#well check out their fics in ao3.

[geometricalien]

if I see ONE more cinderella/sukuna tik tok I will have no choice but to make an akafuri oneshot where furihata is cinderella and akashi is sukuna- I don't make the rules but I play by them

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[clarionglass]

archangel 2.0 (game master cinematic universe, part 8) | read on ao3

“Absolutely not,” Siobhan said when she rounded the corner to see Sam’s evil doppelganger coming the opposite way down the corridor. “Whatever plans you’re cooking up, I’m not in the mood for them today.”

Other Sam just shrugged at her. “No plans. Perfectly innocent, that’s me.”

“Like hell,” Siobhan replied. “You’ve already fucked with me once, I’m not believing that for a second. Why are you even here, anyway? I know for a fact you shouldn’t be filming today.”

“You people commandeered my home, not the other way around,” Other Sam said with clearly forced patience.

Siobhan just hummed in response, noncommittal and suspicious, and Other Sam tilted his head to examine her closely, then straightened, pleased with what he saw.

“You never really liked me, did you, Siobhan?” he asked, a faint smile of satisfaction playing about his lips. “You always had a feeling that something was off. You know, it's funny what the subconscious remembers, even when it didn't really happen.”

“God,” Siobhan bit out with an impatient roll of her eyes. “Fuck. Yes. I know you wiped my memory, well done you, you can stop fucking gloating about it.”

“Aw, you think I'm talking about that? Oh, no. You've seen me before. Trusted me, even.” 

Other Sam smiled, and when he spoke next, his voice was different. “Enough to vote for me, as it happens.”

“What the fuck?” Siobhan asked, genuinely bewildered, because that voice was eerily familiar. Though it hadn't crossed her mind in nearly 20 years, it used to be everywhere, back in her uni days. Political advertisements, news briefings, Question Time; you could barely turn on the TV without hearing it.

“Oh, good,” Other Sam said instead of answering, back to his usual accent and clearly pleased with himself. “I was worried I mightn't have kept the voice.”

“But that was—” Siobhan began, and faltered. It was English, for a start, pitch perfect in a way that didn't feel like a put-on accent. The range, the register, the cadence—they were all slightly different from Sam's, but somehow just as natural. Firm and authoritative, but in a friendly way. The voice of a politician you would be happy to vote for. The voice of a politician she had voted for, in fact, seventeen years ago. 

“That was Harold Saxon,” she said in disbelief. “You can't—no. Do you mimic voices, or—”

“Oh, no,” Other Sam replied cheerfully. “That was me. He was me.”

Siobhan just looked at him flatly. “You can't expect me to believe that.”

“Believe me or not, it's true,” he said. “It's a fun little thing called regeneration.”

Siobhan's eyes narrowed. “And what's that?”

Other Sam mustn't have been expecting her to call him on that, or had revealed more than he planned to, because to Siobhan's private delight, he looked suddenly uncomfortable. He folded his arms, closing himself off—but even so, was unable to fully hide his unease, fingers tapping out a restless tic on his upper arm. 

“Quirk of Time Lord biology,” he answered shortly. 

“You're not getting away with a half-arsed answer like that,” she snapped back. “What does it mean?”

He paused, weighing his words carefully, even as the jitters in his fingers betrayed him. “We don't die,” he said slowly. “Or, we do, but… it's not permanent death. We change.”

“Change what?”

Another pause, another careful consideration of how much to reveal; silence, except for that faint, almost imperceptible tapping.

“Everything,” he replied eventually. “Face, body, even the way we think, to an extent. Every single cell, overwritten.”

“Bullshit,” Siobhan breathed. But—it was just something to say. Deep in her heart, she believed him. 

Other Sam just shook his head. “I was Harold Saxon,” he said—not an insistence, but a fact, solid as stone. “You knew me, Siobhan. The whole world did.”

It was too much to be true, but it couldn't be a lie. She felt the disquiet building in the pit of her stomach, felt her own knotted fingers start to fidget, drumming out a quiet rhythm.

“Why?” she asked. “Harold Saxon was PM for a couple of days, then had some kind of mental break and was never seen again. What did you have to gain from doing that?”

“That's only what happened the second time round,” he said softly. “The first time was much more interesting.”

Something didn't feel right. The world felt unstable, like at any minute, the wallpaper that was the backdrop to reality would start to sag and peel. But Other Sam had the answers, it seemed. And there was security in knowledge. 

“What do you mean?” Siobhan asked.

“You know what happened,” Other Sam said. “Even if it didn't happen, not really. But I can show you, if you want.”

“Please,” she breathed, and Sam's exact double met her eyes with all the gravity of a black hole. 

“Do you trust me, Siobhan?”

And the funny thing was, she did. Despite it all, despite everything she knew and everything he had done, she couldn't help but believe in him. Everything he said sounded rational, reliable, reassuring—a port in the storm. 

She nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, then, slow and broad, and she trusted that, too. “I'm glad, because this might be… uncomfortable.”

Other Sam pulled out his microphone from inside his jacket pocket and aimed it at her. It made a strange buzzing noise, the tip glowing bright, and suddenly she was bent double, clutching her head as pain a thousand times worse than any migraine she'd ever had splintered through her skull. 

It was like nothing she'd ever felt before, and she couldn't escape the agonising clarity as memories she had previously believed to be whole and solid peeled apart into two mirrored pieces. 

On June 20th, 2007, Siobhan Thompson voted Saxon in the UK general election.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, and the broadcast of an apparent “first contact” suddenly cut to a black screen.

On June 23rd, 2007, Siobhan Thompson watched the TV in the university caf as Prime Minister Harold Saxon shot the US President dead, then looked out upon his domain with satisfaction as the sky opened wide like a mouth, spilling out millions and millions of bladed metal spheres that laughed with the voices of children.

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night partying with friends, ringing in the new year with hopes that 2008 would bring nothing but good things. 

On December 31st, 2007, Siobhan Thompson spent the night tossing and turning in a fitful sleep after another day slaving in the labour camps, producing resources for the Master’s war to come. Her days consisted of nothing but work and sleep, with barely a thought to spare about what the new year would bring, but if she had been pressed to name a hope—it would be for relief. In one form or another.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought about America. It held the promise of a bright future, maybe a career in her chosen field of archaeology, or maybe any number of exciting new opportunities. It would be scary, uprooting her entire life to move halfway around the world, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was jump.

On June 24th, 2008, Siobhan Thompson thought one word, the one word that united the entire planet. It held the promise of a bright future, the revival of a god and the downfall of a devil, the world unfolding with possibilities outside the confines of the labour camps that were all she’d known for the past year. It was scary, placing her trust—her life—in nothing more than a story, but oh, it would be worth it. All she had to do was believe.

Both timelines were true. One had been reversed when the paradox that sustained it had been broken, but Siobhan couldn't deny that they both had happened. Impossibly, the parallel sets of memories were carved equally deep into her mind and body, the life she knew existing side by side with the ghosts of trauma.

In the present, she looked at Other Sam—the Master—with abject horror.

“You can’t have,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“But I did,” Other Sam replied cheerfully, and god, it was a mindfuck, aligning the atrocities of the year that never was with the familiar face of a friend she’d known for years. The deaths, the labour camps, the slavery, the shipyards, the radiation pits; all to feed a war that would reach across the stars, and all masterminded by the man who now stood in front of her as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“And now you’re here,” Siobhan hissed. “From fucking… god-emperor of the Earth to just working at Dropout, huh?”

“Oh, all of that was the old me,” Other Sam said innocently. “I’ve changed. In more ways than one,” he added, with that little peering-at-his-hands gesture that Siobhan recognised from the Deja Vu recording. 

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to just trust that?”

“You did a minute ago,” Other Sam replied with a faint smile.

Her heart sank. She had. She undeniably had. She’d let him fuck with her brain without even questioning it, because when he asked, she’d trusted him implicitly, even when mere moments before she was questioning him with all the suspicion she could muster.

Which meant, worst of all, that that feeling of trust hadn’t come from her.

“How did you—?”

“The Archangel network,” Other Sam said, not even bothering to hide his smugness. “Remember that?”

Of course she did. It was the best carrier, back in the day, before it went offline—shortly after Harold Saxon was removed as Prime Minister, as a matter of fact. She’d used it. Everyone had used it.

“Good, wasn’t it?” he continued. “A low-level psychic field, moving your thoughts to exactly where I wanted them. And even though the satellites were taken down, that was still nearly eighteen months of conditioning.”

“Fuck you,” Siobhan breathed.

Other Sam grinned. “Can’t do it across the whole planet anymore, but one-on-one, well, let’s just say I have a rather… magnetic personality. So if I give you that same stimulus…”

He began drumming his fingers again, and this time, Siobhan could see it for what it truly was. Not a fidget, but a signal, written deep into her subconscious seventeen years ago—abandoned, forgotten, but never truly gone. And she had echoed it so readily, she realised, had been sucked into the pattern without even noticing. Tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap, tap tap tap tap.

Trust me, it said somewhere deep in her brainstem, soft and insidious and unable to be ignored. Believe in me. And—

“Stop it!” she snapped, clenching her fists to still her traitorous fingers.

Other Sam raised his eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Stop what?”

“You know exactly what,” she growled, holding onto her anger like a shield. “The drumming.”

He laughed, a bitter little huff of a sound. “If only you understood the irony of asking me that. But fine, if you insist.”

As she felt that creeping influence leave her, Siobhan let her hands relax, but not her mind. “Don't you ever try that on me again.”

Other Sam just pulled a mournful face. “But it's so much fun!” he protested.

As Siobhan glared daggers at him, he raised his hands, palms facing outwards in surrender. “Don't worry, don't worry,” he said. “I've got places to be. In fact, you've actually given me a very good idea.”

“No, no—”

“I'm leaving you alone, Siobhan. Isn't that what you wanted?”

“No, fuck—”

It was too late. Other Sam was already walking down the corridor purposefully, ignoring her completely. With a feeling of dread building in the pit of her stomach, she pulled out her phone and began to write a text. 

---

Sam burst into the editing suite, Siobhan close behind, to see his doppelganger sitting at one of the computers with a look of quiet focus. 

He looked up when he heard the door, and seeing who had just entered, sneered. “Oh. It's the cavalry.”

“What are you doing?” Sam demanded.

His double merely gave him a cool look. “Tell you later.”

“Hell no, dog,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Sam's double blinked to see Lou, still breathing heavily from what must have been a jog from the other end of the studio. 

“Tch. You, too?”

“Course,” Lou replied, looking at Siobhan with fierce pride. 

Sam, now fully inside the room, stepped out of the doorway to let Lou enter, which he did with a glint in his eye. 

The Master merely watched, one eyebrow raised coolly as the other man walked close, staring him down the entire time. And when a fist rocketed into his shoulder, hard and accurate, the carefully-cultivated air of perfect nonconcern shattered as he winced in pain.

“That's for Escape the Greenroom, you sick son of a bitch,” Lou said, shaking out his hand. 

Other Sam frowned, rolling his shoulders back with an audible crunch. “Fine,” he shrugged, the lines of pain in his face giving the lie to his nonchalant words. “Fine. Get it out, if you have to.”

Lou smiled dangerously. “Good,” he said, and wound up once again. 

The second punch hit Other Sam squarely in the jaw, and was even harder than the first. 

“And that's for everything you did to the world. And more importantly, everything you did to my friend.” He turned back to Siobhan. “Good?”

“Good,” she confirmed. Her smile faded as she switched her gaze to Other Sam. “Get fucked.” 

“Hell yeah,” Lou said with satisfaction, and turned to go. “Yeah, you can schedule me with him for shit now,” he added as he passed by Sam, who nodded.

With a click, the door closed behind him, leaving Sam and his doppelganger, still rubbing life back into his jaw, alone in the editing suite.

“I can’t say you didn’t deserve that,” Sam remarked.

His double merely sniffed, turning his attention back to the monitor.

“So. Now it’s just us, like you wanted, what is it that you’ve really been doing in here?”

“Getting you more subscribers,” his doppelganger replied matter-of-factly. “Isn’t that something you want?”

“Well—”

“Sam,” came the cool response. “Come on. I know how much you stress about those budget meetings, because you say it’s part of my penance to pretend to be you in some of them.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “I’ve been so good about it, too. Haven’t murdered even one of your board, and it’s been incredibly tempting. But you need the revenue, you need the profits, you need the subscribers.”

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I’m doing you a favour,” his double said softly, seeing the light of resistance fade from his eyes. “I’m not hurting anyone, it’s just a low-level psychic signal that nobody will notice. Subconsciously prompting social media viewers to actually subscribe, if they like what they see. And share it with their friends, and so on. It’s all for the benefit of Dropout, I promise.”

“You know I’ve gotta suspect you’ve got an ulterior motive, right?” Sam asked.

“I know,” his doppelganger replied. “But even if you don’t trust me, and you think I’m up to something—well, whatever that is, it’s a problem for later, right?”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah, please don't ask me to trust you. Siobhan told me what you did.”

His doppelganger just shrugged. “That was then.”

“She also told me what you did about ten minutes ago.”

“Like I said,” his double countered. “That was then. But I’m grounded, remember? I have to use my talents, brilliant as they are, for good. Or whatever you call good, anyway. The good of the company, maybe, and it’s definitely that.”

“Look. I’m only agreeing because I’ve got the Doctor on speed dial,” Sam said slowly, after a few moments’ thinking time, and he watched as a grin spread like oil across his double’s face. “Don't make me regret this.”

“Cross my hearts,” the Master replied.

---

missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x escape the death beam: x brian and other sam: x

by @bloopdydooooo drawing collection: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): x part four (you think you know someone): x part five (point and counterpoint): x part six (a selection of correspondence): x part seven (all good things should have a bit of malice in them): x part eight (archangel 2.0): you are here!

[valeovalairs]

People follow me for my fanart only for me to then remove my clown mask and reveal my second clown mask beneath it that says fic writer on it.

[anonymouszephyrus]

Okay.. here me out. Klance fic, right? YEAH BUT MAKE THAT LIKE MAIN SCRIPT WRITER X LEAD ACTOR WITH WITH KEITH WRITING A CONFESSION IN THE SCRIPT BUT ITS ACTUALLY THE WORDS HE WANTS TO TELL LANCE BUT HE CANT SO HE JUST PUTS IT IN AND ITS LIKE THE PRETTIEST CONFESSION EVER??? AND ITS LANCE NEEDING TO SAY THOSE WORDS TO THE OTHER LEAD AND HE SLOWLY STARTS TO UNDERSTAND WHILE HE READS THE SCRIPT (he ain't dumb. He smart boi) BECAUSE THERES LIKE STUFF IN THE CONFESSION THAT ONLY HE AND KEITH KNOW LIKE THEIR WHOLE RIVAL-FRIENDS SITUATION BEING REFERENCE WITH LIKE: “Annoying as you were, I was drawn to you. Like a sailor to a siren, like a moth to the flame” HEHEHEH FIRE-WATER YOU KNOW??? No one steal this please, IM MAKING IT. I just need to know if y'all would.. you know, consider it as a possible oneshot or series idea? :D (Is this an excuse to give Keith my writer-poet-bookworm headcanon? YOU CANT TELL ME THE BITCH ISN'T INTO DRAMATIC SHIT LIKE THE SONG OF ACHILLES AND SHAKESPEARE- JUST 'CAUSE HE'S EMO DOESN'T MEAN HE CAN'T ENJOY LITERATURE! He had so much time in that cabin, you can't tell me he wasn't curious about books)

[coquelicoq]

raksura for the ask meme?

YAY

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most) moon was designed in a lab to appeal to me personally, so. it's about the trust issues!

scrunkly (my "baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped) the sky copper clutch!! traumatized children imprinting on a guy with baby fever is usually what i go to fanfic for so to have it right there in canon? incredible. i love all of frost's little tantrums and idk, just the way that she claims moon as her family in a way that has nothing to do with court politics? she's like, we're your clutch, obviously. and this is our court because it's your court, and all the other jabronis who live here are on thin ice. she's ready to throw down with moon's wife/the government at all hours of the day and she's like six years old. i love that moon has that energy in his life even though he personally is pretty confused and exhausted by it lol.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave) it's hard out here for an ember stan because he is in so few scenes relative to the space he occupies in my psyche! i need 5000% more interactions between him and moon. him and stone. him and shade. him and river. him and the teachers. him and the clutches. him and jade and balm and chime. oh my god him and malachite? him and celadon? him and delin??

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week) niran. i'm always up for a "longsuffering ship captain resigns himself to another restless night of hearing gigantic shapeshifters with incredible stamina fuck nasty on the roof of his cabin" moment. technically i have never been in that exact situation, but i feel like i can relate.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave) river who is CLASSIC poor little meow meow territory like yes his whole personality is being a grade A asshole and sure he tries to kill my blorbo a few times, but once you get to know him he's so sad and pathetic that i'm kind of like okay where can i sign up to defend him from the largely factual aspersions of his dozens of quite frankly justified haters? he'd hate that. the good shit 👌

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason) stone. every time he crankily says "why did i ever reproduce" upon finding himself entangled in yet another ridiculous clusterfuck thanks to one of his hundreds of idiot great-great-great-great-great grandchildren, an angel gets its wings. he's depressed and antisocial but he can't totally check out because he has to mediate relationship issues between his dumbass relatives. love that for him.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell) malachite but specifically because malachite would not be scared of superhell. she'd skulk around being invisible, maybe fuck some shit up if she felt like it, and leave when she got bored. she probably makes it like. opal night's sister city or something. and nobody in the court is at all phased. yeah that's our reigning queen who recently got back from vacation in superhell. she does that. she says it's relaxing.

[angelmichelangelo]

hi hi!! love your writing sm!! and i was wondering if you had any fic idea between 2012 leo and mikey! i feel like their bond as oldest and youngest brothers is really sweet 🥺

thank you! hope you enjoy, thanks for the prompt! :)

x

Mutagenic goo rains down from the dark sky in thick splatters. Leo’s breath is ice cold in his chest as he takes desperate heaves to swallow it down. 

The remains of the Mega Shredder lay still across the long stretch of road, unmoving and in pieces, there’s a faint trill rattling around in Leo’s head. 

He lifts himself up off the floor. His limbs feel like lead.

He makes a disjointed reach for one of his katana’s. There’s a lone nunchuck laying beside it.

Where’s Mikey? His heart slams into his chest in a second. Where’s—

Donnie and Raph have appeared in front of him. How they managed to reach him in such succession, he neither asks or cares. They look furious. 

“You took him with you,” Raph seethes. His sai’s wink at him where he’s got them in tight grasps at his sides. “You took our little brother with you on your suicide mission.”

Leo tries to speak — tries to defend himself that Mikey insisted he come with! But words fail him, sticking in the bottom of his gut, he tries to twist away to catch a glimpse of his youngest brother but Donnie is catching his wrist with his hand and forcing him towards him.

“It’s your fault!” He more or less growls at him, like a wounded animal. His entire face knits itself together with unbridled anger. “It’s all your fault!”

Leo’s chest grows tight. His legs seem to be buckling from beneath him, certain that the only thing keeping him upright is Don’s iron grip on his arm still.

“What will you tell Splinter?” Raph spits. When Leo looks towards him there’s a wet, glossy sheen clouding dark, fierce green eyes. “How will you tell him about what you’ve done?”

Leo chokes on the words that won’t come, replaced with hot, burning bile instead that’s creeping up his throat, he whines instead and then —

A scream. Loud and shrill and all three brothers are turning so fast they all nearly lose balance, and it’s April, crouched over a familiar, unmoving shape and…

“Don’t look.” Casey is here too now. He looks… haunted. “It’s not good.” 

Leo tries to scream. But nothing comes. His throat is raw and burning, but no noise is able to escape him.

Leo wakes with a start, his heart crawling back down his chest again, he feels it pounding across the inside of his plastron. 

His palms are slick with sweat as he rips his blanket off his legs, swinging them over the bed he steadies him as he stands.

It… it was just a nightmare.

The dark corners of his room slowly come more into focus as his eyes adjust to the night. He quickly regains himself by pointing out the details that he knows:

His Space Heroes poster that’s tacked up on the far wall, a little creased and torn after finding it in the middle of an old, outdated magazine. 

The old martial arts book that Splinter gifted him long ago; the spine cracked from overuse and the bookmark that’s wedged two thirds of the way in.

This is his room. His eyes slide towards his nightstand where his lamp stands. Flicking it to life, a small explosion of orange hue lights up his corner of the room, illuminating the framed photo that stands there beside it.

He swallows thickly.

It’s an old photo, taken when they were maybe around twelve years old, growing into themselves still evident in the bulk of their shells and the muscle lean, Mikey takes up most of the frame with his wide, toothy smile and bright eyes and Leo feels his chest clinch.

His nightmare was exactly just that. Something sour tickles the back of his throat. But it had almost not just been a nightmare. Today it had very nearly become a reality.

The bitterness refuses to budge even when he swallows again, so he moves from his room towards the kitchen in refuge of water. He stops short when he notes the figure standing at the fridge before he can get there first. “Oh.” Mikey says shortly as he whips around. He doesn’t have his mask, instead pulled around his neck loosely, this way Leo can make out the purple rings that circle his brothers eyes. The tiredness that’s etched itself deep across his boyish face. “Busted,” he grins. “Oops.” Leo sighs, dragging a hand down his face like it might rid him of his own exhaustion, he only manages a small, weak huff of a laugh. “Yeah.” He says. He moves closer, Mikey making way for him as he reaches for a bottle of water. “Why you up so late?” Mikey holds up the bag of shredded cheese in his grasp before reaching in with the other hand, bringing out a handful, he grins at him. “You won’t tell dad, will you? That I’m making a midnight snack out of his stash.” Leo snorts. “He always finds out,” he says plainly. “He has the nose for it.” He pauses. “Literally.” Mikey shrugs, having weighed up the consequences already it appeared, he tips his head back, opens his mouth and sprinkles in the cheese. Leo watches him as he unscrews the cap off his bottle. “You know cheese before bed is bad for you,” he tells his brother warningly. His own nightmare ebbs around the corners of his mind. He takes a swig of cold water like it might just wash it away entirely. Mikey hums. “Yeah.” He sets the bag down on the counter. “Couldn’t sleep anyways.” He says it like it’s so normal. He says it in a way that has Leo’s gut growing hot and cold at the same time so he puts his drink down and sucks in a breath. “Yeah, me neither,” he tells him. Two days ago, Leo truly thought he’d lost his little brother. Two days ago he’d watched a monster devour his sibling, tossing him down his gullet without care. Two days ago he’d felt a grief and rage burn so hot inside him, he could feel the after effects of it healing within him. He isn’t so sure how Mikey is here, standing before him entirely unscathed after that entire ordeal, but he isn’t going to dispute it. Still. Guilt is eating away at him like a growing parasite. He shifts from foot to foot and Mikey gives him a sideways glance because he’s always the first to notice when something is up with one of his brothers. “I need to apologize,” Leo blurts before Mikey has a chance to talk. He averts his gaze, ashamedly, staring at the bottom of the fridge instead. “For the other day.” There’s the rustle of the cheese bag where Mikey’s got it in his hold again, fingers dipping in for seconds. “Apologize?” He questions. “For what?” Hurt bubbles up in Leo’s chest like an ugly blister. He closes his eyes but all he can picture is his father’s horrified face when Leo tells him what happened. How he… how he almost got Mikey killed. “I should never have put you in danger like that. The other day, at Shredder’s lair.” His throat bobs. There’s still that awful taste lingering there. Regret, Leo thinks it might be. Regret and shame. “It was a really stupid thing to do.” “Put me in danger?” Mikey says after a beat, voice catching onto an airy laugh. Little bits of shredded cheese fall around at his feet as he waves his hand about. “Leo. I chose to go with you. You didn’t make me – if anything I’m the one who should be saying sorry.” Leo’s quick to shake his head at that notion. No. He thinks sourly. This was never his fault. Mikey sets the cheese back down again, this time to reach over and land a hand on Leo’s shoulder. 

He looks up to face him. Baby blues blink up at him. He’s still a little taller than Mikey but as he stands here in the dull light of the fridge bulb, he notes how much more he’s filled out in the past months. The shape of his arms no longer distinguished by stubborn baby fat. The way his shell seems to fit him a little more snug now (with still some space to grow because he’s always going to be the runt, but Leo would never admit that outloud to him.) This brother right here resembles nothing to the picture he has in his bedroom. He’s not a kid anymore.

“I’m okay,” he tells him, voice low and gentle. “I survived and so did you and yeah it was a little reckless what we did, but when are we never not stupid?” Leo laughs, something wet and wobbly sounding in his chest. He draws back a shaky breath. “Dude. I get it. You’re my big brother, you guys are always gonna worry about me. Nothing is gonna change that, not in this lifetime anyway.” He smiles, all soft around the edges and knowing. “But I can handle myself. If I’m doing stupid shit like getting eaten by Mega Shredder’s it’s because I did it all by myself. Not because of whatever mistakes you think you’ve made.” Leo’s heart squeezes around itself. “But–” Mikey shakes his head back at him, cutting him off swiftly. “Nuh uh.” He moves only to put the bag back in the fridge, closing it, the room quickly fills with darkness. It’s a familiar comfort. “We’re done here. So you can either go back to bed and sulk about it or…” his mouth curves upwards into a slight grin. “Or we can totally watch the Space Hero’s made for TV movie with the subtitles on until one of us falls asleep.” He gives Leo a pointed look. “Your choice, bro.” And truth be told, Leo doesn’t like sulking all that much. Not when he’s doing it alone, that is. So he follows his brother into the pit where there’s already an array of blankets and Mikey’s found the VHS tape in mere minutes, sniffing it out like a bloodhound and they watch their movie on mute as Mikey grows heavy against him, eyes drooping shut, Leo doesn’t nudge him awake or remind him he needs his eyes open to watch the subtitles. Mikey might be right. He’s old enough to make his own choices, whether they’re good or bad. It was just part of growing up; Leo knows he’s had his fair share of bad decisions in his lifetime already. His little brother wasn’t a baby anymore. He was a fully fledged ninja – he’d proven that time and time again and yet–

Leo carefully reaches over his sleeping sibling to drape one of the discarded blankets over his form. Mikey doesn’t stir and Leo feels his heart pinch. And yet. He was always going to be his littlest brother still. No matter how big and brave he got – that was one thing remaining unchanging. 

[starrynightarchive]

⭐️

listen. listen the fyolai fic I wrote w ali might have single handedly KO'ed both of us but. do you understand. how cool that thing is. like. fyodor comes back from the dead like Nikolai wanted him to but he's all wrong pieces stuck together. He smiles and talks, but it's not right. It's so wrong and the way ali and I portrayed it makes me go insane

listen. this is how we wrote the story: I'd write 300-500 words, hand it over to ali. Ali would do the same, hand it over to me. Sounds like a goddamn nightmare, right? you're right it was. but that was the intention. We wanted to create a piece that was so dissonant but it worked but it also did not so that it left people with this lingering sense of unease that "hey this is good but. something is off and it's bothering me. " and tbh we had no direction no outline no nothing. We were close to crying throughout the whole thing. But we did it and like. Do you see? Do you see how our writing process mirrors Nikolai's desperation? Do you see that stroke of genius? Do you see? DO YOU?????

you can read it here.

[helianskies]

dialogue prompts 8 [ ☔️ ]

it's that time again! send me a prompt, send me a pairing (romantic or platonic, i don't mind!) and let's get going! i have an itch to write!

[ 1 ] - “you’ll be the death of me.”

[ 2 ] - “will you marry me?”

[ 3 ] - “you really are pathetic.”

[ 4 ] - “i don’t care.”

[ 5 ] - “what have you done to me…?”

[ 6 ] - “you aren’t capable of love.”

[ 7 ] - “how are you so perfect?”

[ 8 ] - “i forgive you.”

[ 9 ] - “put me out of my misery.”

[ 10 ] - “please… stay…”

[ 11 ] - “you’re going to regret that.”

[ 12 ] - “can you do me a favour?”

[ 13 ] - “don’t give up.”

[ 14 ] - “let me go.”

[ 15 ] - “you are the worst!”

[ 16 ] - “consider that a promise.”

[ 17 ] - “this is your last chance.”

[ 18 ] - “tell me what you’re scared of.”

[ 19 ] - “i felt nothing.”

[ 20 ] - “this is ridiculous!”

[ 21 ] - “you aren’t allowed to die.”

[ 22 ] - “flattery will get you everywhere.”

[ 23 ] - “just go to sleep.”

[ 24 ] - “come with me.”

[ 25 ] - “you thought you could fix me?”

[sipsteainanxiety]

mha nation how yall doin

[hua-liansimp]

Never have ayaitto been more thoroughly described in a single sentence.

[bisaster-energy]

im not even done my current kuwameshi fic and im already getting ideas about new ones...

[booksandpaperss]

putting in my formal request for all of us to collectively re-enter our spidey Will byler AU phase bc I just binge read most of RESPONSIBILITY and goddamn that is some good stuff. def one of my favorite AU fics across the entire ST fandom wow.

[nevvaraven]

your taste is impeccable!! rec me some fics?

thanks bestie it would be my honour <3

WIPs I’m reading and loving rn 

High Infidelity by @withtheoldstars (jegulus)

The great escape: An Automotive Odyssey Of Candid Misadventures, Romantic Indiscretions, And Violent Transgressions by @sequinhaze & @theinvisiblemuseum (look I wrote the entire title) (jegulus, pandalily, wolfstar, bartyxevan peterxcaprisun)

Edge by @pinkpalaceapartmcnts (jegulus)

The bigger the lie by @otrtbs (Bartylus)

Bite the hand by @inevitablestars (wolfstar)

Labyrinth by @mayescapade (wolfstar)

Kill your darlings by @sophsicle (jegulus, wolfstar, marylily, Evan x I’m actually not sure but it’s a good time!)

Dead or alive by @nunsdontworkonsundays (jegulus, wolfstar, Barty x Evan, marylily)

Sugar high by IvyCore (jegulus)

Completed fics I love 

We can pretend by @mollymarymarie(wolfstar)

The barista, the burglar, and the sofa - orphan account (one of my all time fav comfort reads) (wolfstar)

It was rare, I was there, I remember it by @calamitoustide (jegulus)

Sweater weather by @lumosinlove (wolfstar)

Berlin Angel by @de-sire-blog (wolfstar)

The player’s secret by wrappedup (wolfstar)

Glorified foresight by irrelevanttous (wolfstar)

[its-no-biggie]

NOOOOO AO3 IS DOWN....... MY BEDTIME YAOI........

[orbdotexe]

Something I adore when it happens is someone finding someo NPC without anything really standing out... and then writing a fic about it/ deciding "oh just a littol guy". It gives me so much life