If you want to see some of what is about to be said in a nicer, prettier format: I have a little carrd!! :3
tl;dr: I think write fanfic and draw fanart of the stuff I like, also I’m a minor:3
Tags:
Robin’s Katabasis: misc rants about the stuff I like a normal person amount ^_^
Writy Robin: Fanfic/Writing in general,
Arty Robin: Fan Art/Art in general
Robin Chirps: Shit post/Things I say which I think are funny (please laugh please), as well as WIPs
Robin Reblogs: Reblogs (shocker)
Robin Replies: Answering asks
Questioning Robin: Me when I wonder (Discussion posts :D)
"WHERE CAN WE FIND YOU?!?!?!?!?"
That sounds so wrong
AO3 !!!
MY STRAWPAGE !!!
MY PRONOUNS PAGE !!!
MY BSKY !!!
MY TWT !!!
MY CARRD (again) (I am really proud) !!!
Sillier and more in-depth version below!!!!!! >_<
"WHO ARE YOU??!?!??!"
You may call me either Robin or Art!!
I go by any and every pronouns known to mankind and I am queer (fem people are AWESOME and also masc and also everyone actually oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh)
I'm 17 so yeahsers :P
I’ll probably post about MCYT and MCRP for the most part (Lifesteal SMP, PvP/Parkour civ, Whitepine, Unstable Universe and States SMP!) but I could sprinkle in a bit of other stuff. (Richard Grayson/Robin from the DC, maybe OCs?, Minecraft, etc!!)
I like animals and stupid metaphors and thinking about stuff, my parents got confused and chose Though Queer Mentally ill Child (is this still a good joke? Am I unc???????)
I like the colour blue and all art ever made ever. In the history of always. Forever and ever
DO’s and DON’Ts!!
DO:
DM me :D (if you wanna!) or ask for my Discord ^_^
Follow me I’m so awesome
ASK ME STUFF, both on my StrawPage (see below) or ask inbox!!
Request art!! o(^▽^)o
Interact with me! ^_^
DON’T:
Be mean you’ll be blocked I am protecting my peace
Repost my stuff to other sites or pages?? What the helly brah
Parkour Clownpierce theory (More of a headcannon than theory lol)
He wasn't actually a bad guy, he just had an idea that was lethal and the Old Man overreated.
Clown's anger comes from going insane due to imprisonment and starvation.
I like to think the command stopped him from aging and kept him alive. This means that Clown still felt pain but couldn't die over it.
Also he definitely had friends in the fighter layer. Bro could have (From what I have seen) ranked up to the master layer but he didn't.
If past Clownpierce wanted power wouldn't he have ranked up?
-the rambler
I like to believe that Clown and the Old Man were on the same level, therefore would be scaling up the ranks together at the same time. They probably formed some sort of “us against the world” mentality, which helped them stick together also.
But perhaps Clownpierce and the Old Man had some sort of disagreement along the way, regarding their beliefs of what is good and what is bad. Maybe the Old Man believed in a more individualistic, survival-of-the-fittest approach rather than the more “strength is in numbers, community is the heart” mindset Clownpierce tended to lean towards.
In my opinion, what pushed the Old Man to become Parkour Master in the first place was an endless chase of power, all the way to the (figuratively and literally) very top.
Perhaps that’s what pushed the Old Man into deleting all of the fighter layer to begin with: a paranoia, the fear of losing his power to someone who he knows can match him.
I think that’s also why he chose to torture Clownpierce rather than leave him be like the rest of the fighter layer. It was a punishment, to one he thought as a traitor, from who thought of himself as righteous enough to inflict punishment in the first place.
I think, simply put, Clownpierce wanted a different kind of power, one that needed him to have the people by his side. Perhaps the power he was searching wasn’t the hungry, violent type we tend to think of either, maybe he did just want to help the people around him. That’s why he stuck with them.
Finally got around to grabbing the old WIP, so by like! Months! Of waiting! (sorry) here is the WIP :)
Shoutout @lettersonlyplease for being so enthusiastic about it they made me redownload Notion just to grab this again. Hope you enjoy ^_^
Here he is, now, so close to the champion boots he had been waiting to acquire for years.
Seawatt, he knew the reality of what the Old Man did, all those years ago. He knows everything that had happened, but he also knows what came after it. He had been able to go forward with his life, to see how the world had kept going forward after thousands of people were wiped off of the collective memory of everyone, he had been able to see the Old Man go on with his own life, ignoring the blood on his hands. But Seawatt had also had to conform to a new reality. To the Old Man’s reality.
How much had Seawatt changed? He didn’t know him before, of course he didn’t, but he certainly knows that he’s not a Fighter anymore. Those chainmail boots on his feet– they’re nothing but a safety net, a safety net for his inevitable fall. People like Seawatt plunge to the ground, splattering and turning into a mess of reds at the feet of the strong.
He’ll be the one to assure his fall.
Seawatt had served his purpose anyway, he reasons. He’s free now, but he’s also indebted to him. He can’t have that– No, no no. He cannot possibly be indebted to someone, that’ll get in the way of everything he has planned– everything he spent years– decades planning, in solitude. He has perfected this plan, run it over in his head hundreds, thousands of times. What else could he do? Nothing. Think. He could think. And think he did. He thought of a plan, a perfect plan, and Seawatt just simply wasn’t part of it.
He’ll get it, surely. He just needs to die for the plan to work out. He has to get it.
He raises his hand, pointing at Seawatt, making sure that the direction his finger is pointing towards is just vague enough for Evbo’s face to drain of all colour, leaving his face to adopt an helpless and terrified expression. He can have fun with this, right? Surely.
“I challenge you to a parkour race.” He hears someone speak, before realising it’s himself. When was the last time he had even used his voice? His throat feels scratchy. There’s some sort of burning sensation in the back as well, but he had long become accustomed to the scorching warmth of the lava surrounding him, so what will a new burn added to the list do?
He stays still, watching as Seawatt stays frozen like a deer in headlights. He trembles, which is the confirmation he needs; Seawatt is showing a weakness, something that a Parkour Fighter would never dare even think of doing– He needs to die. He’ll kill him, with his own technique, the technique he was forsaken for. He’ll show them all. He’ll show all of Parkour Civilisation, from the very top of the Champion level to the slums of Parkour Prison, everyone will know that the end has come. No one will know his name– his real name– that man is dead, gone, buried. That man has died for he was weak, terribly and utterly weak, he trusted someone, trusted him so much that the man probably knew him more than he did himself, and where did that trust land him? Dead. He’s dead– he was thrown into magma and lava and now he’s nothing but ashes.
Withing minutes, the set for the parkour race is ready. Seawatt, the idiot, stands on shaky legs next to him, while the Parkour Villain goes to stand on his respective platform– But he is interrupted.
“We see each other again, old friend.”
He is interrupted by an annoyingly familiar sickening voice, belonging to a despicable, infamous and disgusting excuse of a man.
“We are hardly friends, Old Man.” He spits out, and his disgust and pure hatred must be audible in his voice, because he can see Seawatt flinch out of the corner of his eye.
He doesn’t turn around, he cannot lose control of his emotions– his rage, his hatred, his disgust; they cannot hinder his ultimate goal. “Make them all pay” –his mind keeps repeating, like a mantra– “every single one of them will perish at my hands, I cannot let this opportunity go to waste, not because of him. Not again.”
He can hear voices just behind him, he’s sure Evbo and the Old man are talking with each other. Distantly, he can make out their tone– Evbo seems enthusiastic at first, then confused, where his voice used to be cut off by an older-sounding one, now it trails off pitifully. He cannot hear Seawatt’s voice much, but when he does he sounds shakey– scared, weak, afraid, shaken, weak, panicked, trembling, feeble, weak, weak, weak weak weak weak–
The Old Man’s voice is different, he can barely recognise it. It’s horrid. He tries not to listen to him, but his voice worms his way inside the deepest part of his psyche to haunt and taunt him, as if leaving him to rot in an erased level of Civilisation was not enough. He’s like a parasite, an incurable fatal illness.
He’s still taking deep breaths when he hears footsteps coming closer, a hand setting on his shoulder. He roughly shrugs it off, taking multiple steps back. If he were an animal, he’s sure he’d be snarling, showing all his teeth as he sinks them into the Old Man’s bare hands, tainting even more of this wretched world with red. Like it deserves.
“Calm down, it’s just us two Cl–” Before he can finish the sentence, the Parkour Villain (a horribly tacky name, if he can give his input. A little too on the nose.) whips his head around, pointing an accusatory finger at the Old Man, hand shaking ever so slightly with barely repressed rage. “Do not call me that. It’s Villain now, just like you wanted.” He snarls, finally stepping down the, now unused, parkour race set. As he does so, he makes sure to keep a good distance between the two, now standing a couple of blocks away from each other.
The man pauses, a look of genuine horror morphs into one of… He can’t quite put his finger on that expression. He hasn’t looked at another human face in so long, he hardly remembered how one looked like before Seawatt showed up, let alone knew how to pin point exact emotions.
”But, it’s your name, is it not?” The Old Fool asks, ignorant as always to the consequences of his own actions.
”No. No, it hasn’t been for a while.” The Villain replies, making sure that his voice is stable, deadpan, emotionless. “That man is dead, remember?” He tilts his head to the side, taunting, like an animal pretending to be bigger and dangerous to scare off a predator.
“You killed him. You know that.” He says as clear as day, matter-of-factly. The sky is blue, water is wet and he who called himself “ClownPierce” is dead: such is common knowledge and the old man standing in front of him is an idiot for thinking otherwise.
He’s an idiot for frowning at him right now, too. He’s not fooling anyone, he’s not fooling him, not again, never again. The Villain’s eye twitches beneath his mask, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, struggling to hold back the urge to reach out and crush his fragile throat in between his hands. He wants to kill him. Hurt him, torture him like he did with him, with everyone that’s– that was here, was because they’re all long dead, dead because the Old Man was scared of him. The Old Hag noticed that not everything was under his control and, the control freak that he is, he made one big mistake after the other and he just fell and tripped on those stupid fucking command blocks, it’s not his fault it’s never his fault, he’s so nauseatingly INNOCENT ALL THE TIME–
“I’m sorry.” The Old Man’s voice breaks through his internal ramblings. Suddenly, everything is quiet. Everything is quiet, save for the slight buzz of static that plays now that all of his thoughts stopped, his mind having figuratively blue screened. “For everything.” He adds, with so much sincerity it feels genuine, real.
“Fuck you.” He hisses out before he even realises, condensing a fraction of his hatred in just those two words. Just a fraction though, because if he were to put all of it his own throat might corrode from the amount of poison. “Fuck you. Holy shit, fuck you. You can’t just–” He squares his shoulders, all his muscles tense as he lets out one dry chuckle. “You left me here to rot. For eternity, I was– I’ve been here for so long…”
He just now realises how different the Old Man is now. His hair is grey, his skin wrinkled, especially around the eyes– smile lines. He has smile lines. And so, so many wrinkles because it’s been decades. He moved on and he was completely fine with leaving him here to rot alive, dangling above lava for all of eternity.
“You aged horribly.” He blurts out, making a show of looking him up and down.
The Old Man is clearly taken aback by the sudden tone and subject shift, but he can’t blame him for being bad at conversations now. “…And you still look the same.” He mutters instead, dumbly. It’s obvious there’s more he wants to say, but the Villain can’t quite place his finger on what. A long time ago, he would’ve known immediately.
“And whose fault is that?” The Villain tilts his head again, and the snarl is clear in his voice.
"and it makes me sick hearing this for the second time"
this wasn't even the quote by director. this was the old wifies parrot used to separate from the director so much.
it means parrot has accepted both wifies' as one. lowkey obvious from how he's never talked about wifies as a good old friend, but now we have confirmation.
he hates him
and he hates him whole
"i trust your judgement" OKAY Parrot WHY couldn't you have done the same with Wifies? Why couldn't you LISTEN when He was saying that?? He was pointing at things that would get you both killed, and rightfully so! he had helped you so much. why doesn't he deserve the same treatment
yeah mr ""be a little selfish" makes me sick", tell me how you aren't selfish in your pursuits
