated you that much, considering they made you a Watcher.”

“That’s the thing that confused me for a long time, really. They never liked me and the feelings were mutual. So why choose me? It wasn’t until later on that I realized that this—” Grian clutches his chest, the red fabric bunching in his grasp, and glitches.

It was difficult to see, but Martyn manages to catch glimpses despite it all. Martyn couldn’t— he couldn’t exactly comprehend the entirety of what Grian truly looked like. If you asked him to recall the entire image from memory, his mind would glaze over and he’d confess that he doesn’t remember. Fragments, maybe. Bits and pieces. There are certain details he’s able to focus on. Flickers of more elaborate robes, of wings upon wings protruding from his back, of an opaque veil shrouding Grian’s eyes.

And the eyes. It’s difficult to miss those.

“Bored.”

“This,” Grian says once more, “was their idea of punishment.”

Grian’s image stabilizes, and once more he’s back into his regular old sweater and trousers. His wings, sans the feathers around his ears, and amalgamation of eyes gone. “When they made me a Watcher, they bound me to their code of non-interference. I was a spectator. A viewer. I could, perhaps, influence a few things or nudge a world into a certain direction, but beyond that I could do nothing. I was invisible to my friends, voiceless to everyone else. It drove me mad. But more than that, it made me bored.”

Martyn lookes at him in disbelief. But...well...Martyn knew from experience that a bored Grian was a very dangerous Grian, so perhaps that explanation was good enough.

Grian shrugs. “‘Bored’ might not be the right term. Empty, perhaps. Directionless. After a while, watching others becomes boring. You start to crave excitement, crave the rush.” He jumps to his feet. “You don’t just watch anymore. You’re not content with being the bystander. You look at a person and start to think ‘hey, I wonder what I would have done in their shoes.’

“And that’s when the punishment truly reaches its climax. Because then you start to want.” Grian tilts his head back and laughs, half-crazed.

“I wanted to know what it was like to feel something again, so when I saw the plans for this experiment, I knew I had to be a part of it somehow— curse whatever the Watchers say. The more they protested, the more I wanted to spite them. They made me this way, and they can suffer the consequences for it.” He points angrily at the full moon and shouts. “You hear me! Stare all you want but it’s not gonna change a single thing.”

Martyn huddles his knees closer. “So you don’t regret anything, then?”

Grian drops his arms and plops himself back down with a huff. “No. I don’t regret any of my actions in the slightest.” Martyn frowned at that. “But— I did, I did end up regretting what you guys had to go through.”

“You called yourself merciful.”

“I like to think I was. Or, that I tried to be. It’s not much but I had hoped that it would make this whole situation easier.” He drew his knees close. “Did you ever wonder why, between the first time and the last, the goal changed from ‘surviving however long you can’ to ‘be the last one standing’?”

Martyn frowned. Now that he thought about it...He had always chalked it up to most people’s experience in the first game affecting how they viewed the second game.

“And did you realize when you started thinking of this entire scenario as a game?”

Martyn jolts to attention, eyes locked onto Grian’s sad smile.

“For many of you, it’s not real, not really; a game has no lasting consequences once its all over,” he explained. “It’s a small change but...well, it helps lessen the guilt doesn’t it?”

Martyn tasted ash in his mouth.

He said nothing.

Grian continues on. “There are...limits to what I can do; they took away most of my abilities when I entered this world. I can’t break the world border. I can’t stop the boogeyman curse. I can’t change the ‘win condition,’ and I can’t bring someone back after their last life.” He plucks a white dandelion from the ground and takes a pinch of the whitte tuft in his fingers. “But when they die, permanently, I can, for a brief moment, anchor their soul to this world.”

“The shades,” Martyn whispered. “The ghosts— they’re because of you?”

“For a small moment in time, they, too, become Watchers. Spectators. Free from the shackles of this game if only for a little while before the Watchers take them back.”Grian blows the puffballs away, watching them float lazily in the air. “Is that not mercy, too, Martyn?”

Martyn gazes at Grian. He doesn’t...he doesn’t know what to say about that. So instead, he switches the topic. “Is that it then? Make us more mentally resilient, make us ghosts, and voila?”

“Well, there’s a third one. Though I haven’t exactly done it yet.”

“Grian. This game is over. There’s nothing else you could do.”

Martyn grits his teeth, fingers digging into the cold dirt. “All knowledge is.”

“That depends on your decision actually.”

This piques Martyn’s interest, and Grian continues. “Like the Watchers picked me, they chose you too. To torment, to act through, I don’t know. But at the very end of this game, they told you the truth of this world.” He tilts his head sympathetically. “It’s a burden, is it not?”

“I can get rid of it, if you want me to,” Grian offered. “The knowledge of the time loops. The game. Your place in the grand scheme of the Watchers.” He scratches the back of his head, sheepish. “I can’t literally get rid of it, though. I can just...bury it. Hide it under lock and key so if and when the next round starts, you can go unburdened.”

“Ignorance is bliss.”

“The greatest bliss.”

Martyn laughs; terrible noise that bubbles up his throat like burning oil and comes into the world a strangled cry. He buries his face in his arms. “Will we ever get out of here, Grian?”

“What do you want me to say?”

His voice chokes. “Lie to me. Tell me the most beautiful lie you could think of.”

He hears Grian get up. Feels Grian crouch in front of him and raise his head to meet Grian’s softened eyes. Grian’s smile was so warm. “We’ll get out of here, Martyn. You, me, the Southlands, and everyone else. We’ll find a way to break the border and crystal the Watchers in the face. We’ll go out and build a nice little village in the woods with a bunch of hidey holes so we can stalk Mumbo’s intro every morning and spy on team BEST. With diamonds galore and so many amethyst crystals that Timmy would have spy glasses coming out of his ears. A nice place where the boogeyman doesn’t exist and no one has to die.”

Martyn breaks. Grian pulls him close and Martyn clings to the back of his red sweater like it’s his last lifeline.

Martyn doesn’t cry. Doesn’t scream. Doesn’t want to give the Watchers anything more than what they’ve already taken. Will continue to take. He just stays in Grian’s arms, on the brink of another crossroad.

To know or not to know.

To listen or to cover his ears.

To remember or to forget.

Martyn was loyal to those that earned it. Cleverer than most people suspect. He could be brave if he wanted to. He could be brave.

But Martyn was just so tired.

He squeezes Grian one last time. “That was a horrible lie, Grian. You’re not much of a storyteller ah-are you?”

Grian smiles. “You gotta put something in the a-ha jar now, Martyn.”

Martyn wipes what stray tears he has with the heel of his palm and lets go of Grian. “Knowledge is worth its weight in gold. That should be enough to fund my next couple of a-ha’s yeah?”

Grian places his hands around Martyn’s head and presses their foreheads close together. “Sounds like a plan.”

He felt himself relax at Grian’s touch. The knots in his muscles unwinding. His breath steadying, his heart slowing. He just barely stifles a yawn. He covers Grian’s hands with his own, feeling his eyelids droop lower and lower. “Does that mean I’ll go back to dreaming after this?”

“Oh, Martyn,” Grian cried. “You were never awake to begin with.”

Martyn’s eyes closed.

He dreams of floating in the void.

It feels like bliss.

[parliamentrook]

why do I even buy cat toys

[ninbayphua]

[shyshui]

HEY !!!!!

remember the cleaned up shot I did last week (or idk when) ?

WELL IT WAS A TEST FOR THIS !!!!

I'm actually quite pleased with the result , and it was super fun to do, so that's neat!!!!!

[zeeexp]

Meet your maker

It was on the third day of Techno acting weird that Puffy could stand the suspense no longer. "Hey you're all weird and powerful right," she began. The hermits gathered around her shuffled a little, unwilling to admit it. Eventually though, Grian spoke up. "Yeah?" "Do you guys know a blood god?" There was a long, pregnant pause from the hermits. "Why do you ask?" "Technoblade says the blood god likes me and he's doing everything I ask." Puffy frowned, sorting through the balls of colourful yarn. "It's weird." Grian cocked his head, halfway preening his wings. "Why does Technoblade care what the blood god thinks?" "He said he's an acolyte of the blood god, I think." "Oh that one!" Grian nodded enthusiastically. "He's a good fighter. Yeah I'll talk to him." "You're the blood god?" Puffy asked in disbelief. And really, who could believe that Grian was the blood god? She could think of at least fifty words to describe Grian, and blood god was not even in the top hundred. "Yes?" Grian said, his eyes darting to the side. "Is there a problem?" "Why is Techno like, terrified of you?" "He is?" "Yeah, how could you not notice?" Grian spread his arms wide, gesturing to the crowds of hermits squeezed into one large, underground atrium. "Puffy do you think a single one of us is good at social interaction?" "Yes and it's Cleo, Stress, and False." "Thank you!" A distant voice shouts from somewhere in the back. Grian sighs. "I'll go talk to Techno." "Grian..." Mumbo warned. "Relax." There was a sparkle in his eyes, and several of the hermits restrained a Pavlovian instinct to shudder. "I'll be in and out in a jiffy." ___ Techno was tracking a pig through the snow when every hair on his being stood up. The blood god was nearby. Techno whirled around, already crouched in a battle stance, his sword half drawn. He followed the trail back home, and oh god the house practically reeked of the aura. He opened the door, carefully looking around for any glint of a blade, or the telltale glitter of tripwire hooks. He found none. Instead, he found the blood god himself. The blood god was smaller than Techno had envisioned, wearing a puffy red sweater. He had mousy brown hair and coal black eyes that twinkled with mischief (just like Tommy) and he had wings. Techno had never seen anyone other than Phil sport wings, but here was the blood god, his wings large and silvery. Techno gathered up the last of his courage and headed towards the kitchen. He opened his cupboard and forced a smile onto his face, although he would rather be electrocuted than be in the same house as an apex predator. "Tea?" Part of him wished that the blood god would just get it over with and kill him already. The god smiled. "If you would be so kind. Cookies would be nice too." Techno set the kettle onto the stove, taking out the tea packets and two mugs. Right now, he was moving purely on autopilot, since he suspected that his brain was shutting down from shock. Chat was screaming at him to bow down you idiot can't you see he wants to kill you no he just wants cookies and tea- "Shut up," Techno muttered. The god turned around from one of his forays into Techno's chests. "Did you say something?" "Uh...no." The god sighed and drifted to Techno. He laid his fingers on Techno's arm lightly, and Techno could feel scars - not the scars of war, but the kind that came from failed redstone explosions or cuts from stone cutting. "Listen," the god begins lowly. "Puffy told me that you were scared of me. And honestly? I don't get it. I'm a changed man." Liar liar liar liar pants on fire, Chat chanted. "I mean, sure I still prank people and that results in mass casualties sometimes, but it's all in good fun. So you don't need to worry about me smiting you down or anything." He smiled kindly. "Look, Blood God-" "Grian. I go by that now." Grian smiled, the promise of blood and ash behind that smile. "Right. Grian, I really appreciate what you've given me, I do. It's just..." Techno trailed off, wondering how to bring up Chat, who had gone

deathly silent. "There's voices in my head." "Yeah?" Techno blinked. "You're- you're not surprised?" "Why would I be?" Grian tilted his head and wiggles his fingers at Techno. "I put them there. How have they been? Hi Chat." Chat remained mutinously silent. "You put-" Techno tried to rein in the red spots that tinged the edge of his vision and threatened to overwhelm him. "You put the voices in my head." "Just a gift." That smile again. Techno cast his eyes to the sky. He understood now. It wasn't a gift - or maybe it was, to the god. But to Techno, it was a curse. The Blood God was cruel, exceedingly so. "Oh! I remembered something. How's my son doing?" "Your son? You mean another acolyte?" "No, I meant-" Grian snapped his fingers. "-Theseus! That's his name. Wait, no. It's Tommy now. How's he doing?" Techno's hands started sweating. He glanced at the ladder, which did not go unseen by Grian. "I...He's doing fine." "When was the last time you saw him?" Grian smiled icily. "Uh- two...months ago...?" "Find him." Grian growled, and oh god he looked terrifying now, his wings hard and metallic and dripping with fresh blood and Chat was back telling him to run run run- ___ Grian watched Techno's retreating back and took to the sky, waiting for his wings to return back to their usual softness. He dropped into the canyon and dashed to his bed, curling up under his covers. Tommy's scent had been weak, but he had smelt fear, anger, sadness - so much sadness. What had he done?

[easyvirgin-deactivated20160413]

happy Thursday the 20th

[askjennaflorida]

I’d have to wait months or even years for another chance to reblog this, so why the fuck not?

[mx-mythical-deactivated20260319]

next days you can reblog this on a Thursday the 20th

August 2015

October 2016

April 2017

July 2017

September 2018

December 2018

June 2019

February 2020

August 2020

You know, just in case you wanted to set your queue for the next 6 years

[triedandtrued]

TODAY

[captain-of-the-historicfuture]

Since it’s now August 20, 2020… The next days you can reblog this on a Thursday the 20th:

May 2021

January 2022

October 2022

April 2023

July 2023

June 2024

February 2025

March 2025

November 2025

August 2026

If you wanted to set your queue for the next six years.

[auburnrose]

title: bringers of balance

chapter: 14/?

chapter wc: 8,567

preview: The world was smaller and simpler back then, without the presence of Darkness hanging above it. You still have control, of course, but it requires infinitely more energy. It manifests in this light.

“Does this mean it'll work?” George asked, voice hushed. “If anything were to happen?”

Dream nodded. “I think so. I - yeah.”

read on ao3

[goddessalmighty]

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaas, Amazing chapter. I am in love with this fic.

[britta-perry]

[freedominwickedness]

In medieval culture, an event like a royal christening is not a private party; it’s the public social event of the year. To not invite any person of rank to such an event is a deadly insult.

Maleficent is certainly someone you wouldn’t want at a party, but she’s also someone powerful enough that only a fool would ever dare treat her with such blatant disrespect. The only way the King and Queen could possibly have gotten away with not inviting Maleficent was to not invite any of the fairies at all; inviting the other fairies and excluding her is explicitly taking sides in the conflict between the fairy factions.

Which means they made themselves her sworn enemies, and she responded by treating them as such from then on. If you actually get into analyzing the social dynamics of the scene, it’s very clear that Maleficent was willing to show mercy at first by giving the King and Queen a chance to apologize for their disrespect to her. She doesn’t curse Aurora until after she gives them that chance and they throw it back in her face with further disrespect.

And yeah, if the King and Queen had done the properly respectful thing and invited her, Maleficent would have given Aurora a scary awesome present. Moreover so would the other fairies, because at that point both sides would be using it as an opportunity to show off and one-up each other. What they gave her before Maleficent showed up was basically just trivial party favors by fairy standards.

[fuckyeahwomenprotesting]

How do you know so much about the social dynamics of medieval fairies

[catsbrew-blogs]

That is none of your business is it sir

[ivi-prism]

Things that put in perspective just how old and important the Hermits have been to the Minecraft community. A list I encourage people to continue:

- The splash screen ‘What’s up Doc?’ That appears in the Minecraft Title page is a reference to Docm77 defeating Dinnerbone in a pvp battle

- One of the original 3x3 door designs is called an Etho door in honor of EthosLab being its creator

- do you play Bedwars? Xisumavoid is the original creator of that minigame

- do you play TNT Run? Grian is the original creator of that minigame

- Grian helped create and was the main builder of Wynncraft, and still helps administer it today (Wynncraft is the largest Minecarft MMORPG for context)

- Have you ever built an iron farm? Chances are that design is or has been inspired by a TangoTek design

- EthosLab probably has the longest let’s play series on a single player Minecraft world. That series turned 10 years old in december 17, 2020. And at the moment of writing this post it has 558 episodes

- VintageBeef is the original creator of ABBA Rules caving. If you ever seen people go caving together and compete by assigning points to the ores they collect, you have watched ABBA Rules being applied

- Have you played or do you watch UHCs? VintageBeef was one of the people behind the creation of that gamemode

[whatthehellisgoingon9374-deacti]

THEY PUT THE LORAX MOVIE ON NETFLIX THEY PUT THE LORAX MOVIE ON NETFLIX THEY PUT THE LORAX MOVIE ON NETFLIX THEY PUT THE LORAX MOVIE ON NETFLIX THEY PUT THE LORAX MOVIE ON NETFLIX THEY PUT THE LORAX MOVIE ON NETFLIX

[whatthehellisgoingon9374-deacti]

Okay I’ve thought about it.

The onceler phenomenon won’t happen on tumblr. We’ve learned at least that much from our mistakes.

BUT TWITTER

[saintofpride201]

Oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck oh god oh fuck

[goddessalmighty]

oh no

[auburnrose]

title: bringers of balance

chapter: 13/?

chapter wc: 7,355

preview: “We all know about the war,” he started again. “A lot of us have personally felt its effects, both physically and mentally. At first, I thought it was just Schlatt being his usual power hungry self but…there’s more to it…”

read on ao3

[goddessalmighty]

Eeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyyyu, NEW CHAPTER!!!!!!!