#ant's screaming into the void | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

asamary · 1 month

Text

This is another au me and ant wanted to make. Me and ant are still not sure about this au's concept and all, buttttt its about gods, angels, and monsters pretty much.

Soo the story is...

The player was once an angel that was always beside the prototype, the two only watched from the sidelines never interacting, or changing one's fate. The prototype sees the player as a child that needs guidance, and teaches the player their ways. Which is to only observe, never lift a single finger. The player, at first did what they were told, and as they observe for a long time, they begun to have a desire, The desire to live.

When they told the prototype of their desire, the prototype was furious of this. To live with the humans and the beast is unholy to their eyes. To be tainted with their sins,the beasts and humans's unholy desire tainting their precious angel. They lectured the player, but the player persuaded.

So one faithful day, the player did something no angels ever had the guts to do. They broke their halo. After that, they fell. Their halo turning black as the void and their feathers falling until a small wings only remained.

When they landed in a nearby forest, their fall soften by the tree branches. They, for the first time, felt pain. They felt every single bone of their body hurt. But they didn't scream in pain, it was the opposite. They laughed, for the first time in millennia, they found joy in the smallest things. The forest where they landed, had an abandoned cabin. They made it their home, and everyday they would explore the forest. Eating the mushrooms and the berries(even the poisonous ones) they felt alive. They felt free. And once in a while, wild creatures would come to them. Bears, snakes, rabbits, even the deers. They had an aura that said they were harmless. But that also meant they would attract dangerous beasts that stalked the forest. One group in particular. The humans call them the smiling critters, but dont underestimate the critter part, these beast are big, and could eat a human in one gulp. They were curious about the new human living in their cabin. At first they wanted to eat them, but as time passes, they begun to yearn the player's presence. Their softness, how the player always arrange the stuffed toys perfectly until they begun their routine. How they would always make too much food, and merely put them in the refrigerator. How the odd human would read a story until they slept with one of the toys in their arms.

The player lived happily.

Never knowing that their god was always watched them, and one of their loyal followers living with them.

It seems even when they try to leave, their god will always hold them close.

(This isn't finished, and we might change it. But ant liked this idea. Also dogday and catnap's design is still not sure. We both brainstorming here, and how we both gonna make the critters. )

#doddle #poppy playtime player #poppy playtime au #poppy playtime #catnap #dogday #the prototype #poppy playtime luminous au

110 notes · View notes

inkyantace7 · 20 days

Text

alright I'm curious.

#five nights at freddy's #Phone Guy #Phone Dude #ant's screaming into the void #polls

24 notes · View notes

ryttu3k · 1 year

Text

"The question has never been: Can you build cities?

Ants do that.

The question has never been: Are you capable of considering your own existence and getting kind of depressed about it?

Any animal in captivity does that.

The question has never been: Can you use tools?

Crows do that. Otters do that. Apes do that. Good Lord, everybody does that.

The question has never been: Can you perform complex problem solving?

Dogs do that.

The question has never been: Can you experience love?

Nobody doesn’t.

The question has never been: Can you use language?

Parrots and dolphins and cuttlefish do that.

The question has never even been: Do you understand object permanence, can you recognize yourself in the mirror, do you bury your dead, do you bond emotionally with your young?

Elephants do all those things, and some humans definitely don’t.

The only question is this:

Do you have enough empathy and yearning and desperation to connect to others outside yourself and scream into the void in four-part harmony? Enough brainpower and fine motor control and aesthetic ideation to look at feathers and stones and stuff that comes out of a worm’s more unpleasant holes and see gowns, veils, platform heels? Enough sheer style and excess energy to do something that provides no direct, material benefit to your personal survival, that might even mark you out from the pack as shiny, glittery prey, to do it for no other reason than that it rocks?

Everything in the universe has rhythm. Everything pulses to a beat laid down by the Big Bang. Everything feels the drumline of creation from star to sex to song. But can you make that rhythm? In order to create a pop band, the whole apparatus of civilization must be up and running and tapping its toe to the beat. Electricity, poetry, mathematics, sound amplification, textiles, arena architecture, efficient mimetic exchange, dramaturgy, industry, marketing, the bureaucratic classes, cultural critics, audiovisual transmission, special effects, music theory, symbology, metaphor, transportation, banking, enough leisure and excess calories to do anything beyond hunt, all of it, everything.

Can everyone else trust that, if you must declare war and wipe out half a quadrant, you’ll at least write a sad song about it?

Yes?

Well, even that is not quite enough.

Are you kind enough, on your little planet, not to shut that rhythm down? Not to crush underfoot the singers of songs and tellers of tales and wearers of silk? Because it’s monsters who do that. Who extinguish art. Who burn books. Who ban music. Who yell at anyone with ears to turn off that racket. Who cannot see outside themselves clearly enough to sing their truth to the heavens. Do you have enough goodness in your world to let the music play?

Do you have soul?"

- Space Opera, by Catherynne M Valente

#this part absolutely made me feel some sorta way #space opera #catherynne m valente #books #book quotes #eurovision #(it counts the book is literally eurovision in space)

250 notes · View notes

jaanwangji · 10 months

Text

You listen to songs a lot, sometimes when you're on the road busy looking this way and that so you don't accidentally step on someone's feet, or get in someone's way. You do that a lot, because you get lost within the space you hold by yourself, so lost that you forget anyone else exists in the world besides you. You don't always mean to seem so selfish, so detached, so...not present, so someone they don't want to be around anymore because you make them feel unloved.

You don't mean to be any of that, but you can't help how you feel too big for your own body sometimes even though you're like not even that tall. Sometimes you feel like you're so big you'd surpass the Eiffel tower twice over, and sometimes so insignificant that even an ant wouldn't look twice at you.

There's something about listening to songs when you're not fully present in the moment, when you're staring out the window of a moving vehicle and wondering when your stop will come but at the same time not really paying attention to your surroundings. (Your stop might've been long gone, but in the present moment, you don't seem to care.)

The song travels through your ears inside your brain, and if you close your eyes you can almost see it swirl around in lavender within the dark corners of your mind: a momentary spark before the void sets in yet again. You think, if I were to take off my earphones, lavender would probably gush out my ears, and perhaps if I shake myself hard enough, they'd travel down my brain beneath my skin in waves lighting up the hair on my skin as they go.

There's something to be said about how everyone looks at you with concern set deep in their features. As if they're just waiting for the pen to drop, for the inevitable glass to shatter, for you to drop down on the floor and never find a way to get up again. There's something in the air that heaves a sigh everytime you laugh around people as if before that everyone was holding their breath, still in fear of setting you off again.

When the same song starts up again, because that's how you consume music, one song at a time, until there's nothing left of the song but static noises in your head that you'll remember once again a decade later and feel an epiphany, the kind you'll never get used to no matter how many times it has happened before.

When the song starts up again, you take a deep breath and you step into the room without looking up at anyone, trying to be discreet as you move, so they wouldn't look at you, so they wouldn't know you're here again, so they wouldn't know how much you need the help.

You find a seat at the very back as usual, you're trying to blend into the wall, but the walls are a bright blue (the kind you really like) and your clothes are black, a stark contrast that makes you uncomfortable, because you stand out. You think, anyone can look here and see me sitting. The thought disturbs you, so you turn up the volume high, so that the music blasts in your ears so loud that they drown any other voices in your head from speaking.

Don't speak tomorrow in the room, you had mumbled into the dark, face smushed in the pillow. Don't come out, I don't want you there. One of them let out a loud scream, so loud it hurt your ears, another laughed in their shirll voice and said, you think you're the boss of us don't you? It seemed like they didn't expect an answer, so you didn't give any, just sinked in deeper into the bed. Just don't talk tomorrow, you heard yourself beg. Let me talk, I promise I'll handle it.

But you always need help, you can never handle anything on your own. If we weren't here, you'd be nothing at all. Not even the things that you pretend to be. (That was the most vicious one of them, who hissed into your ears.)

None of them talked today, none of them came out, just like you told them to, and yet you couldn't talk, couldn't say what you had to say, couldn't utter anything even when you were pinned with the weight of thousand different stares. You stood there like a fool, and sat back down like a loser, because they were right, that's what you are, and that's what you'll always be.

You hear each of them laugh loudly. You can hear them celebrate your failure, a big feast with your head right in the middle so they can eat pieces of it and make you scream in their mouths.

You'd go to bed, just like you do every night, all the while they continue feasting on you, with you, for you but always, always against you.

#writeblr #writing #words #poetry #poem #spilled poem #prose #sadness #quotes #literature #voices in your head #WHT OTHER TAGS DO I EVEN USE #hahahaha i need help btw.#if u like pls rb😔#alphaaz

80 notes · View notes

myhandisfatemywordislaw · 4 months

Text

what if Brian was Bertie? find out in this fanfiction..

credit to @dripping-void for the initial idea

claustrophobia is a running theme of this fic. I do not have claustrophobia so let me know if I portrayed it badly but I did my best

Bertie had always been a little claustrophobic. Before, it hadn’t been much of a problem; a slight tightening of his chest in a lift, a quickening of breath in a crowd, but usually he could avoid situations he knew would be stressful or push down his fear long enough to get through it. But now? Trapped in the endless twisting tunnels every second of every day, the oppressive, humid air thick with the stench of death choking him, the rough walls seeming to close around him, at every moment terrified they would collapse and he would be trapped, buried alive with no-one to help him, Bertie couldn’t tolerate it anymore. Being with Tim helped, but even he had to tackle Bertie to the ground and hold him tight as he struggled while the others helped cover them in lead in microwave attacks. Dimly Bertie knew that being cooked alive was a far worse fate, but no amount of reassurance from Tim could stave off the inevitable panic attacks as he was trapped in a space even more confined than usual, bodies pressed desperately against each other until Bertie wanted to scream. So yes, he knew it was stupid and dangerous as he clawed his way to the surface like an infected ant, distantly he knew he could die, probably would die for his moment of madness and desperation, but he couldn’t take it anymore, he couldn’t spend another moment trapped down there. When he finally crawled out onto the dusty surface, desperately gasping air and crying with relief, he was trapped inside a bulky spacesuit he’d stolen so he wouldn’t immediately die (he wasn’t completely stupid, after all) but he hardly cared. He was free.

When the shell detonated, blowing chunks of rock from the earth and kicking up a ferocious dust cloud, Bertie suddenly found himself soaring away into space, and he thought vaguely that it seemed appropriate, it seemed right. Parts of the suit melted against his skin, burning then freezing the skin beneath. The Moon grew smaller beneath him; the force of the powerful bombshell could easily overcome its weak gravity. As Bertie lost consciousness, he made peace with his death; he just wished he could say goodbye. I’m sorry, Tim, he thought, as darkness flooded his vision.

When Bertie awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was lying in a hard white bed, parts of his body covered in thick white gauze. He looked around; the thick, heavy metal door suggested vacuum sealing. Was he in a pressurised dome on the Moon? No, that was stupid, the Moon Kaiser controlled those. Where, then? The room gently thrummed with energy; an engine? Was this a spaceship? That seemed the most likely. Why was here? He’d only been on a spaceship once before, when he was deployed to the Moon. Maybe they were taking him home again? His heart jumped in his chest, and he barely dared to hope. But where was Tim? He didn’t want to go home without Tim.

The door opened with a hiss of air, and someone entered.

“Hello,” they said softly. “I’m Everett. What’s your name?”

“Bertie,” he whispered. He swallowed thickly, realising how dry his throat was. “Where…” his head throbbed as he trailed off, looking around.

“You’re on a spaceship, Bertie. I’m afraid we’re quite far from where we picked you up now. It looked like there was some kind of war, and we had to get out before the ship got damaged any more. We’re going to stop on a planet for supplies soon though. For now, you should probably get some rest.” They smiled warmly and Bertie nodded.

“Okay,” he replied quietly, feeling very small and very tired, and he quickly fell asleep again.

He awoke to the sound of distant panicked shouting.

“What do you mean the front thrusters won’t fire?”

“I mean they were damaged and you kept putting off the full ship review so we haven’t had time to find and fix it, and now they won’t fire at full power, so we can’t slow down!”

“Can’t we just pull away from the surface again then?”

“No, we’re too close and don’t have enough fuel. We’re all going to die, and there’s nothing any of us can do!”

“No, there has to be something! What if we spin the ship around and use the rear thrusters?”

“Not enough time, not enough time!”

“There must be something we can do!”

“We are doing everything we can!”

“We’re out of time!”

A violent impact jolted through the whole ship and the metal screamed as it twisted and failed, and Bertie’s head slammed into the metal wall of the ship, and he passed out. Again.

He awoke gradually. When he touched his head, his fingers came away covered in blood. He stood slowly, leaning heavily on the metal wall, his legs shaking, and made his way to the exit. As he crawled through the warped metal, he tried not to think about the tightness in his chest. Where was he? Was it a spaceship? When he fell, gasping for breath, into the open air, he saw that he had been right; a small spaceship, its front half crumpled in the small crater in which it lay.

“Who are you?” someone called. He turned to see them, a person standing several metres away and looking at him and the spaceship with a look of disgust.

“I… I don’t…” he started to respond.

“What’s your name?” the person continued harshly, stepping forward. He stumbled backwards slightly.

“I…” he hesitated. What was his name? Who was he? His head throbbed painfully when he tried to think. He thought his name might have started with a B. Had it been Bob? Billy, maybe? “…Brian?” he said uncertainly. It sounded unfamiliar in his mouth, he didn’t think that was quite right either, but it would have to do for now.

Brian, as he now called himself, became obsessed with figuring out how the ship he had arrived in worked and took it apart and put it back together over and over, then began to wonder how he could create something new with it. The others of this planet did not care for technology, but he couldn’t let go of this; it was all that remained of where he had come from.

When they threw him into the sky, it seemed right to him, it seemed natural, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying as his skin began to freeze. Hadn’t this happened before? A name dragged itself to the front of his mind. Tim. It wasn’t his name, he knew that, but it was important, he was sure of that. Who are you, Tim? he thought as he lost himself to the encroaching cold.

It took a while for Brian come to terms with his new self. He didn’t look like himself at all; his face had already been scarred when he reached the planet, and Carmilla had been forced to approximate what he looked like from frozen flesh already damaged beyond recognition, and he couldn’t see any of his own features in the mirror anymore. His heart all that was left of him, locked inside a metal prison, and whenever he thought about it too long he began to feel trapped and claustrophobic, until he wanted to tear out his heart, just so it could be free.

“We have to save him.” Brian said firmly, with no room for argument.

“What- why? Why do you care?” Jonny replied irritably.

“He could be- he could be fun. He’s very good with guns,” Brian cast around for what might interest Jonny enough to agree. “He’s- he kills people, that’s fun, isn’t it?” Brian was so glad he was in ends-justify-means, so he could tell himself that saving this life was worth it compared to the hypothetical life that might be lost as a result. How could he tell the others, how could he tell Jonny his real reason that he wanted, that he needed this man to live. Looking down at him, even with his eyes burnt out, Brian knew this was his Tim, he was sure of it. He couldn’t remember who he was or why he needed him to live so badly, but he knew it was important, more important to him than he could ever remember anything being.

When Tim awoke and joined the crew, Brian burned with the longing for his touch, and when Tim spoke it dredged up a distant memory of Tim holding him and whispering reassurances. But it was like Tim looked straight through him, seeing nothing but a stranger.

Tim was quietly stalking an octokitten to prank Jonny with when he heard small, hitched breaths from behind a door, like someone trying very hard not to be heard. Abandoning his task, he crept closer, and carefully opened the door. It was Brian, curled up on the floor and quietly crying.

Static filled Brian’s ears and his vision glitched and blurred as he desperately gasped for breath with an awful mechanical wheezing, his hands clutched over his heart, trapped inside the metal cage that was his body. He was trapped again and he didn’t know what to do this time, his existence a prison. Vaguely, he thought someone might be talking.

“-ian? Brian? Are you- are you okay?” Tim’s blurred face was filled with concern and his hand hovered near Brian’s face, unsure whether touching him would help. Brian made the decision for him, grabbing his hand and pressing it against his cheek as he sobbed.

“Brian, what’s wrong?”

“I- I- I’m scared- can you hold me? like- like before,” Brian responded jerkily through gasping breaths. With that, he buried his face in Tim’s neck.

“Like before?” What did that mean? Tim thought back over his time on the Aurora, he had barely even touched Brian, let alone hugged him. But- well- wasn’t there something familiar about him? Something about his mannerisms, the way he carried himself, the way he walked, the smile he seemed to save just for Tim. “Bertie?” he breathed, hardly daring to hope.

Bertie. Yes, that seemed right, like it had been on the tip of his tongue yet just out of reach for all these years. “Yes,” he whispered. Bertie raised his head and looked with tear-stained metal eyes into Tim’s own mechanical eyes. Tim wrapped his other arm around his head and pulled him closer and they kissed, metal colliding with flesh.

#if you noticed timeline inconsistencies shhh no you didn’t they’re the mechs they can move through time in whatever direction they want #it works trust me #not totally happy with the ending. but oh well #bertie #gunpowder tim #drumbot brian #briantim #timbertie #my fanfiction #fanfiction #the mechanisms #cringed so hard trying to proofread it. hopefully it reads as less cringe to you guys #dragon.txt

46 notes · View notes

wishamongtheflowers · 1 year

Text

Bright future goes on

Sobbing echoed off each podium with red shinning out to light the room.

"Why them," A boy wept, "I don't understand."

The screens had his icon crossed out. Those that remained where killed all from a mistake. He knew so! He shouldn't have lived! He was the one who fell into despair!

"You should've executed me instead!"

His scream fell with gravity, into the void.

"Agh, geez." Off and on the past month Amari delt with these random headaches. All he could do was wait them out for a short time till the pain wavers.

Out off all the times he couldn't afford wasting time it just had to be on maintaining the school's gardens and lawns. We all can't win time from time. It wasn't like much was going to stop him from his usual jobs; all was all either or not.

"Almost done here. Just a few more flowers to plant."

"Hey little bro!" The gardener turned his head to see a fellow reserved course student walking up with his hand in the air.

He's one of his close friends from childhood. Wasn't the best time but, it worked out for them.

"Hey there pal. You need anything?" Amari asked.

"Just wondering if you're going to be available this evening? I need some help." He already knew just by his voice what it was.

"What's with that look?"

"Let me guess; you didn't study again Nakano?"

Nakano sighs, "Please help me."

"Alright, wait at our usual spot; there's only two more flowers left to plant."

Nakano bolted off to the school's gate leaving Amari alone. Alas, much to his intuition, he wasn't alone per se. A girl watched him from above. Dead navy eyes who knew yet never knew the gardener completely.

Amari kept his attention on his flowers. Nothing too impressive or new to watch from her protective. She left from her spot going on to handle something Mistress had commanded of her.

"Last one." A blue poppy flower was put into its new home. Gently patting down to fill the small gaps left behind, "There we go."

He took off his personal gardening gloves, putting them in his back pocket. Amari went to the school gates with a pair of eyes watching them.

"Let's mosey on."

Nakano looked over at a tree to find no one in view. He surly saw some girl peeking out. Oh well-

"Nakano!"

"Sorry sorry!" He left in a hurry.

A strange giggled came from behind said tree, "Master is here. Just like Mistress told."

All she had to do was keep track till the day arrives. Distance and out of sight, out of mind will help her in the short term.

'!' The girl stepped on a pair of gardening gloves, 'He dropped these. Luck is turning up!' She tucked them away in her small purse.

She halted her previous mission for now. Now she was wondering amongst living strangers living their own worlds. Each one an ant going to anthills in her disconnected world.

No amount of luck would shield her looks, smell, and constant force playing her strings.

'To the apartment and ready up for another day.' Kido stood at her usual train stop.

Her phone buzzed to life only to quiet once answered, " 8 5 12 12 15!"

"1 8, 1 12 12 9 19 7 15 1 14 7 7 15 15 4. 7 15 20 13 1 19 20 5 18' 19 7 12 15 22 5 19."

Kido giggled then hung up, "Looks like the plan has changed. Got to get some other things done first."

Her crooked lips formed more of a smirk than a smile.

Just what was being said? You had no clue. All you could tell was it looked sinister.

Approach her or not is up to you; your fate is sealed by death no matter your option.

-----------------------[Tags]----------------------

@y0u-f4il3d-m3 @fugitive-detective @human-monokuma @mikado-sannoji and anyone else.

#domino effect

195 notes · View notes