#maybe I'll write about this someday

[aitsuheart]

In kh4 I really want Riku and Yozora to hate each other

or not like each other but are forced to work together because they have a similar goal

I want nameless star true name to be Sora

Let them both be confused and think they're the one to find Sora not the other person

Then they realize oh there's two Soras and they team up anyways since similar goal

When Riku finds out Yozora tried to hurt Sora he'll also fight him for that too

I used to want Strelitzia Yozora and Sora but this would be more interesting

have Sora and Strelitzia be a duo and Yozora and Riku be a duo

[magicwhiskers29]

Been dwelling on this for a while now, but aro Kabru is soooooooo interesting to me

Like, he's this guy who's often called a lady killer and whatnot by his friends because of his charms, but his intentions behind those are entirely nonromantic, and he even seems to have a kind of clinical view on romance, at times.

When he smiles at people and winks, he's trying to come across as friendly and approachable, not flirty. Because he's deeply fascinated with people, but in a like, wants to study them under a microscope kind of way. His party jokes a lot about him being a hit with women, but we never see him attempt to actually romance anyone. It's his facade that he wants to use on just about everyone, because he wants to be liked so he can be close to people and be able to immerse himself in other people's lives.

A lot of people criticise him for the casual way he treats Rin, with romantic gestures, whilst his canon stance on her is that he sees her like a sister. To my knowledge, it's unclear if he knows she likes him, but this is Kabru, so it's not unreasonable to assume that he's deduced as much. And yet he kisses her just to stop her casting anyway. It's such a clinical procedure. Kabru sees it as the most efficient and safe way to stop her, so he goes for it. And yeah, they both look like monsters to each other, but he so casually kisses a girl he probably knows has romantic feelings for him who he views as just like a sister.

It's not a big deal to him because he doesn't feel that way about her. Maybe won't feel that way at all. His perspective on romance is consistently like looking through a window, just studying other people's views on it, because it doesn't mean much to him.

When he edits Mithrun's backstory for Laios, he cuts out lots of what he sees as complicated, both out of respect for preserving Mithrun's privacy, but also just to make it simple enough for Laios, who has so little interest in human matters or motivations, to understand. And he centres it on a tragic love story! He thinks that Mithrun's love for a woman, and his jealousy over his brother having her interest instead, is a good, simple core motive. Romance is just a plot device to simplify and explain Mithrun's past motivations. Romance to Kabru is just another facet of people to study, something that makes them do things, and something that paints a broader picture of them.

It's a pretty detached view. He's a very shippable guy for a lot of fans (and for a lot of characters in story too, haha) but he's also someone whose idea of romance is just another thing to be studied. He's guy who does a lot of romantic or flirty things, whilst seemingly having no interest in romance for himself at all!

He doesn't feel romantic attraction, but it fascinates him anyway

[vaperarmand]

thinking about the fact that even for louis making his first fledgling was so earth-shattering he tried to get madeline's blood out of his body after he made her. thinking about how armand would react to making daniel when this is, too, is his first fledgling, when he's breaking his own 500-year promise to himself, when daniel is the one person whose human life he cherished above everything. to know daniel is dead, now, to know that his blood is held within armand now but died inside him. to be alone during all of it. the torture he'd inflict upon himself, torn between the desire to keep this last part of daniel and the need to purge it from his system. how disgusted he'd feel, flayed open and on display and close to someone he feels shouldn't exist, someone he can't have. sorry i need to go stare at the ceiling now

[leet911]

Ok, the way in which Jattawa saved Four was a bit of a technicality and not at all as elaborate as I thought it would be.

So those fic ideas are out. But on the other hand (pun fully intended) we got this shot:

And I could write an entire fic about this one shot

[hoenn-pride]

As someone who has felt like they've failed or lost dreams and had to rebuild themselves, I think a lot about Grusha.

I think about how it's implied Grusha's injury was a big deal. That it was a public thing. There's an article in the school library about a big competition coming up, and Grusha - second-best snowboarder in the world - will be competing. Everyone was waiting to see how he'd perform.

I think about how they're very specific to note that Grusha is the second- best.

He likely felt like he was up and coming. He likely felt like the world was at his fingertips. Even if he wasn't the best- the best, he was good. Really good.

And if he kept going, one day, he would be the best.

Maybe it frustrated him to no end to be compared to someone else. Maybe it killed him to always be called second-best. Maybe he was determined to break himself out of that and make a name for himself all his own.

And then for it all to get cut off so suddenly, so abruptly, out of something that was so clearly out of his control.

So loudly, so tragically, so publicly,

in front of everyone who came there to watch him compete. Maybe for the title of no longer being second-best.

I think about how he likely never wanted to touch a board again. How it likely made him sick and angry at the snow. The mountain. How even the best well-wishes from his biggest fans likely made him sick. To relive the shame and humiliation all over again.

To feel like everything you ever worked for got ripped away from you so suddenly, due to things so beyond your control.

And how his gym is alone on Glaseado Mountain. How being a gym leader seems to be now the only thing he has. And he doesn't feel like he's any good at that, either. How ice is notoriously a pretty vulnerable type as it is.

And yet, he's still the Ice-Type gym leader. He keeps going back to the snow.

How when you invite him over as a special coach at the academy, he starts talking about the Polar Biome. How he checked out the mountain again.

And how he picked up a snowboard. And even if he was embarrassed to admit it, he started to ride again.

Not the same, no. It might never be the same. Sports injuries can alter your life, alter your entire body, forever. He likely can never compete again.

But I think about him, and I hope life gets new purpose for him. Even if, due to his injury, his life may never be quite the same. Never quite what it was.

I hope he can find a different happiness. Even over the ruined pieces of the dream he once loved.

[suddencolds]

insatiable appetite [1/?]

sooo... this is one of the thirstiest things i have written—and also one of the only times i've written a character with the kink, ever T.T warnings in advance for mess, character getting sneezed on, implied contagion, possible ooc-ness, & me writing this entirely with my d instead of my head

ivan and till are from al//ien sta//ge (a very fun watch which will only take 30 mins out of your life; i really recommend it!!). that said, this fic takes place in a modern au setting, so feel free to read it without any prior context :)

special thanks to @6pmsoup for sending me a very cute alnst doodle of these two which altered my brain chemistry permanently

—

Summary: Till shows up to a dinner outing with a brewing cold. Ivan suffers. (est. relationship, kink!Ivan, ~2k words)

—

For all Till tries to hide it, Ivan can tell immediately.

There’s this: Ivan has been paying attention to Till for most of his life. A full decade before they’d gotten together officially, and some more—this is how long Ivan has had to observe his tells. Always from the sidelines, always with a detached air of indifference that, in reality, was anything but.

All the signs are there the night before. Till, turning up the thermostat a couple degrees higher than he usually keeps it. Spending a little too long in the shower and using up almost all of the hot water. Clearing his throat one too many times in the morning before Ivan leaves for work, his smile distracted, the rasp of his voice nearly indistinguishable—but only nearly.

Now, Till is here for dinner—it’s a dinner they’ve had plans for a couple weeks now, at one of the nicer restaurants downtown, in celebration of Till’s recent promotion. Ivan had booked the reservation a couple weeks in advance.

When Till arrives, stepping out of a taxi cab, he’s wearing a scarf, even though the weather is too warm for it. Ivan steps up to meet him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Till says. “Traffic here was the worst I’ve ever seen it, swear to god.”

“Was it cold outside today?” Ivan asks, a little pointedly, tilting his head towards his scarf.

Till looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he nods. “Colder than usual, for this time of year.”

“Strange,” Ivan says, just to be difficult. “But the weather forecast says it’s the same temperature today as yesterday.” 

“It’s probably just windier today,” Till says, readjusting his scarf around his neck. His face is a little flushed.

“Your voice sounds a little off, though.”

Till clears his throat with a scowl. “You must be imagining it,” he says. “It always sounds like this.”

No admission, then. That’s fine. Ivan will get the truth out of him at some point. He lets Till guide him into the restaurant.

It’s a nice restaurant—worth the hassle of the reservation, Ivan thinks. Each table is set with flowers arranged tastefully in long glass vases, empty wine glasses turned on their heads. The server—who leads them to their table in a small, private booth—is wearing a suit.

It’s a shame, really. Ivan has a feeling that he won’t be able to pay attention to any of that tonight.

They sit. Ivan looks down at the menu, picks out something at random in a matter of seconds. Truthfully, he can hardly think of anything less worth his attention right now. He turns his attention to Till instead—Till, who’s seated directly across from him, the scarf still around his neck, obscuring the lower half of his face. 

Till sniffles, reaching down to turn the page, and oh. The sniffle is terribly liquid—has he been sniffling like that all afternoon? Perhaps it’s a good thing that they work at different offices—Till at a law firm, Ivan as a senior manager at a consulting company—because Ivan certainly doesn’t think he’d be able to get any work done with Till sniffling like that. 

It’s not two minutes later that Till is reaching up to wipe his nose against the back of one knuckle. All in all, it’s discreet. Just a quick brush of the fingers against his nose, which is still hidden under the scarf. Though, the look of sheer ticklishness that passes over his features for a brief moment there is...

“What are you thinking of ordering?” Ivan asks.

“I can’t decide,” Till answers. He turns the page again. “It’s between the ribeye steak and the… snf! The pork belly. Is this the kind of place that skimps on the portion sizes?”

“Not from their Yelp reviews,” Ivan says. “You know, if you really can’t decide, I can flip a coin.”

“I’ll pick,” Till says. “Why? Hungry already?”

He looks up, now. His eyes are a little watery. There’s a faint flush over the bridge of his nose. Ivan thinks that if he reached out and touched him, he’d probably be running warm. The thought is almost unbearable.

“Your taxi did take forever to arrive,” Ivan says, by way of explanation. 

“Did you really wait that long?”

He looks uncertain, for a moment. Ivan says, “Not at all. But you know, I’m always impatient when it comes to you.”

Till rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “There was a meeting that ran late. I wasn’t avoiding you.”

“Is that also a part of your new position?” “I guess so, yeah.”

“I can see why they were eager to promote you, then,” Ivan says. “How productive can late afternoon meetings be, anyways?”

Till snorts. “Not that important. It definitely could have been an email instead. I was about ready to doze off.”

He sniffles again. “Okay. I think I know what I want.” The way he says know betrays the slightest hint of congestion. 

“At long last,” Ivan says, just to be a little bit of an ass. “I’ll call over the waiter.”

He flags their waiter down, waits for Till to order first.

“A spiced apple cider,” Till adds on, at the end, with the slightest of coughs. “Hot, if you can.”

That’s new, too. Till seldom orders hot drinks at restaurants, though he’ll drink tea without complaint if it’s offered. Perhaps his throat hurts, then, from the cold that has clearly started to settle in his system. Subtle, still, but Ivan is familiar with colds like this. He knows it will probably only be a few hours before this deceptively “small” cold turns into…

Ivan orders, too, and thanks the waiter, who leaves with a curt nod. When he looks back over to Till, there’s a… strange something to Till’s expression, a slight distractedness. Irritation.

Ivan swallows hard. He should look away. 

He should, but then, Till’s breath hitches. He pulls the scarf higher over his face preemptively, as if he anticipates having something to have to cover for. The sharp intake of breath that follows is breathy, though Ivan can hear Till’s voice in it. He should really look away.

Instead, he takes the scene in, painstakingly, little by little, as Till’s shoulders jerk forwards. As Till presses a hand to the scarf, presses the fabric closer to his face, to muffle a sneeze into his fingertips:

“hhH-Ih!! hiHH-’IESCHH-eew-!”

God. It sounds utterly miserable, the harsh release of it scraping against his throat, the spray tearing into his scarf. It’s the kind of cold sneeze that is undeniably telling: this is going to be one hell of a cold. It’s not very quiet, either, even muffled into the fabric.

For more reasons than one, Ivan is glad they’re in a private corner of the restaurant, not somewhere more public.

“Bless you,” he offers, once he can trust himself to speak. It’s a good thing that Till is too distracted to look up at him right now. Ivan isn’t sure he can keep what he’s feeling off of his face.

Truthfully, he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to endure a whole night of this.

The problem here is that Till—Till, of all people; Till, who Ivan has been pathetically in love with for almost as long as he can remember—has no idea about Ivan’s… relatively niche interests. That is to say, he has no idea what effect it has on Ivan when he does that.

“Thanks,” Till says, a little stuffily. He sniffles again, lowering his hand. 

Ivan can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t pursue this line of questioning, but he can feel his self-control dwindling by the second. “Don’t you think it would be better to take off your scarf, now that we’re inside?”

Till freezes. “Y-You know what,” he says evasively. “It’s pretty cold in here.”

Ivan tilts his head in question. “And just how do you plan on eating like that?”

“I’ll take it off when our food comes.”

“I can ask the waiter to turn the temperature up, if it’s a problem,” Ivan says. 

“It’s not a problem.”

Ivan rises from his seat. Till watches him, perplexed, as he heads to the opposite side of the table, where Till is seated.

When he gets there, he stops. Stands, unmoving, so he can study Till from above. 

“What are you—”

Ivan reaches out, settles his palm across Till’s forehead. As expected, it’s warm. Not quite feverish, which is a good sign, but warm enough to be notable. 

“Just how long were you intending to hide this?”

Till stares back at him, wide-eyed. “Hide what?”

Shouldn’t it be obvious? “The fact that you have a cold.”

“I didn’t think it was worth mentioning,” Till says, slowly.

“Hmm.” Ivan drops his hand to his side. He is a little concerned, now. “We could’ve called a rain check.”

This time Till really does roll his eyes. “For the reservation we planned weeks ahead?” he sniffles again. “That just sounds completely and utterly unnecessary. Are you the type of person to call things off just over a little cold?” 

Ivan leans over, tugs down the edge of Till’s scarf. Till bats his hand away just a moment too late, cups his other hand over his face to shield his face from view. For a moment, he looks faintly mortified.

Then his expression settles into something more disgruntled. “What are you doing?” he hisses.

So uncooperative. “Let me see,” Ivan says. Slowly, gently, he pries Till’s hands away from his face, and then—because the restaurant is dimly lit—tilts Till’s face up slightly so that it catches more of the overhead light. 

Till’s nose is redder than usual. He’s probably been rubbing it all afternoon, if the redness that percolates into his cheeks is any indication. There’s  a damp, liquid sheen on the underside of his nose.

“What’s there to see?” Till says, a little crossly.

“Your face, since you’ve been so intent on hiding it under that scarf,” Ivan says, leaning in to get a better look.

Till scowls at him, but there’s no heat to it. “You see my face every day.”

“On the contrary, I don’t see it nearly enough,” Ivan says. “And you hardly ever get sick. Is it so wrong for me to be concerned?”

Without looking, he reaches behind him with one hand to grab a couple cocktail napkins. The other hand he keeps held up to Till’s cheek. 

But then, Till’s breath hitches. “Wait,” he says. Panic flashes through his face. “Ivan, move, I—”

Oh. Well, seeing as there’s no way he’ll be able to get the napkins over in time, it looks like he’ll have to improvise. If Till wants to cover, Ivan can help with that. He moves his hand to cup it loosely over Till’s mouth. Not a second too late, it seems. Till jerks forward unceremoniously, his nose twitching, his eyes squeezing shut.

“hHheh-! HHh’EIITShHh’yYiew!” he gasps sharply. Two? “Hh-! hHiiH’DSSCSSHh-IIew!”  

The jolt of the sneezes is practically electrifying—all of that force, brought to an abrupt halt behind Ivan’s waiting palm. He feels the expulsion of air against his skin, the warmth of Till’s breath, feels the slight dampness behind his hand as the spray mists over his fingertips.

Ivan swallows, hard. Thank god it’s so dark here, otherwise Till might notice what this is doing to him. 

“Bless you,” he says, withdrawing his hand at last to wipe it on one of the cloth napkins. It comes out slightly raspier than he intends it to, though perhaps it’s a miracle that he’s still able to talk at all. “Some cold, hmm?” Belatedly, he hands Till the stack of napkins.

Till practically snatches them from him, turns aside to blow his nose wetly into the top few. The way he sniffles afterwards suggests that his nose is still very much running. 

“Do you have no self preservation? It’s as if you want to catch this,” Till says, drawing back with another sniffle.

Oh, Ivan thinks, fighting back a shiver. That would be far from the worst thing.

[old-skyguy]

Look.

Ace Attorney fandom.

I know why people don't like Turnabout Bigtop. I am among the people who dislike Turnabout Bigtop.

But I GET why people like the case. I'm not going to be one of those annoying people who just blindly dump on it because I hate those mfs too.

Thing about Bigtop isn't that it sucks. Thing isn't the weird grooming stuff (though that is a huge part of it). It's not that it could've been good.

It's that - in my personal OPINION - it could have been *great*.

I think it had the potential to be one of the best third cases in the trilogy. It had everything; a fun and goofy setting fit for a pretty dang goofy lawyer game - where the environment itself had jokes and quips and one-liners and mishaps and tomfoolery written all over it, it had the previous case introducing a very interesting and important plotline that gave background for one of the more well-loved characters while also introducing an equally fucked up and lovable new one who was a child forced into a shit childhood of naivete in a CIRCUS with another character who was very naive and childish - whose interactions could have been funny and cute and reflective of said shit from the previous case (seriously she becomes such an important character in the 4th case, WHY would they not include her in this one for some character development? How did they fuck up letting a CHILD explore a CIRCUS?? That would have made the interactions flow MUCH better).

They had a pretty good, sympathetic killer imo, a morally dubious victim, an asshole of a client (who was pretty flat admittedly in-game, but I like his weird, topsy-turvy reasoning for it in the anime. Also, I think Max being kinda a dick would have bode well for the themes of Farewell since most of his clients up to this point have been like...nice? Not nice, but sympathetic, but him having to defend someone who's innocent but a prick would have shown him that just because someone is an asshole, doesn't mean they deserve to suffer for it and that they have the potential to grow as people, which is almost a complete foil to what Matt was. Ultimately, I would have loved the contrast of them as clients and I think it would have also served as character development for Phoenix, especially with his low-empathy tendencies).

They just didn't think that far ahead. They just didn't execute it well enough. They just decided to make three of the adult characters fight for the hand in marriage of a teenage girl. (Bat's part of the story was actually kinda good if he was just YOUNGER, I think him doing that for Regina would have been a stupid thing someone in the circus would do to impress their crush. Damn you Ace Attorney and your weird treatment of underage girls!!)

It just flopped and that's ok.

Even though it kinda sucked, it can still mean something to me.

Also I'm a Moe Curls apologist. I liked him, shut up.

[chiarrara]

i think its wild how beautiful and foundational the queer readings of jjk are considering how violently anti-queer the manga is in practice

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

i do have a pitch for an episode of the x files where the agents are tasked with trying to solve a huge art theft. scully is convinced it was for normal art theft reasons (reduced sentencing for prisoners revealing their location, or perhaps the hubris of a very wealthy private collector) whereas mulder is convinced aliens are making a collection of earthly culture to enhance their understanding of the human species. i just haven't come up with the plot twist that makes them BOTH wrong yet!

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

i like it So Much that the show ended without hieronymous telling anyone from midst that he blew up the moon and i like it So Much that everyone who even knows he did is dead. ping-ponging back and forth in my brain between wanting to write a scene where he eventually does tell sherman what happened and wanting to think that he really just takes that secret all the way to his grave <3 i LOVE when characters are LIARS!

[brown-little-robin]

the initial fight between Kageyama Shigeo and Hanazawa Teruki is. a bit more brutal in zombie au. there's no such thing as a barrier in this universe, but there Is such a thing as Mob setting his feet and refusing to be pushed. Also, Mob with very little sense of pain taking blows and simply... refusing to think too hard about the damage.

Teru, by the way, is a half-turned zombie. He survived the disease with his brain (mostly) functioning as normal, but with increased strength and speed and healing. (the healing comes in handy after meeting Mob.) (I say "mostly" because the disease is still putting a lot of stress on Teru's whole body, which puts his brain in kind of a constant state of alarm. boy is traumatized one-of-a-kind.)

oh, and I haven't talked about my interpretation of ???% as zombie yet, have I? Yeah okay so ???% is your standard mp100 representation of everything Mob represses and also his most extreme state of fight-or-flight. He/it is a physical state of Kageyama Shigeo's brain and body in which all of his physical systems, including and aided by the disease colony living in him, are activated to protect his body and make sure he can survive what he's going through.

Practically speaking, that means that ???% survives un-survivable injuries. In that state of being, Shigeo heals from things his body doesn't really have the resources to heal from ordinarily. Yes, this is contradictory and not humanly possible. Something something it's because of the disease colony synchronizing with its host to an unprecedented degree... something something Mob would win every fight but when he fights he's already losing...

Anyway, so Teru strangles Mob into unconsciousness and then ???% physically grabs Teru by the leg and flings him above cloud level.

[megamozartx]

"Hey Mozart, what kinds of things do you draw?"

Occasionally good, mostly shitposting, and apparently I redesigned Piano to be a judgmental goth.

And here's one time I drew Ruby-Spears Bass + Piano + Zero:

I've been drawing since I was 8 years old I'm very serious.

[transmascutena]

utena deserves a nice openly queer and butch friend group post-canon to help him through his inevitable identity crisis

[leet911]

You see, Wan knows she wants Pleng. Wan has had many years to come to terms with that, and she's actually quite straightforward (ha! "straight") about it. What she's not ready for, is Pleng actually wanting her, that leaves Wan in a flustered mess. In this essay, I will—

[thedogofchristmaspast]

dsaf's narrator will always be so mysterious like What the Fuck was up with dee hearing them that one time

[getvalentined]

Now I'm thinking about the "Save The Gerudo, Save The World" AU again.

Twinrova kills Nabooru in front of Link, and that's when he finally realizes that all the Sages are dead. They're all dead. He didn't know—his body may be an adult's but he is still a child, he didn't understand, and nobody had the heart to tell him outright in the very limited time they got to meet him after he defeated the monsters that killed them. In Ocarina of Time, in order for a Sage to fully awaken to their power, they have to die.

Link knows that Ganondorf's main motivation, prior to all this, was the safety of his people. He's off the deep end by the time Link is an adult, but it's possible that in the past, seven years ago, there's still enough Gerudo King in there to be swayed.

Navi says this is the worst idea ever. Link says he has to try.

So Link makes the decision to go back in time and offer himself—his allegiance, his Triforce, his life—in exchange for Nabooru's safety. Hero of Time or not, champion of Farore or not, Link is just one person; he knows he can't defeat the monster Ganondorf will eventually become while on his own and crippled with the knowledge that everyone he loves is dead. That isn't the future he's fighting for.

So he turns himself in to the Gerudo. He's brought before Ganondorf—and now he's a child, but he acts like an adult, he carries himself like someone who's been through every bit as much war as Ganondorf has—and makes his offer. Ganondorf can have whatever Link can offer him, if he saves Nabooru.

Ganondorf responds, "...What happened to Nabooru?"

And just like that, the horrible future Link was thrown into against his will is smashed to bits.