Author's Corner

A place to catch up with me, ask questions, and get updates on my fics!

[corpse-art]

Hi corpse. I came for cow art. I was disappointed to not find cow art and instead find beautiful art that should never have been called cow art. Q is a meanie >:( /aff

Shdjdhd. My knight in shining armour, sweeping in to save me from having my crappy art roasted /j

[trashyinferno]

Shhhh your art is lovely :D

[trashyinferno]

hi there! I'm so sorry to bother you and I'm also sorry this ended up being two months late but I was wondering, if it's ok to ask, how does rescue me end? (I understand if you'd prefer not to talk about it and you have no obligation to, of course.) to be honest I just want to know if/how everyone ends up safe and together again. maybe whether or not the nerve damage ends up being permanent. anyways, thank you for your time!

Did I ever answer this??? I don’t really use tumblr anymore and don’t remember oh noooooo

Oki, so what I can say - uh, everyone sort of comes together again. There was a sequel in the works for rescue me that would have involved a specific character having to head to Vacuo by themselves because they were left behind for reasons I can’t say.

Nerve damage - would have been semi-permanent. Sequel would have included Oscar working to overcome his hand tremors and phantom pains through physical therapy. Would also have included much frustration and much Ozpin hot cocoa.

[trashysdsmpgarbageheap]

ORIGINAL DREAMSMP SONG! Go check it out!!!

[arainydaymcytblog]

Can I just say how happy I am that people as big as these folks are talking about this shit? LIKE BRO THANK YOU, SPREAD THE AWARENESS. CONVERSION THERAPY IS TORTURE. IF YOU SEND YOUR CHILD TO CONVERSION THERAPY YOU’RE LETTING YOUR CHILD BE ABUSED. PERIODT.

SIGN THESE IF YOU’RE IN THE UK.

Petition: Make LGBT conversion therapy illegal in the UK

I would like the Government to: • make running conversion therapy in the UK a criminal offence • forcing people to attend said conversion

Ban the practice of conversion therapy on the island of Ireland!

I've signed this petition asking our government to ban the practice of conversion therapy on the island of Ireland. Can you do the same?

READ ABOUT CONVERSION THERAPY.

Aleistor on Twitter

“Conversion Therapy in the UK: master thread”

What is “conversion therapy?” Conversion therapy refers to any of several dangerous and discredited practices aimed at changing an individua

ALSO GIVE TO SOME CHARITIES WHILE YOU’RE AT IT.

elm☾ on Twitter

“a list of lgbtqia+ charities in the uk because you can’t call the Trevor Project here:”

THANK YOU.

EDIT: I HOPE YOU ALL ARE REBLOGGING THIS SHIT CAUSE WE NEED TO GET SOME PEOPLE TO RISE UP AND DO SOME CHANGE GUYS

[marvelousatrocity]

@shrikeicy’s Dsmp National Parks AU but buzzfeed unsolved on Goatman’s bridge because the discord was having fun

[trashyinferno]

my life goes on in endless song (raise the seventh, lead me on)

This is a WIP I've been working on off and on for a month now, but I wanted to share a bit of it just to get something out there!

Enjoy some Wilbur Soot and Philza found family... fluff? I think?

No warnings needed :)

From the beginnings of his life in the orphanage (tonic to a minor subdominant) to the moment he ran (minor submediant to a major dominant; raise the seventh, lead it somewhere when you’re running to), he remembers vaguely.

He remembers his caretakers (calm and gentle but not quite, not his – not his tonic). He remembers his playmates (only in sleep, their faces blank). He remembers the guitar he got for Christmas one year (and there’s the beginnings of his melody: one chord, then the next, and then his bass no longer plays in pedal).

There is one thing he remembers very well.

When he left, the melody soared.

And as he took one last look at the cold stone walls that had been his home (not quite, not ever, not his tonic), he knew that his symphony, wild and raucous with the thrill of the unknown, had finally begun.

----

The swirling cacophony of excitement fades a few days later when he realizes that his food stores are dangerously low. He figured he’d find something, but other than the occasional traveler, he hasn’t found anything remotely useful.

(Minor. Minor. Minor.)

He tries not to notice the way the progression sours when he steals a loaf of bread from a campsite someone’s left unattended. He can’t fight the way his gut twists and contorts as he takes the first bite.

(Tonic to major mediant. Push forward to half-diminished supertonic. Thrust into minor dominant. The progression is wrong, all wrong, defying every rule.)

Stealing comes easier after that.

(The people who wrote the rules are all dead, anyway.)

----

He realizes that he’s made a big mistake when the winged man - too big, too tall, wings stretched wide (no escape tone, no appoggiatura) - lands in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. The man’s eyebrow rises up his face, and Wilbur isn’t shaking. He’s not.

(Plagal cadence. No way to move. Finality.)

This is his end. Wilbur drops his gaze; his knees shake.

A hand enters his vision. “Just give me the sword,” the man says with unquestionable authority in his voice. “Keep everything else. Give me the sword.”

The apple in Wilbur’s hand glitters brightly beneath the sword's soft purple glow. He’s never seen a gold apple before, but he’s sure that it’s valuable - maybe more valuable than the blade. He worries at his lip with his teeth.

The hand stretches slightly.

Wilbur drops the sword into its palm.

“Thank you,” the man says as he yanks the hand back. Wilbur watches with curiosity as the man carefully, worriedly, examines the blade with narrowed blue eyes. His shoulders visibly relax when the blade passes its inspection.

Wilbur wants to leave. He should leave, but he’s rooted firmly to the ground when the man swipes at the air experimentally with the suddenly very dangerous looking blade.

(Sharp. Very sharp. Ear-shatteringly sharp.)

The man nods and tucks the sword into a sheath hooked to his belt. He looks at Wilbur thoughtfully, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side. His blue eyes glitter beneath his green and white bucket hat. “You look hungry.”

Wilbur blinks.

“You’re hungry.” The authority is back, and Wilbur can’t help but follow obediently when the man motions for him to follow.

He gets a good meal and an even better full night of sleep for the first time in weeks.

The man, Philza, doesn’t comment when Wilbur trails after him the next morning, but the boy doesn’t miss the small smile on the man’s face as he makes camp for the night.

----

“Do you play?” Philza asks the second night, gesturing to the guitar at Wilbur’s feet with his spoon. Dinner is mushroom stew, again. Not that Wilbur is complaining.

Wilbur glances down at the guitar and lifts his eyes to stare at the man with his best wry expression.

Phil’s hand goes up in surrender. “Just curious, mate.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth with a scowl.

“Y’know, you could play, if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind the music.”

Wilbur ignores the hopeful tone in his voice. He’ll play when he wants to, and not a minute sooner.

(But he wants it. He wants it so badly, the chords flashing through his mind - tonic, inverted supertonic, dominant - almost too quickly to catch.)

His fingers itch with the need to press against harsh wire for the rest of the night.

----

It’s the fourth night when he finally breaks.

(He plays a melancholic progression of A, f#m, and F7 just to spite Philza.)

His guitar hums softly over the crackling of their small campfire. Wilbur’s fingers ache painfully - he hasn’t played since that first night on his own - but the relief (D, A, D7) that he can even play without fear of attracting some mob overrides his sense of self-preservation. He needs the callouses, anyway, especially since he’s going to be playing more often.

(A, f#m, F7.)

If he’s going to be playing more often, he corrects mentally. If.

The twang of carefully tuned guitar strings rings in the quiet forest. Somewhere nearby, a cricket sings along. A soft breeze ruffles Wilbur’s curly brown hair.

Philza is careful to hide his smile when Wilbur looks his way. Wilbur pretends he doesn’t see it.

If.

(f#m, E, D, A.)

----

For some reason, Philza seems to take this as permission to start babbling at him as they walk the next day. Granted, the man had tried to make conversation multiple times in the past few days, but Wilbur had shut that down with non-verbal responses and lots of eye rolling.

Apparently, that tactic isn’t going to work anymore.

“Y’know, I’m quite surprised you haven’t asked where we’re going.”

Of course he hasn’t asked. He’s not sticking around to see Philza’s final destination.

“I’ve got a little cottage a couple days journey from here - right in the middle of the forest. I think you’d like it. Lots of little nooks and crannies for you to hide in.” Philza glances back at Wilbur, a soft, almost wistful, smile on his face. “And you’d like Techno, I think.”

Wilbur doesn’t bother to stifle his snort of disbelief. He’s not going to like this man’s cottage, and he’s certainly not going to like some person named Techno. Seriously, who hated their kid enough to name them Techno?

“If you want to join me the rest of the way, that is,” Philza adds quickly. “You can stay a few days, maybe get some food in you before you head out again?”

Even Wilbur has to admit that the man’s suggestion makes sense.

If his stomach rumbles in response, no one mentions it.

--------

The sound of wood cracking loudly behind Wilbur cuts through his mellow chord progression like it’s butter. His hands still as Philza shoots upright, his hand thrusting out in a stopping motion toward Wil.

Wait. The hand tells him. Let me take care of this.

A fuzzy feeling warms Wil’s chest. He feels… He isn’t sure what he feels.

Philza pulls his sword - purple, shimmering in the night, but not the one Wilbur stole, which still hangs in its sheath from his belt - from the other sheath on his waist and glares over Wil’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right back,” the man murmurs. His black wings flare out once before they tuck tightly at his back, and then Philza is noiselessly creeping around Wilbur.

He hears a moan behind him, a soft chk, and the sound of something thumping against crunchy brown leaves. There’s a soft sigh, and Philza walks back into view. Hideous green goop coats the deadly purple blade in his hand, but outside of that, there’s no indication that anything might have happened.

Philza settles back into a comfortable seated position. He smiles at Wilbur warmly, like there’s something Wilbur did in the past couple minutes that helped him. Wil raises a curious eyebrow.

“Zombie,” the man says with a shrug. “The adults aren’t a big deal, but the babies can be a bit of a problem if they catch you off guard.” His face scrunches in distaste as he looks off into the distance. “Learned that one the hard way,” he says bitterly. “Techno still hasn’t let me live it down.”

Wilbur isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this, so he returns to playing.

(D, G, A7.)

Philza’s expression softens. He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it after a moment of thought.

The feeling of warmth returns with a vengeance, and this time, Wilbur thinks he has an idea of what it might be.

He feels protected.

[trashyinferno]

Back to writing again! Sort of, anyway.

It's been a hectic few months, and when I originally said I was taking a break... Well, I didn't mean for it to be for three months. I am sorry about that.

Problem is, I've been having trouble keeping myself in the RWBY fandom. V8 started strongly and held my attention for a bit, but as the volume went on I just couldn't stick with it.

So what does that mean for Rescue Me? Well, I honestly don't know what it means. Looking back at what I've written - my notes, my storyline - I know where I was going. I actually have different chunks of the rest of the fic written, but... It's hard to be inspired. My attentions have shifted (MCYT fandom, I'm looking at you) and I'm fighting to keep writing.

I don't like leaving things unfinished. I don't like leaving fics behind. Rescue Me is - was - is my first success, my first multuchaptered fic, my first attempt at something. And I'll always be grateful to everyone who followed it and me and cheered me on!

I guess I'm rambling, huh? Well, here's, I suppose, the point: RWBY, it's been fun. I've loved every second of my time in the fandom, but I'm moving on. Thank you to all of the writers, artists, and fantastic fans for the fun times!

So what's the new stuff going on? Well, if you're a part of the MCYT community and like my writing, I'm working on a number of things! Drabbles mostly (I don't have it in me to do something multichaptered right now), but who knows, maybe I'll get another big project soon. My last one started because I thought of Yang leaping into a demon whale's blowhole - who knows what the heck I'll think of next?

[trashyinferno]

One Day: Why'd you have to kill my cat? Me: Flashbacks to Tommy killing the cat in prison.

[trashyinferno]

One day is that one song from your middle school days that you blasted at every sleepover while you and your friends were jumping around the room screaming the lyrics (with just a hint of air guitar and hair tossing for good measure).

Immaculate.

[shadowhand-bastard]

Reblog to claim your OG Lovejoy fan ticket

LETS GOOOOOO

[alexiasrei]

Concept: Minecraft Championships is canon in Dream SMP lore except instead of angsty it acts as comedy relief

Ok let me explain

Lets say that, in-universe, MCC isn't some life-or-death hunger games kinda thing

No it's just a fun event where people come together once a month to play exciting minigames and win prizes.

ScottSmajor invites the Dream SMP members to this event and they're like. "Yeah ok". Basically they stop fighting each other for a day to participate in minecraft superbowl

I just think it's hilarious if a portion of them are still enemies but are forced to ~have fun~ and not allowed to fight each other as long as the event is still running

Example: Bad and Puffy run into each other in the hub and they're like

"Hi Puffy" "Hello Bad"

"So how's...Antfrost." "Oh you know. Lost a life. Because of you."

"Maybe you shouldn't have killed my son." "Maybe you should have stayed out of my way." "Well yOU-"

The admins stop them and reminds them that they'll be banned if they start fighting. Begrudgingly they step back.

Then in rocket spleef Puffy targets Bad and ONLY Bad

Even funnier: they dont get to choose their team mates. Enemies end up being paired with each other.

For example Wilbur and Phil being teamed together like

"Hello father who killed me" "hello son who I killed" and then they do parkour together

Or Tubbo and Techno getting teamed up despite their chagrin

Oblivious catmaid Hbomb, who is also in their team, casually commenting at one point: man i always like the MCC fireworks. Theyre a nice touch.

Tubbo: i dont like fireworks

Hbomb: oh really?

Tubbo, looking straight at Techno: no, not really

Techno, sweating profusely: uh

Afterwards Tubbo's team is placed next to Quackity's in the decision dome

Tubbo goes: hey Big Q how was buildmart

Quackity: oh it wasn't the best *stares straight at Techno* i dont do good with pickaxes

Techno, sweating a waterfall: UuHh

Or like imagine the dsmp members being teamed with people who aren't in the smp, and the whole event they're like "i will take revenge on that traitor, they took everything from me" and the non-dsmp people are like "sure pal, but can you do your monologue after we finish bingo?"

Before the event, Sam walks into Dream's cell and goes "hey you're not free from prison but they want you to play in competitive minecraft party games for a day"

And Dream who's in the middle of an undead summoning ritual stops chanting and goes "yeah sure"

Tommy definitely tries to sabotage Dream and/or Techno but Scott has mastered the art of Tommy-proofing his events

Since they can't actually fight each other, they have resorted to the next best thing which is:

chanting "CANON DEATH CANON DEATH" everytime one of them dies

Someone gets shot during dodgebolt everyone automatically goes "(NAME) IS GONE CRABRAVE"

But most importantly it canonizes all the stupid little things that happened during MCC into Dream SMP lore

Dream: i am the most powerful being in this server. I have knowledge to raise the dead back from the grave. I am a god.

Someone: Grian killed you

Dream: that was oNE TIME.

Someone:

Dream:

Someone: iron doors-

Dream: SHUT UP

[literaphobe]

sometimes i wish they would make mcc canon in the dream smp and that smajor were a seasonal character in the smp SOLELY for mcc related stuff. imagine the conflicts that he’d have to get into just trying to settle the teams and arrangements for the event:

“why don’t the two of you want to be on the same team? i get that you aren’t dating any longer, but is it really–“ “HE CHOPPED MY ARM OFF–“

having to find a way to make 3 new jack manifolds so there can be a full team with just jack manifold

“awesamdude please let dream out to play mcc” “he is meant to be in prison FOREVER he committed WAR CRIMES” “okay but consider this—he’s really good at parkour?”

getting harassed by ranboo who keeps going in and out of his enderwalk state, but no matter what state he’s in he’s still begging smajor to unban him, regardless of how many times smajor tells him he’s already been unbanned

getting harassed by tommy who keeps telling him he totally doesn’t want to be on the same team as ranboo. aka exactly what’s happening in real life

having to explain to tubbo that michael, his zombie piglin son, cannot participate in the mcc, no matter how many visual similarities he shares with technoblade

“george can’t take part in the mcc because he’ll be asleep and hanging out with god of the smp in his dreams. god gives him free stuff he really can’t pass this opportunity up.”

“karl what do you mean you don’t remember who half the people on your team are aren’t you engaged to them–“

[dragonheart2497]

"The sun was setting over the Blue Valley."

[emiartse]

“I’m sorry, Ghostbur...”

Please reblog<3

[trashyinferno]

Us: *watching Little Women the musical*

Jo: Christopher Columbus!

Roommie: Isn't Christopher Columbus cancelled?

[trashyinferno]

[trashyinferno]

Y’know, with Wilbur probably coming back and Philza teasing Ghostza...

It would be rather poetic if Wilbur was the one to take Phil’s last, and only, life, wouldn’t it?