#sugar rush next gen

[tessathegamefreak]

Nala and two Dark Nalas are hiding as they waited for Bls and Bo to pass by. Nala was wearing her new outfit, which is Cia's outfit, and the Dark Nalas had a syringe in each other's hands. It had a special liquid in them, once injected, the person won't wake up until Nala snaps her fingers.

OOC: We're doing this, baby! And there's only one ending to this! THEIR DEATH! 😈

(Oh boi...)

The two slender museum curators walked together, as Bls was going over the checklist with Bo.

Bls: "Are the spare masks plugged in?"

Bo: "Yes sir."

Bls: "Good. How is the bar area looking?"

Bo: "We are all good on liquor, although we have been running low on rootbeer, lately..."

Bls: "Alright, I suppose we can order a few extra cases... Anything to report from our duplicates?"

Bo: "Well, no viruses or malware have been spotted around the perimeter, although Bo #38 had reported rumors of a corruption being spotted in one of the Minecraft Java servers. Should we probably dispatch a few of our units there to investigate?"

As the two chat, they would be within reach of the Nalas...

#wreck it ralph #sugar rush next gen #next generation #next gen oc #villain #villains #our ocs #uh oh #bls1 and bo1

[kawaii-sugarii]

Digital sketches of some grown-up racers (which also means slight updates to some of the designs)

#wreck it ralph #sugar rush #next gen #sugar rush next gen #sugar rush racers #vanellope von schweetz #gloyd orangeboar #minty zaki #swizzle malarkey #taffyta muttonfudge #rancis fluggerbutter #adorabeezle winterpop #nougetsia brumblestain #sticky wipplesnit #torvald batterbutter #snowanna rainbeau #jubileena bing bing #crumbelina di caramello #candlehead #citrusella flugpucker #minty sakura #vanilla pumpkin #mint swirl #peanut butter taffy #sticky nougat

[silly-shady]

This is my anon/IRL self, D speaking.

*I give the Keaton Mask to Keaton Peckpique*

(When I read the fusion's name, I immediately thought of the Keaton Mask from Zelda and I just had to do this. Oh, and you may notice that this mask has a similar design to a certain Pokemon. And boy, do I love me an easter egg)

I am sorry, but there's a LoZ mask with the same name as the fusion??? I didn't even know this when I gave him the name!

Also, the Pokemon reference is an even BIGGER coincidence since Sugarii's headcanon voice for Kentroy is that of Ash Ketchum, and this lead me to have Keaton cosplay as Lost Silver-

Jolly-O: *through Keaton* Heyyy, it's a Pikachu mask!

@kawaii-sugarii

#keaton peckpique #roleplay #reaction #jolly o wipplesnit #kentroy malarkey #purely sugar rush fusion #next gen oc

[nintendoneko64]

The other Next Gen children were out on the Sugar Rush Speedway, doing some practice races. They weren't trying to do anything impressive, they were mainly just timing each other and testing out some new tactics.

Despite the mundaneness of the children's practice races, it didn't deter the interests of the teenaged Steep. He was underneath the main bleachers, watching the others race through the gaps of the seats as he took a smoke break. He had gotten very used to taking his smoke breaks here, since Wynnchel and Duncan often arrested him for underage smoking out in the open.

He hadn't realized that Clara came to pay Sugar Rush another visit, or that she'd take notice of the smoke cloud that came from his hiding spot (normally, the smoke from his candy cigarettes wouldn't be as plain to see since the bleachers were normally filled, but no fans were present)...

[In case you were wondering, this leads into their fusion :3]

Clara is indeed paying a visit to Sugar Rush, when she spotted the smoke cloud that came from underneath the main bleachers. Curious, she decided to get a closer look...

(Didn't know how else to start this. Sorry)

[thatbitchsimone]

i know ppl complain and worry about the fact that ”gen z doesnt have sex/care about having sex” but i dont see it as a problem, at least not yet (majority of gen z are still teenagers or early 20s at most lmao) bc like when i was in my early teens almost all my friends started having sex at age 11-14 which felt normal to me at the time but looking back thats fucking insane and just sad. like kids were rushing to have sex when they had barely even gotten their first period yet and then when i was in my late teens (16-19) there was this whole ”sex positive” era that tricked girls into thinking sleeping around as much as possible and being hypersexual and leaning into being heavily sexually objectified and having sugar daddies and wanting to be teen strippers and pornstars was peak feminism and empowerment and liberation when in reality it was just a way for men to groom teenage girls by convincing us we were in control and ”taking back our power” or whatever by sucking their dicks and have us believe that if anyone told us otherwise they were just ”slut shaming” and it was actually good and liberating for us to get passed around and fucked by as many dudes as possible bc WE were actually the ones using guys for sex and totally not the other way around not at all no no totally not just catering to men ssshhh 🤫

like ofc the generation of teenagers that came after that would be more reserved sexually. thats kinda how it goes. the next generation usually does the opposite of the one before them. we see this mostly with politics but same goes for lifestyle in general.

#like what we did when i was a teen was 100 times more destructive #gen z has just rightfully learned from the older generations mistakes #as they should #same goes for the heavy drinking and smoking and drug use

[xviruserrorx]

Title: "Back To Our Mistakes"

Another fic! For the prompt "Then Go" for @merlinmicrofic. This also serves as a direct follow up to "Turn Back Time". I'm a bit unsure about this one, I was starting to do good with these short little things and then this one just seems so rushed and way too fast paced for me. I think I tried to cram too much of a story into the little 500 words...

Merlin Micro Fic - Tumblr | Ao3 - [Prev <- • -> Next]

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Prompt(s): "Then Go"

Relationship(s): Merlin & Leon

Character(s): Merlin, Sir Leon

Important Tag(s): Immortal Leon, Time Traveler Merlin, Post Canon,

Rating: Gen

Warning(s): No Archive Warnings Apply,

Word Count: 500

“I know that you went back and that you thought you could do it all over again, but you couldn't. None of it really mattered, because it all was about saving one person.” He stopped. “Except he dies too." Or After the events of Turn Back Time Merlin returns and tries to reconciles the damage he's done all while Leon has already found himself less than angry with the version of Merlin he last saw decades before.

"Immortal & Time Traveler AU" - Tumblr | Ao3

->Previous: "Turn Back Time " - Tumblr | Ao3

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Merlin wanted to laugh at the rain as it fell; Irony if so—and if not—perhaps just his luck. The coat was heavy on his shoulders as he stood on the familiar cobblestone steps. An unfamiliar crack in the second step that he couldn't remember if it was there the last time or not.

Though, all he could remember was the ‘Then Go' from Leon and nothing else.

He shook his head, he'd been waiting outside his door too long. He knocked first, grabbed the key from his pocket and opened the door.

He discarded his jacket once inside and relished in the familiar comfort. It was warm, the hum of the Television played on low volume, while the smell of coffee was inescapable.

“Did you just knock?

Merlin followed the voice through to the kitchen. Leon was serving coffee in two mugs as Merlin leaned his weight against the doorway.

Leon looked at him, furrowed his eyebrows. “Merlin?”

He could lie, but it'd haunt him for the rest of his life. He tried to smile but failed. “I just came from the seventh century.”

Leon stopped, then continued preparing the coffees.

“Leon—”

“Don't.” He gestured to the kitchen island and Merlin took a seat.

Leon took a breath, then started. “It's been twenty-two years. I've met you more than a dozen times since and every version of you hadn't yet gotten to that point.”

Merlin kept his mouth shut.

“I know that you went back and that you thought you could do it all over again, but you couldn't. None of it really mattered, because it all was about saving one person.” He stopped. “Except he dies too.

Merlin pressed his eyes and swallowed.

“Once wasn't enough for you,” Leon continued. Twice seemed to barely feed that insanity. So you did it again, and again, and another time after that. And—to quote your words. No matter what you do, he always dies in your arms.”

“Stop—” His voice cracked.

“You give up and go back to past me. Then for three years you were…” He shook his head. “Empty… broken. Then one day you disappear. Jump a couple centuries and you're at my doorstep again.”

He dumped sugar in one mug, tapping the spoon on the side before laying it down. “How long has it been for you? Fifty? Sixty years?”

Merlin bit his lip as it trembled. “I lost count…” he said weakly, hiding behind a just as weak smile.

Leon rounded the counter and put the cup in front of Merlin. He wrapped an arm around Merlin as his tears began to fall.

Merlin leaned in. “I'm sorry. I'm—”

“I couldn't have stopped you, not really.” He couldn't play Fate any more than Merlin could.

“I can't,” Merlin continued.

“Then stay,” he said. “You’ve never stayed in one place very long,” he continued. “Call it a sabbatical.

He let out a weak laugh. “A sabbatical?”

He smiled, hummed, and gave Merlin's arm a squeeze. “The world can wait.”

#virusfanfic #bbc merlin #immortal & time traveler au #sir leon #immortal leon #merlin emrys #time traveler merlin #merleon #Fun little this but I wrote the other one a few weeks ago and then I say the prompt for this and connected the two #Worked out wonderfully #Only wished this came out more like I had in my head #merlin micro fic

[walkeddeath]

" brushing of hands " / from barrel @grote5que

there's an ease and simplicity to hanging out with barrel that gen has started to crave. conversations don't feel awkward, they're fun and yeah okay so they make them a little nervous. yeah okay she doesn't quite know if she's reading too much into things. yeah okay she finds herself giggling and walking around their kitchen with their phone glued to her face.

it's not like it's a total secret that she likes him, it's hard to not tell that he likes her. it's cotton candy sweet, sugar rush kind of head spins, the complete opposite of what gen is used to and it makes her feel as close to normal as they can reasonably get. 

the bag of tacos sits next to a bowl of gummies, cartoons play on the tv, and despite how comfortable she feels with him there's a solid space between them on the couch. she has one of the blankets wrapped around her like a cloak, leaning forward with a half focus on the tv and toying absently with a stray strand of hair, only snapping out of it when they feel his hand brush theirs and without hesitating, she takes hold of it gently. uses it to pull themself closer to him, leaning against him.

"dude you know hand holding is like, my ultimate weakness, right?" head tilting back to look up at him, a soft smile given, gen feels her cheeks warm up ––– they'll blame it on the hot sauce they took a shot of earlier, a delayed response to it or something. so she ducks her head, hides her face in his arm, laughs a little and that's clearly just the weed.

as she turns back to the tv she laces her fingers with his, the move makes her heart beat too loud too fast, they feel silly and carefree light weight worries over whether or not he can hear it. "and like, you do know you ain't gettin your hand back for like, at least another episode, right?" 

#i tried ??? i tried!! and it's soft?? #grote5que #⋆ i will not ask you where you came from • w. grote5que ⋆ #drug mention tw //

[benayoung]

* ❁┆sugar rush

nayoung doesn't by any means think she would be a better teacher than the actual instructors working with the contestants on next gen, but she does think it would be fun if she got to teach at least one lesson herself. they haven't afforded her that opportunity, though; at least not yet. she's still enjoying her role regardless.

it's interesting, being on the other side of next gen now, knowing what the contestants are going through, as she was in their position last year. some of them are familiar: old faces returning, like stevie, or people she happened to meet outside of training.

one of those people is seira, though she wouldn't say they're friends – acquaintances at best. she knows of seira more than she knows her: a former idol, group apparently falling to dust for her to end up here. nayoung, despite her general lack of empathy, does feel for her. she knows what it's like to work so hard and get so close to achieving your dream, only for it to crumble.

she doesn't know what it's like to be such a poor dancer despite debuting previously. watching seira fumble through some of the choreography almost makes her a little bitter. she made it to the finale of one survival show, so close to debut, only to fail, then injured herself on another. never, in that entire process, did her company find her worthy to debut. seira, though...?

nayoung will give her the benefit of the doubt. maybe she, like the nayoung of last year, had also mostly given up, and decided to audition on a whim. she might be out of practice. either way, if she wants to succeed, she better catch up fast.

it's nayoung's job to help there, so she asks seira to stay and talk to her once their main dance practice is over. when they dismiss, giving way to some free practice time for the contestants, nayoung finds seira easily.

what nayoung's thinking is how did you debut once before when you're such a poor dancer? but that won't do anyone any good, regardless of nayoung's curiosity.

"you debuted previously, right?" she asks her, just to confirm her suspicions, and so if the producers decide to air their conversation and practice time, it'll provide some natural background.

❁┆@beseira

#beseira #be:ngs2p2 #❁┆thread #❁┆sugar rush #❁┆nextgen 2 #❁┆0324 #sorry this is so late omg i forgot about it tbh lksdfgjlkljdfk

[struggle-but-its-all-ocean-floor]

Enhypen are really leaning into this vampire thing. The song reminded me of TXT's Sugar Rush Ride - fun, bouncy verses followed by an antidrop chorus. It's like they were trying to recreate TXT's success in the charts given that bgs struggle so much to chart well. The song had 2nd gen vibes (the gen most beloved by the GP) paired with a Latin gg-esque beat. Thus, it was quite different from their usual sound. I quite liked the verses but not the chorus. I hated Sugar Rush Ride's chorus at first too and it took me like 20 listens to learn to appreciate it. Like recent Enhypen tts, the song needed a bridge. The song is short but felt so long since they repeated the chorus and hook or whatever endlessly. The hook is nice though. Anyway, it's a fun song that will probably grow on me, but it's nothing special and I'll forget about it soon enough.

The MV is... Not great, none of their MVs are. I liked the choro though and the use of the female dancers. The weird white jackets/vests they wore were horrendous. I'm not sure what the lyrics mean. Most songs only have lyrics so that artists have something to sing instead of just making sounds. I don't even know why they're vampires or what their lore is but one of the reasons why bgs can't keep up with ggs in charts is probably because their concepts make their music less accessible to the general public. However, that is also what makes people stan them, and therefore makes them sell better than ggs.

Anyway, the song was lighter than their usual title tracks, to me in a clear attempt to make it more GP friendly like Sugar Rush Ride was. I like it better than some of their other tts, but I'm a bit meh on it as of now.

Will listen to the album next.

Edit: Forgot to say that I get Niki is a great dancer, handsome (and a minor...), a stan attactor, a good performer and their main (?) rapper, but he got like 30% of the lines and screentime. I don't even remember seeing Sunoo. Even Jay got less screentime than usual, I think.

#enhypen #text

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XVI | A Thousand Agonies

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight Category: Gen Content Warnings: body horror, infection, vomiting, surgery without anesthesia, abuse, torture, dehumanization, flashbacks, self-harm, amputation, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks AO3: Lost Kin Chapter XVI| A Thousand Agonies First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Notes: Ah, and there it is—the chapter you've all been waiting for. This was a struggle to write but I believe it's one of my favorites; I am very proud of the outcome and have been looking forward to showing it off for a long, long time. Take a breath, folks; it'll be Hornet in the hot seat next. Look for another update near the beginning of next month!

○

When the blade sank in, its mind went white.

Then black.

Then gold.

The room swam in and out before its open eyes, flames of light licking at its consciousness. The acid stung and burned and burned and burned, and the knife was a spike of searing ice, sinking deep into the bubbles in its carapace.

A sickly, cloying scent drenched the air, burnt sugar and hot metal, false sweetness and divine rage. Something hot ran down its back, down its mask, down its neck and over its fingers as it clawed at the hideous softness that bubbled from its shell, from its mouth, from its weeping eyes.

But no—no—it must not move—it had not moved—

Over its shoulder, its sister let out a shaky breath and repositioned, her hand coming to rest on its side, a new pain breaking through as she eased the blade back in. Fluid seeped from the wound, hot even against its feverish shell, sizzling, steaming, and the scent grew stronger, choking its throat with a thick sweetness.

You must lie still.

The knife slipped deeper, too deep, and a cool trickle of void joined the flow of golden warmth. A shiver of pain rushed up from deep below, burning out before it reached the surface. And still its sister did not stop, did not pull back. She must have decided to end it, finally; she could find no more use for it. She would take it apart like one of the kills she had brought home, joints severed and limbs removed, chest- and back-plates pried up and discarded until all that remained was void, pulsing gruesomely like a rotten heart—

It did not move, did not try to pull free, though its shade writhed and screamed and beat at the seals holding it in. It forced itself down, as still as if the chains still bound it, as if its father’s voice had spoken the command, as if it was his hands working over it, inflicting a pain it did not understand.

You must lie still.

The pain ebbed for a moment as its sister’s hands lifted, and it inhaled, blinking away the haze that had settled. It had learned this in the laboratory, had learned to breathe lightly, shallowly while Father worked, so as not to disrupt whatever delicate operation he was performing, and to draw in deeper breaths when he pulled back, taking in enough air in the pauses between that it did not faint when he began again. Breathing was something it could control, something it could hold onto when the knives cut too deep or the soul burned too sharply. And for a moment the light seemed to flicker again, from dull blue to burnished silver, and the presence behind it grew brighter, and the air swelled with the sweet glow of soul.

A wet cloth touched its back, clearing away the spilled light. It inhaled deeply again, though the air quivered in its throat, though the new cuts in its back burned with the motion, and it felt a new stream of void seep from the wound.

Its sister’s hand faltered. “It’s all right,” she said faintly, almost too soft for it to hear, the words more for herself than for it. “It’s all right.”

The silence was heavy, the patter of the rain and the rasp of its own breath almost deafening, and then she began again.

It was harder, this time. To hold onto the world, to remain in the room, in its shell, in the present. Its eyelids fluttered, breath scraping, and its hand clenched shut as if yanked by a marionette’s wires. Its claws pierced its own palm with a series of soft pops, the pulse of pain barely felt through the scorch of acid flowing from its shell.

Acid filling its eyes like fiery tears, acid oozing through its veins. Acid surging up its throat as it retched and heaved, acid dripping out between its ash-black teeth.

No. No.

That was then. This was now. This was—this was—

This was the chill touch of its father’s hands, the freezing brush of his soul, the holy fire of his blades burning and burning and burning—

Must not move. Must not… must not…

Something was—something was wrong. Wrong with it. With its mind, its jagged, fevered, fractured, broken mind—

It had no mind. It was void. It was a sheet of glass, a bottomless pool. It did not have thoughts, it did not feel pain, it did not flinch or faint. It did not lie quivering in the dark, seized in the grip of memory. It was a monument. It was a prison. It was an echoing, empty tomb. It did not feel. It did not feel.

And it did not need to tell itself these things. It did not need to repeat them over and over until it believed them. It did not need to suppress its impurities, those flickers of desire or twinges of fear, those things that did not belong to it. It did not need to bury them deep, deep below the surface of its mind where its father would never find them, did not need to stuff them down into the tiniest part of itself, did not need to crumple them cover them up wrap them up tight don’t let him see don’t let him see—

A shallow gasp escaped its throat, a pathetic grab for air, for sanity. It was not in the laboratory. It was not with its father. It was impure, tainted—the king would never have allowed it to keep on living with the touch of the Radiance warping and poisoning it.

That would have been a mercy, perhaps. Compared to this uncertainty, this weakness, this falling-slowly-to-pieces. It could not be sure what it was now, could not look at itself with anything other than revulsion. The infected were to be quarantined and executed immediately, before the plague could spread. It had done its fair share of that duty, had stood over smoldering pyres and breathed air thick with the stench of scorched chitin.

Other bugs had knelt beside those pyres and wept. Families, friends, lovers, brothers-in-arms.

No one would weep for it. It was an object. It was a thing. It was a tool.

What use was a brittle weapon? What good was a broken nail?

It gasped again, all it could manage, lungs filled to bursting with the dream-sweet air. Void-slick claws flexed and spasmed. Its back throbbed, slit open and exposed, nerves frayed and singed and sparking.

Its sister was shaking, her breath trembling in and out as she worked, but she did not stop. When she sponged away the infection, the rag quivered in her hand. When she rose up on her knees for a better angle, a thready sound escaped her throat, halfway between a sob and a sigh.

But she did not stop.

Each broken blister thudded dully, its heartbeat echoed in a dozen gaping wounds. Sparks of phantom pain flashed down its missing arm, tracing seams and joints and claws that had long ago rotted and fallen away. She had not even reached its shoulder yet, where the cysts swelled the largest, where they had eaten away its very shell until nothing but tender skin and frenzied nerves remained.

No matter if she drained the last drop of infection from it, she could not make it pure again. It had failed. It had cracked under the weight that had been placed on it. It had been crushed by the duty it was born to bear.

She should let it die. It could not beg, could not plead—should not even want to. But given a choice between this struggle, this endless pain and this slow unmaking, or the shapeless peace it fell into in sleep, it would choose the latter.

She had not given it a choice.

She wanted it to live.

It had to obey.

It should have died, at the temple.

Why had it not died?

“Hollow.”

It was a long moment before the vessel realized she had spoken to it.

“Hollow.” Her voice sounded thin, almost stretched. Her free hand pressed gently at its side. “Lie back.”

Hollow?

She could call it whatever she wished, of course, but it had never answered to anything but one of its titles. Hollow Knight. Pure Vessel. Weighty, solemn things. This felt familiar, intimate, and a weak alarm sounded in its head at the possibility of attachment, of something that was not permitted.

But the order was clearly meant for it, no matter the name she had used for it.

It forced itself back to the surface, wheezing breaths growing more labored as it leaned back onto the pillows she had placed.

She had taken its hand before it realized, unlatching its claws from their reflexive clench and sinking them into her own forearm. Soul cascaded down, a deluge of cold light, clashing with the roiling dark and sending a rush of panic through its core.

Sister’s soul, sister bright and shining, mortal sister fragile sister it had hurt her—

“Heal.”

The command came through gritted fangs. Her blood welled between its claws, her soul shimmered in its heart, and it lay there useless, gasping, in agony, too shattered to obey.

She pried its claws free, making not a sound as they left blue-black gouges in her carapace, as blood tracked down her arm and out of sight behind her wrist. She wiped its claws with brisk efficiency, clearing both blood and void from the finger-joints. Her words came rushed, harsh, almost angry. “I am unharmed. It is a minor cut. Now focus.”

It was an effort to haul itself back from the depths, to scrape together enough intent to cast the spell. The light brightened, casting lacy shadows on the ceiling, and dimmed again as it healed.

The soul was gone, its claws were clean, its wounds no longer bled. But it felt farther away now than it had been, watching the world through a gray film of exhaustion. Something had drained out of it, some thread frayed to the breaking. And it knew somehow that the next time the memories called, it would be harder to resist.

What if it lost itself entirely? What if it struck out in rage or terror against a foe that no longer menaced it?

Its sister would bear the brunt of its mistakes. Its sister would take the blow meant for another.

And yet it could not stop her.

It was not to question her. It was not to disobey. It must lie still, as she had ordered it.

It was not as pure as it had once been. And it was tired, so tired.

It did not know if it could.

She was turning back to it, now, having finished cleaning her own shell of blood and infection. She freed a hand from the rag she held to lay against its mask, her warm palm resting above its eye, over the crack that ran between its horns. Its next breath whistled thinly, something pulling tighter in its chest, and her mask tilted as if to listen, as if it could speak of what disturbed it.

But the moment passed when her hand lifted, when she exhaled, tightly, and placed the soiled rag in a pile on the floor. She bent over it, fingers probing at the larger pockets on its shoulder, and its neck tightened, chin jerking up a fraction, before it locked itself into stillness.

There was a soft ringing of metal as she picked up the blade.

She took a breath before she cut it open.

Pressure released in its shoulder with a burst of pain that threw streaks of white across its vision. Its other arm twitched, hand once more clenching shut, claws reopening the gashes in its palm. And this time the pain did not stop—did not relent. It mounted, as the acid in its joints flowed free, as its jaw clenched tight and its short, sharp teeth ground together, as its eyes glazed golden and its shade surged up to slam against the seals. The knife was a fang, a claw, a thorn digging deep, and it could not breathe, could not see, could not hold back, could not keep itself together.

Gilded talons, talons hid beneath soft fur, talons that latched into its flesh and crushed and splintered and tore—it—apart

That was then. That was then. This—this—

Searing fire and floating feathers. Ceaseless screams and blinding light. Chains, cold silver chains and cold silver spells, and a cold silver knife that cut and cut and cut—

The infection grows worse.

What happened at the temple?

No no no nononono—

There was nowhere else to go. There were no other memories to take refuge in. There was no more hiding—not from her.

I am sorry, sister…

Between one breath and another, it was back in the Dream.

Reality shriveled to ash. Chains lashed shut around it, and the mad goddess rushed into its head, raging, sobbing, screaming, shrieking, and she did not stop. She had never stopped, not once in the long, long years it had held her, and the only thing worse than the light was the never-ceasing noise.

There was nothing left of it beyond the pain. Her poisonous light burned it all away, draping the world in an omnipresent glow. A creature of void had no place in her Dream. A creature of void had no shadows to shelter in. It was undone in her presence, buried in brightness, drowning in fire.

It had not always been so broken.

At the beginning, it had been stronger. It had been able to resist.

It had denied her. It had denied her for so long.

It realized soon after the Sealing that its training was no use here. Soul-spells only angered her; void attacks melted away; what blows it could land with its nail were brushed off with a violence that flung it backward like a fly swatted out of the air.

A mindless thing surely would not learn. A mindless thing would throw itself at her until there was nothing left to throw. A mindless thing would follow its orders until it could do so no longer.

But fighting back was impossible.

The only strength it had that mattered was the same strength that had enabled it to lie still under its father’s knife, the strength to stand unmoving, at attention, in an empty room from dawn to nightfall, the strength to stagger back to its feet in the arena as the hours dragged on and the blows kept coming.

The strength to outlast her.

And it had tried.

Oh, it had tried.

She could not touch it in reality, not while it held out against her, not while it remained unbroken. She could not manifest in its real body, could not reach out and infect others through its form, until she broke it in the Dream.

And there was the problem. For though it should not have had a will or a mind, something had broken.

It had been torn apart and reshaped, its dream-self murdered and buried and resurrected, while its real body hung abandoned and forgotten beneath the roof of the temple. In her realm it endured endless horrors its living body could never bear—plates ripped up and skin torn open, shell and void bubbling away to mist beneath her heat, gleaming blades of solid light piercing its body like arrows until its heart faltered and its lungs filled with void and its mask split open, releasing a massive, trembling shade that wept and keened in the silent language of the void with all the agony and terror its physical self could not express.

Its living body could not die. But in the dream it never stopped. In the dream it died a thousand times a thousand ways to a thousand different agonies, and the endless repetition never lessened the pleasure she derived from killing it.

Sometimes it became a game for her, to see how quickly she could shatter it, crashing down with her full power on the child borne of her two oldest enemies. Sometimes she would play at keeping it alive, inflicting countless smaller wounds until her patience wore thin or it was crushed under the weight.

Sometimes she mocked its helpless, quivering shade as it circled round whatever ruin she’d made of it. The pools of void, the broken joints, the snapped horns and melted shell. She would laugh, and then she would remake it, and begin again.

But it was not the pain that finally broke it.

It was a memory, soft and silver, barely a blink in the endless, changeless ages of its torment, and she nearly passed it by.

It was the gentle glow of kingslight, the sway of leafy branches, the bright spark of pride in its father’s eyes. It was a moment shared in silence, the only kind of moment the vessel would ever know, but the silence had changed, had been softer, fresher, like a shell after molt, like wings new from the cocoon. It had been a flicker of companionship in an endless life of loneliness, a sense that it could look into another being’s eyes and see awareness staring back at it.

For an instant, its father forgot himself, and it had felt seen, seen, seen.

It buried that memory, shut it away behind spikes and traps and spinning blades, forbade itself from ever revisiting. It knew without needing to be told that this was weakness, knew from the moment its father looked away that this was not something to be thought or spoken of. Whatever had happened between them then, whatever sensation stirred in the vessel’s dead heart, it must be forgotten.

It had not forgotten. It could not forget.

And so when the Radiance’s burning gaze fell upon that memory, and when it froze with slow-dawning dread and horror in awareness of its mistake, she laughed.

The magnitude of her triumph shook the ground from beneath its feet, dropping it headlong into the bright unending sky. The knight tumbled horns over heels, the whistling speed of its fall tearing its breath away, gravity yanking at its gut in a sickening lurch.

And for the first time in decades, it woke.

Its eyelids jerked open, all the aches and complaints of its body falling back into place—shoulders straining tight beneath the armor, neck throbbing from the hanging weight of its head, legs gone numb and hands tingling under its cloak.

Something was different, something new and horrible, and it released a breath that shook and it should not feel this way it should not notice should not know that something had gone wrong but it did and it was it was wrong—

The crack of its carapace echoed in the temple sanctum, snapping plates flinging bits of shell into the dark. A scream rose in its throat, a scream that built and built and never released, pressure swelling in its chest until it seemed it would burst, if only to end its own silence. Only the Radiance’s victory cry broke through, a shriek of effort as she pierced through its shell and drove runnels of acid down its ribs, a hoarse screech clawing up its throat and tearing from its mouth in a reeking fog of orange.

Its left arm went numb, then seared with fire, every nerve blazing into panic. White-hot, then icy black, then pulsing, rotten orange, a sick heat gushing through its veins. Her presence pushed out through its skin, sprouting pustules of acid that sizzled and hissed and spread the plates apart until they split.

The knight’s hand spasmed, a weak jerk of its fingers all that came through before control was totally lost to it. Void splattered its mask as its shoulder burst apart, separating at the joint. More cysts bubbled and swelled, forcing their way out from under its skin.

Its shade battered at its mask in a frenzy, seals sparking and flickering before its eyes, but this was not the Dream. It could not escape here, could not shatter and rise wraithlike from the pieces. It was trapped, bound into its own body, and she would have her way with it.

Even the seals could not hold it together forever, not against the growing pressure of void as the light pushed it aside, not against the frantic thrashing of its shade. A thin line of pain split through the living bone, fine and bright as a razor’s edge, then widened into a blinding fissure, an agony so vivid that it choked on another sound that would never be, another silent wail that died in its empty throat.

It was not empty for long. Golden light choked off its breath and rose over its vision, infection welling through its mask and overflowing from its eyes, but not before it saw its arm detach from its body, void trailing from the severed veins as it plummeted to the temple floor.

It was lost, then.

It was not dead, because it could not die, but it was lost.

It fell into something akin to madness, perhaps. It existed only as an ember in a blaze, a vessel for her rage. It was all of her, her crushing sorrow and incoherent wrath, her piercing regret and cold cruelty and undimmed triumph. For a being that had forced itself into a state of unfeeling, snuffing out every spark of emotion that dared to flicker in its core, the sudden riptide of sensation was a force it had no counter to. It was dismantled, undone, its last moments of consciousness dissolved into screaming agony.

Perhaps it had always been meant to exist this way. Perhaps this pinpoint of blackness, stripped bare of awareness, of perception, of self, was its truest state. Perhaps it was pure now, as it never had been before.

It stared out sightlessly through eyes that saw only orange, exhaled rattling breaths that clouded the air with poison. Its body was no longer its own. It never had been. It had always belonged to those greater than it, to do with as they wanted, and what the Radiance wanted was to pour her light into it, pour and pour and pour until it cracked, until it burst, and her holy fire flooded free.

And then.

And then.

No.

The seals began to break.

Not all at once, but one by one, with dragging days and weeks in between, agonizing hours filled with silence so complete that it forgot it had heard anything at all.

But the sound was unmistakable. A strident ringing, a brassy resonance, like a shard of crystal vibrating to pieces.

No—

The roiling storm shifted, surging and sparking with bolts of anger like lightning. The Radiance had never been patient, but now she was frantic—she forced more acid into its shell, straining to break it open from the inside. With every seal that dissolved she pushed harder, screaming through its charred throat as she twisted and shoved herself into a space she did not belong in. It hurt her as much as it did it, for their pain was a shared thing, circling round and round, reverberating between the prison and the prisoner.

It felt her fear.

It could not feel what she was afraid of.

Until the day the door opened.

NO

The Radiance watched through its eyes as the shadows shifted, as the walls lightened to a different tone of gray, as the infection swelling at the temple foundations glistened under a brighter light.

The world—flashed blue. Its arm ached.

Sister—sister, please—

It could not—it could not be here. And it could not pull away.

Help me help me help m—

Panic fluttered in its chest like feathers. Far away, in another time, its breath stopped, claws sinking deep into its own flesh, void flowing free in a numbing rush. Its mask throbbed.

But it could not leave. It could not break free.

A small silhouette entered the temple sanctum. A horned white mask with vast empty eyes. A tiny body, not much more than a bit of shell in a blue-gray cloak. The gleam of a blade, a sharp little thing, and a kind of silence that it knew, a deep silence that was more presence than absence, a silence it recognized even past the howling in its head.

There was… recognition there. Something beyond the familiar call of one vessel to another, something beyond the dream-strange shock of parted kin who were never meant to reunite.

It knew this vessel. This vessel.

The blackness of the Abyss yawned wide behind the knight’s eyes. Soul flickered, a pale glow against the vast nothingness below. And a little two-pronged mask hung in the darkness before it, chin just barely wedged over the edge of the platform, soft claws sliding backward on the metal, precarious grip abandoned for an instant in a desperate reach for help.

A new pain tore into it, striking through flesh and chitin into the depths of its heart, a blow the Radiance had not dealt it.

Sibling—

Kill it.

Her voice pounded into its head, echoes upon echoes, drowning out every shred of thought or consciousness. Pushing it back, forcing it deep into itself, burning away everything but the pain of her light and the torment of her voice.

Kill the usurper.

The little vessel stepped forward out of their standstill, nail drawn and ready, eyes fixed on the knight’s ruined body far above.

They swung. Not at the knight, not even at the swollen pockets of infection that surrounded them, but at the chains.

Their blade struck true. The spellwork shivered.

The Radiance watched, fury swelling to a fever pitch. She turned its head to follow the vessel as they strode across the floor, slashing at the chains, laying waste to the sturdy metal and delicate spells, the Pale King’s handiwork snapping like frayed threads beneath the pale ore of their nail. The ancient soul-glyphs dissolved, wisping into points of light that winked out in the darkness. The layers of spells slid from the knight’s form like threadbare silk, entire incantations unraveling with every slice from that bright blade.

It felt the moment it slipped free from the last enchantment. The moment the last chain buckled and snapped.

The moment nothing held it back.

It crashed to the floor. The impact rattled through its form, pain tearing through every joint and plate, through the mass of light at its shoulder, shivering out to the tips of its horns and heel-spurs. It would have collapsed, would have swooned on the cold floor, but strength pumped into it—raw, mad, hideous strength. She yanked its head back, loosing one more rasping howl from its broken throat, and—

—its head edged up on the pillow, air inching into its lungs, bands of terror clenching its chest tight—

Its numb hand closed on the hilt of its nail, pulling the tip from the crack between the cobblestones, and she dragged it to its feet, swaying, lurching to the side like a broken machine as it started forward, the little vessel’s face blurring and burning beyond a haze of orange, and—

—its mouth opened, teeth scraping, breath hissing, and its hand closed on nothing, on shadows, on the void pooling in its palm—

The goddess’s will strung through it like hot wires, pulling its limbs into a shaky mockery of its old stance, nail lifted into guard position, left hand rising, flooding with soul.

Its arm was a shadow in the air, a flickering vision, and the sharp shine of its magic died into memory.

It had no arm.

It had no soul.

What emerged instead was a festering spray of acid, spitting and sizzling like hot oil, a deadly arc of poison flung into the air. It hurt, and deep within it the void shrieked, twisting and lashing like the tongues of a whip, latching barbed claws into the Radiance’s hold and pulling pulling pulling—

—a knife in its shoulder, a cold blade under its skin, and acid spilling, gushing, coating its back, its side, its chest, and the void surged up, pulled tight, and struck out.

Its shoulder twisted.

The motion jolted its sister’s hand. The knife wrenched sideways, opening a white-hot gash under its arm.

Pain arced through its mind like a scythe. The memory dropped away in shredded pieces. It inhaled, a shuddering rasp, and the cold air stung, and its side was laid open, and its eyes hazed over with gray.

Its sister cried out, her hand clapping down to staunch the flow, and the knight’s tentative grasp on consciousness nearly slipped away. Her voice was a waver in the air, a wisp of smoke, a falling thread, her commands rendered meaningless by the roaring quiet that had descended.

It floated, head filled with hissing static, and then a flood of soul crashed down, and a single word rang in its ears.

“Heal.”

The spell welled up and sprang alight with almost no effort, almost no thought. As it should be—as it had always been—

The pain receded. The world faded back, a soft azure-gray.

No burning white. No blistering orange. It could breathe. It could see.

It was not… in the temple. It was not there.

The gleam of a round mask in the darkness. The weighted stillness of that little cloaked body. The pervasive silence of their void.

S-sibling…

This. This was what had been hidden from it, when it crawled out of the temple like a fumbling husk, like a wraith still somehow living. This was what it could not remember.

Their little sibling, returned to haunt them.

Their body freed, only to turn on their kin.

There was more, hidden behind the blank horror of the memory, some other atrocity waiting like a trap ready to spring, but the pain had broken the spell. It was here now.

Here. Now. With its sister. With her while she exhaled tightly and wiped the new streaks of void from its side, while she reached over its shoulder to lay her fingers on its mask.

Sibling blurred into sibling, violence into violence, and it knew.

If it had still had its arm…

If she had not already drained the acid…

If it had had any soul to focus…

She would be dead.

~

Taglist: @2amtime @moss-tombstone​ Reply to this post or send an ask to be added to or removed from the taglist!

#whump #hollow knight #hk hornet #hk the hollow knight #hk pure vessel #hollow knight fanfic #whumpwriting #mywriting #hk #lost kin #lost kin chapter #lost kin fic

[ao3feed-crimeboys]

Reluctant Affection

by joggingeye

Look, there was probably a better way of handling this whole situation, but Techno’s tried his best, alright? It’s not his fault he never interacted with children before! He wasn’t the most approachable type for little kids with his sharp tusks, pointed claws, and a huge enchanted sword stashed at his side.

Apparently, the six-year-old—which Techno assumed—sat next to him did not think the same. Instead, Tommy happily chewed on some cotton candy, its color coincidentally similar to Techno’s hair, unaware of Techno’s exhaustion-filled expression.

“Dad! Can I get more cotton candy?” the kid asked, fingers stained a light pink. His leg jittered and bounced up and down crazily, presumably by the rush of sugar he just inhaled.

“For the last time, I am not your dad.”

“Is that a no to the cotton candy?” Tommy said with a pleading look.

Techno sighed, caving in to the demand. When did he become so susceptible to peer pressure?

 Or, Techno reluctantly gets attached to a kid who thinks he's his dad

Words: 4285, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, Dream SMP

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot

Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit

Additional Tags: Kid TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), bedrockbros, Wilbur Soot is TommyInnit's Parent, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Happy Ending, Mentioned Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Oneshot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, dadbur, Dadnoblade, Well kindof

#ao3feed #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #crimeboys #crime boys #crimebois #crime bois #mcyt #This is an automated process #If you see any fic that breaks boundaries #or the fic is yours and you don't want it shared send an ask #it will be looked at and removed if need be

[tessathegamefreak]

(We might as well roleplay my Next Gens meeting your Next Gens. Tha will be fun.)

(It will be, but oh my, where do we start? There are so many of them to meet right now! Let me open up the story for you now...)

Gabrielle and all your other Next Gen children were calmly exploring the Internet when a taller, hooded character bumped into the kids. The kids thought nothing of it at first, until one of the kiddos realized this fella pickpocketed them and took something important from their inventory (who he stole from and what he stole is your call).

The gang would follow this character throughout the Internet, since even the glitch children were having trouble catching up with this character. They eventually followed him out to another arcade's Game Central that was similar to theirs back at home. They are stunned by this place, but not too stunned that Gabrielle didn't notice the thief sneaking into this arcade's Sugar Rush...

(And now you can carry them into the game! What are their reactions or first thoughts when entering a game just like their own?)

#wreck it ralph #ask #roleplay #sugar rush next gen #next generation #next gen au

[kawaii-sugarii]

Last 4 Next Gen racers! The roster is complete!

There's Carrie Mocha, Tiriki's daughter. She's childish and playful, but overall, a sweet and polite little girl. She loves flowers, but she also hates bugs.

The Rainbeau twins, Orengia and Lemonia, Snowanna and Kumagaru's children. Orengia is laid-back yet sharp-tongued, while Lemonia is wild and mischievous.

And last but not least, there's Yasashi Mochiyama, Ocharujo and Shuichi's daughter. True to her name's meaning, Sashi is a kind soul, and gentle like a raindrop.

And with them, the total of Next Gen racers goes up to 18, which I believe is a solid cutoff point.

#wreck it ralph #sugar rush #next gen #sugar rush next gen #next gen oc #carrie mocha #orengia rainbeau #lemonia rainbeau #yasashi mochiyama

[beyuji]

ICEBREAKER !! performing: sugar rush ride (rock ver.) by txt bxy / feat. @bejun & @renxbe

yuji finds this evaulation to be a little challenging. not only did something happen like she expected it to post next gen-- it was something she hadn't even considered at all. on top of the mental whiplash she feels-- working in a team that she has to learn has her feeling a bit off.

at least they're both nice. jun's a familiar face that eases her quite a bit, and ren's been kind enough that yuji thinks the experience won't be terrible. there is common interest around creativity, and as they discuss-- yuji finds that there's easy workability. teamwork feels easy-- yuji can get a sense of it through the way jun helps her with choreography. gets a feel for it in the days of going over melody changes with ren in a way that appeases all of them.

the days of prep leading up to the evaluation day go quite well. when yuji isn't bothering her teammates with her worried nitpicking, she's seeking out the trainers and getting as much insight on what direction she should take as much as possible. if they critique her dancing, she latches onto it and makes it her primary focus. if she asks what's too ambitious to try on composition, they give her tips to start and things to find muse in. slap on a make it your own, do what feels right that makes her take a few moments of time in her day to just think.

the day of the evaluation, she does her best to look as confident as she wants to feel. yuji dresses up a little bit, a dark ensemble that matches the theme of the audio. she doesn't want to overdo it and then feel a fool of if they don't nail it-- but she tries; spruces herself up a bit. greets her teammates with a smile, hoping to look as confident as she wants to seem.

they say their greetings, and her eyes move over the lineup-- their ceos and the axis staff member. gets into the mood of the performance as she takes her position. waits until the track starts, and lets muscle memory take it's course.

sugar rush ride is a song she doesn't mind in its original version. upon her and ren tweaking it and adding and molding it into a different version, she finds a bit more of a fondness to it. soundwise, she enjoys it immensely as opposed to before; so she adds that enjoyment into her moves-- lets her fall into more of a performance than just a glorified run-through.

yuji puts her acting skills to the test, changes her expression from sensual and smooth in the leadup to the chorus, and when it drops into something gritty and mean matches with her expression-- all sneers, and snarls. something smug with the quirk of her grin.

taking me into the dream, the liar on the bedside.

her moves are sharp when they need to be, to match the song when it drops and smoothens them out when the melody kicks in. hopes to showcase at least a bit of femininity against the other two of her teammates. strength and softness.

yuji lets herself fall into the performance, doesn't break face even as they keep in place for the final position as the music fades off. her chest is heaving, but her expression stays the same-- eyes drifting over the lineup of their evaluation judges. the thought of whatever necessary decisions they might need to make heavy on her mind.

#wc: 581 #🌧️ solo ; #🌧️ trainee ; #be:icebreaker #feat. #bejun #renxbe

[nintendoneko64]

[Note: This is not a Next-Gen RP]

Sugar Rush is a unique place, in that it is a racing genre videogame with a strong candy theme. Besides that, one wouldn't expect anything else of interest in the game. Unless you take notice of a strange boy...

This boy, Lord Lucas Chamoy-Amargo, was a scrapped Sugar Rush character, who was only brought back by Vanellope's curiosity. He was supposed to be the lord over his own sour-themed town and racetrack, none of which made it into the game. Now Lucas lives in the "manor" that was supposed to be here; I say "supposed to" because its elements are still there- the devs just decided to make the area inaccessible to players and other characters. Lucas knows it's still here and he can actually still move around in his invisible manor, but to anyone else watching, it looked like he was miming a whole routine.

It certainly seemed strange to a certain dark-haired feline counterpart that stumbled across the scene.

[This is another scenario that leads into roleplay ;p]

Nala: *seeing this* Woah. Now, I've seen stuff that's strange, but this is a whole new level of strange! Like, how?

*Also didn't know how to start this*

[00katrinka00]

Landcaster Legacy Gen 7 Update #32

Dear Diary, It's officially term break. Since Janie is in Mt. Komorebi the band isn't meeting for practice. I've been trying to write some songs for us, but I can't seem to come up with anything. I hope this writer's block goes away soon. -Violet

Violet spent most of her days off either working or sleeping. It was clearly getting on Lacy's last nerve. "Hello!" Lacy exclaimed waving her hands around in an attempt to wake Violet out of her slumber. "Will you just get up already?"

Violet finally sat up. "Jenna and I are going bowling," Lacy told her. "I was wondering if you'd like to come?" "I have to work." "Not until later. Just come bowling with us, it will be fun!"

"What if I don't want to go bowling, what if I want to lie in bed all day, ever think about that?" Violet asked. "You're going," Lacy demanded. "Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Lacy found Rosie making a mess in the front hall as she waited for Violet to get changed. "I'm glad you aren't my kid," Lacy told her. "Yay!" exclaimed Rosie as she continued to pour sugar and chocolate sauce onto the floor.

"You know," Lacy told her. "I can't even tease you about having a generic toddler face anymore. I'm going to have to find something else to tease you about." "Mean Lacy," Rosie told her, although she didn't seem too bothered.

When Violet finished changing she wandered into Leo's room. He was playing video games. "Want to come bowling with Lacy, Jenna and I?" Violet asked "You sure you want me interrupting your girls day?" "Not a real girls day." "I guess, I've always been better than you at bowling"

Jenna was waiting in the lobby for Lacy, Violet and Leo to show up. "Hey!" lacy exclaimed while taking a seat. "You guys are thirty minutes late," Jenna told her.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Lacy apologized, "Violet was sulking in bed, again, and then she wanted to stop and invite her brother." "All good," Jenna said. "Let's just get bowling.

As they tried to begin their bowling match, Lacy was swarmed by townies. "Oh my watcher, are you the Lacy Landcaster?" one townie exclaimed "Aren't you meant to be dead?" "You look just like her, can we get a picture?" another townie exclaimed "Leave me alone" Lacy said irritated

Lacy ignored them and decided to just start bowling. She was pretty confident with her performance.

"Does that happen a lot?" Jenna asked. "I guess. I'm told I look a lot like one of my ancestors, the real Lacy Landcaster, famous actress and everything. I was even named after her" Lacy lied. She didn't want the whole world to know she was the real Lacy Landcaster reincarnated.

Jenna just shrugged and stepped up to the lane for her own turn. She was less successful than Lacy. "What in the watcher!" She exclaimed waving her hands around. "There was no way I threw a gutter ball."

Up next was Violet who missed the lane completely and ended up dropping the ball on the ground behind her. "I guess bowling isn't my strong suit," she laughed nervously wondering how many people had saw.

And then it was Leo, who somehow managed to do even worse than Violet, despite his words earlier that morning.

All in all, Lacy won the game with a score of 140. "Did you see your fall?" Violet teased. "So, embarrassing, and I got a better score than you." "I hate to break this to you, Vi, but I got a 19 and you got a 27, we both sucked," Leo told her. "Still better than you!"

Over at the snack bar Lacy was busy recanting Leo's fall to everyone who would listen. He just decided to go along with it, as Violet and Lacy couldn't stop laughing.

After the bowling shenanigans it was time for Violet to head into work, where Owen had appeared to have not shown up leaving Violet to handle the afternoon rush all by herself. "Here you go sir," she exclaimed cheerfully. "One mango boba made fresh by yours truly!"

After the rush had died down, Owen did finally show up to work. "Where the hell have you been?" Violet exclaimed angerly. "I had to work the rush all by myself!" "Tiffany knew I was going to be late; I had a meeting with the academic advisor at school." "What? Why?"

"I'm looking to graduate early, needed to find out what I had to do," Owen explained. "Is this about Lacy? Because she won't tell me anything." "Not about Lacy. It gives me a head start with college, the faster I finish school the quicker my older sister can go back to school."

"Oh," Violet trailed off. It occurred to her that she really didn't know very much about Owen. Whenever they were working, she'd only ever talked about herself. She didn't even know his sister had never finished school.

#TheSims4 #TheSims4Gameplay #TheSims4Community #The Sims 4 Gameplay #The Sims 4 #LandcasterLegacy