#potential fanfic in the future?

[vvictuss]

Adam Stanheight barely had to do anything for me to latch onto him like a second fucking chain around his ankle

Still a WIP and I’ve never rendered like this yikes

I have literally watched this movie 3 1/2 times in the last 4 days and Saw 0.5 six times in addition. My wife will most definitely get into Saw as well or I will drive her to insanity from all of the info dumping. Adam is my new favorite Skrunkly Guy and I’m so glad he is alive and ok!! I’m so glad he is thriving in his shit hole apartment and not trapped in that fucking bathroom!!!

@sawx @leighwhannellofficial

[justaz]

arthur (prince of camelot) still has to study under a tutor bc yknow uther wants him to be very intelligent before becoming king or something bc its super important idk idc anyways merlin is doing chores in his chambers while arthur is squinting at a book and merlin eventually caves and asks him what he’s reading and arthur gruffly explains that its a collection of stories from greece that make absolutely no sense so merlin asks him to read them outloud to him. arthur of course teases him and calls him an idiot and asks how he could possibly help but does as he’s asked and reads the stories to merlin as he does his chores. merlin (being crushed under the weight of destiny and tormented by the prophecies that kilgharrah spews) understands the stories almost immediately and gets all excited and starts rambling about them with arthur. arthur is glad to have someone who understands so he can give something that reflects a hint of understanding to his tutor who accepts it and moves onto the next unit of education.

the thing is, arthur finds more stories in camelot’s library and brings them up to his room to read them aloud to merlin under the guise of completing his studies but really he just wants to watch as merlin’s eyes gleam when he understands whats happening and listen to him ramble on and on about them bc he’s gay. the stories stick with merlin though and he realizes that they’re cautionary tales, that the heroes who were told too much of their future doomed themself to fulfill them - that them fighting the prophecies led to their completion. merlin takes it to heart and gives a big “fuck you” to kilgharrah before forging his own fate and helping morgana with her magic and handing out an olive branch to mordred and now everyone can live happily and peacefully in an albion teeming with magic.

[greyfics]

even if it's handcuffed, I'm leaving here with you.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

pairing: the ghoul (cooper howard) x reader fic type: enemies to lovers, no smut, mild spice + eventual fluff slow burn meter: ◈◈◇◇◇ word count: 3.8K inspo: TPD lyric prompt list, reblogged on main reader type: assumed wastelander background, gender neutral, 'I don't need a knight to save me', assumed negative views of BoS, assumed gun for hire cw: strong language, violence, reference to fictional drugs, mild dismemberment summary: reader is a gun for hire who has gotten themselves into a bit of trouble in the form of a moderate bounty with a local segment of the brotherhood- and cooper howard knows he can get all the drugs he needs for what seems like an easy job.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

"We can do this all day, darlin'. Even if it's handcuffed, I'm leavin' here with you." you feel the pressure of a pistol barrel pressing against the base of your skull from behind, and a disgruntled, defeated sigh slips through your lips. The game is up- you're out of ammo, down to the ripper hanging from your side, and 'gun against the brain-cage' is the indisputable checkmate.

Up to this point, you'd been pretty successful in shaking off the swathes of bounty hunters and jet-scrounging raiders that'd been on your tale since you became an enemy to the brotherhood- which, nowadays, seemed to be a pretty fucking easy feat to accomplish. The rusty knights were getting a little big for their oversized, several-tonne boots- and you had never been a fan of self-asserting authorities using their power in the name of 'order', especially not when they could hardly organise their own little sectors across the expansive, sparse remains of the USA.

As good with a revolver as you are, today it seems your luck has ran out and your karma has caught up with you, because you've finally met your match in a ghoul with a face so smug you wish you at least had a chance to slap it before losing the game of cat and mouse you'd been playing for a couple days now across Junktown. Your face collides into concrete and a quick click combines with the feel of steel against your wrists, The Ghoul's threat having evolved into a promise.

You spit a ball of blood and saliva from your mouth, wrought up by the hard impact with the ground below, "Alright, you win this round you freak- I'll come with you, just get these off of me." You hear a smirk from above, "Now how stupid do you fuckin' think I am? No, I gave you a chance to come willingly, you chose to shoot me in the leg. Lucky I ain't returned the favour." He gives you a light, sharp kick in the side with the tip of his boot, "Up. We got a long way to travel, and sooner we get there, sooner I get paid. I'll be reminding you now that I only get a bonus for bringing you alive, so make my life hell and I'll live without the extra caps." "Not exactly easy when my-" you hear the chick of a safety being cocked, and awkwardly shuffle back until you can jut sharply up onto your knees and slowly stand, turning to glare daggers into your now captor. The Ghoul's expression remains stiffly affixed with the wry, smug facade he bears: relaxed, squinting eyes peeking out above a thin, ever-upturned lip- you swear to yourself to you'll smack that smile off his face- but by all accounts, beneath the withered, decaying skin that had festered in his ghoulish transformation, the man had the stature (and admittedly, the jawline) of a filmstar.

You shake off the irritable possibility of monster like this getting lucky with the gene pool as a calloused hand secures a vice grip on one of your wrists and tugs you in suit as it's owner sets into motion, dragging you away from the remnants of an old civilisation and towards a military base miles away you are all too acquainted with.

You had been so caught up in the wild ride of adrenaline that came with being on the lamb that you briefly detached yourself from the catalyst of the chase- but as concrete and clay inevitably crumbles away to distant sandy dunes and cacti, the dread stirs in your stomach like a plague. It was easier to wave off the consequences of your actions when you weren't being marched towards the gallows to face them- it wasn't like you made an attack on the organisation. You kill one knight trashing up a town in the name of redundant technology, and suddenly you're on a hit-list. You know The Ghoul probably doesn't know this, and you know for certain that even if you tried to give the man a sob story he wouldn't care. This was it. "You about to be sick?" You snap from your pessimistic daze at the sudden interruption of silence, "No. Why?" "You look like you just ate a mouldy iguana, that's why- and I don't want sick on my boots." You let out an irked groan, and sharply snap your head to face the horizon in the opposite direction to your captor. You hope this will satiate his sour jabs for the time being-

Your hope is crushed five minutes later.

"Go on then. I'm bored shitless and I'm outta jet, so spill." He says with an almost theatrical exasperation in his voice, "Spill what, exactly?" you coldly respond in a mute tone, focus still fixed on the horizon to the west, "Well what's the big story? Someone's always gotta be the victim when they got a bounty on their head, so what's the tragic tale behind 'Y/N', huh?" the muscles in your neck and shoulders tense up at the mention of your name- you weren't exactly a known associate or long-time rival to the brotherhood, and the wanted poster you had wrestled from the stiff fingertips of a raider last week only had a sketch and a scrawled account of the incident. You falter for a moment before replying, but ardently avoid taking the bait, "If your plan is to get me to tell you how we got to where we are right now just so you can mock me, then I think I'd rather carry on enjoying the view, if you don't mind." The sweet-toned sarcasm at the end of your sentence seeps with venom, and the hostility it implies does not slip away from your adversary.

This time, his laugh is a soft, whisper of a chuckle- something spiteful, foreboding- followed by matching words, "You should hear what your little community had to say about you for a couple caps and a promise not to shoot anybody- well, anybody else-" his words cut into something personal, then- and though you would normally know that attacking someone with your hands cuffed behind your back is never going to end in your favour, at this moment you couldn't care less as you swing your leg round in a swift roundhouse motion, and raise your knee towards the only place you can think to leave a mark-

You hit your target, but instead of howls of pain you are met with a split second of awkward silence as the ghoul cocks his head, unimpressed, before slamming it into your own, sending you staggering back a few paces-

Before you can reorient your vision, a heavy dull force plummets into your ribs- the sand cushions your blow slightly better than the concrete you met face-to-face with an hour ago, at least. Your arms, however, are not grateful to be pressed beneath you as a familiar, withered hand pushes into your throat, putting as much pressure on your trapped limbs when your upper body presses back as it does on your esophagus, halting your air supply as he lowers himself down to a kneel and fixes your gaze onto his,

"If I wasn't already a walking corpse, that could've really hurt- not a very nice thing to do to someone just tryna have a little bit of light conversation now, is it?" All you can do is glower through eyes blinded by the sun, which gleams behind the shadow of the ghoul's head, bearing on it a smile tweaked with frustration- you need to breathe- you can't keep this up, your heartbeat is louder than the sun in your eyes and-

The pressure releases. You turn your head to the ground and suck in air between dry, heavy coughs, and after you've finally steadied your breath, you find a minor fleck of relief in being hoisted up from the ground this time instead of scrabbling to get up at gunpoint. You wonder, perhaps, if this is some small act driven by guilt- perhaps this man had a conscience once and a set of values beyond doing what it takes to ensure one's own survival. You were a gun for hire yourself, so it would be hypocritical to criticise your captor for his line of work- mostly, you preferred to stick with jobs guarding merchant caravans and to take out bands of raiders harassing the cities you passed through, but you never questioned the legitimacy of the requests you received, or the cargo you oversaw; you had settled for a little while, having stuck around the same little settlement for a few years now and had started to develop some semblance of a connection to the people there-

or so you thought.

You know you're going to be walking for a while- so with a resigned breath, you begin saying what little there is left to say about your present situation, "Well, you probably know most of what I can tell you from the sounds of things, but I guess there's nothing else for me to do right now, and the horizon is the same no matter where you go around here. I guess you could say we're in similar lines of work, but that's not really what got me in trouble with The Brotherhood. They think they can rock up in a power armour with a logo on it and wreak havoc as they please because it's for 'the greater good', but they leave towns half-destroyed when they pass through. I didn't want that to happen to... well, I didn't like the sound of that happening where I was. So, dude gets out of his power armour and starts waving guns around screaming about some piece of pre war tech or the other, and I tell him with... a strong choice of words, to get going. He starts running for the power armour, guns blazing- and I just have better aim, I guess. Not even like I got paid for killing him, either. Maybe that would've made this whole thing a little bit sweeter."

Your profession leaves a silence hanging in the air for a little while after, but it feels appropriate. The dunes filter sand from the far west to respond to your story- the horizon quivers, but only through the illusion of heat; the sand dries your eyes before they have reason to shed tears. A loaded sigh escapes the ghoul in front of you, and the clasp on your wrist softens but for a moment before stiffening to pull you onwards, "Yep, well, caps keep you going a little longer round these parts, but money can't solve all your problems." "You should tell that to the Brotherhood. They seem to be doing pretty well for all the wealth they've hoarded- can even pay big time bounty hunters to do their shitwork from the looks of things." You retort, but after a moment follow up with, "Wish I could say I was upset about it but hell, if I were you, I'd turn me in too."

You hear that soft chuckle again, but when you turn around to catch a look at the face that matches it, you see relaxed muscles and a far-off stare- he won't let you go, but he has let his guard down but a little bit- perhaps when we get closer to my story's end, he'll even let me walk to my death with my hands unbound.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

After trudging on in silence for a while, head bowed to your fatalistic contemplations, you find as you drag yourself out of the pit in your head and look over the horizon once more that the scene has changed: the atomic orange dewdrops spattering the sky not long ago have quickly to faded into a bruised overhanging shadow of violent, lavender, crimson; twilight approaches, and you're still surrounded by desert hills and illusions.

One of these illusory quivers catches your sharp eye, a dark blip that has appeared somewhere in that distance; it's moving, but it isn't close enough for you to determine whether it's just a trick of the heat or whether it's something heading in your direction. Your brow furrows, but you say nothing yet.

Within a minute, the object comes into better focus- or, rather, the creature. Your heart skips a beat, and you open your mouth to utter some kind of warning, managing to rasp, "Get the handcuffs off of me." "Now, darlin', I thought we managed to get past this already-" "No-" You tug your bound wrists, pulling the ghoul into your side- his other arm steadies itself against your shoulder before slipping up to your jaw and dragging it to face him, his own clenched and unaccompanied by a smile this time- the pallid complexion of your own face gives him enough pause for you to blurt in a fruitless, strained whisper, "Deathclaw."

If The Ghoul's skin could have paled more than it already had in his lifeless state, then it might have at that moment. The tight grip holding you against him slackens completely and you thud onto your ass as he draws his guns and casts you a playfully pitiful glance from above, shrugging and saying, "Sorry, darlin', guess I forgot to pick up the keys." He steps in front of you as a curse rips out of your throat in the sudden panic that ensues, and you try to muster enough brain cells in this moment to figure out a way of not dying, prematurely, and becoming just another skeletal curio.

There's the back-up plan, the 'if shit goes south' plan that you still hadn't gone through with because of the possible dismemberment that it might entail- but you had not been unarmed when you had been restrained earlier, and the phantom hum of a ripper blade always strapped to your waist as your last resort. You won't be able to wield it with any competence with your hands restrained as they are, but you can hit the power button from your current position-

Though, usually, you'd prefer to do it when the blade was already in your hand, not digging into the side of your leg.

shredded leg is better than deathclaw snack. Your astute analysis confirms your decision, and with a grunt and a whack, the blade starts chugging into a steady whirring action by the will of the dregs of an energy cell embedded inside- the next couple of seconds are far too long.

The blade begins it's excursion into your thigh as the gunslinging ghoul whips around at the sound, eyes wide at the sudden display of spraying crimson. You scream, struggle to try to align the cuffs without jerking your shoulders out of place. The deathclaw bounds into the mid-distance, closing in upon it's approach- it caught your scent before you could even see it's silhouette-

The tip disappears as your leg reflexively jerks, responding to the dancing jig of the chainsaw blade- you see pathetic sparks as the thing bounces off of the cuffs- strong enough to sever a leg, too rusted and battered to cut through metal. Your plan is failing. Your leg is bleeding. The cowboy falters as the deathclaw closes further-

You make a snap decision: fingers are easier to fix than legs.

You twist your wrist, and the pain just melts into the already existing burn emanating from your leg- a bloody, three-fingered stump slips from it's cage, and you swing your still-cuffed hand around in a fluid movement to drag the ripper from its sheath within your leg, snapping the cord that ties it to your waist-

You hear a frenzied firing of a revolver, but the approaching thunks are unimpeded- and though you know your leg may give way when the adrenaline finally dies, and though you know you need to find the two fingers you lost before sand vipers snatch them up and you're known as three-fingered y/n for the rest of your life- you launch yourself from the ground on your good leg, and stagger towards the approaching beast.

You grew up in the wastelands. You grew up in a settlement up here that, like any of the rest, was constantly plagued by critters and beasts- and if you were taught anything by the survivors that surrounded you, it was the following:

If you can't blow the bastard up, get 'em in the belly.

The deathclaw- a baby, thankfully- has it's gaze fixated on the man that had in the past half a minute become it's primary aggressor- so when you stumble forward, low and bleeding, with what to the creature is just another indistinguishable bit of metal in your hands, it does not see reason to change the track of it's jump.

As it launches itself above you, you pray to lady luck that you hit your mark.

An ear-splitting yowl and a sudden muffled crash tells you she's listening, for once.

Finally, after a few ragged breaths, the adrenaline wears off and you feel the weight of your body pressing into the wounds that liberated you- and the blueberry sky fades to black as you become weightless. This time, your fall is of your own accord- and this time, something stops you from hitting the ground.

- °•. ✦ .•° -

When you come to, you do not open your eyes at first- awake though you might be, your body is heavy with exhaustion. Before your encounter with the ghoul, you had been on the run for weeks, and in the last twenty four hours had not had time to stay put long enough to sleep. Coupled with the rough journey and the blood loss, you couldn't move if you wanted to. That being said, in those few dark minutes, a few things of note still catch your attention.

There is a faint crackling to your side, and the lulling warmth of a fire that brushes in waves against your face- and though you feel the silky grains of sand cushioning most of your resting body, your head lays higher up, neck leaning up to a more elevated surface- your attention snaps to the light sensation of fingertips absently grazing your neck in a repeating pattern, and the distant hum of an old country song embedded into muscle memory. The surrounding sensations are a strange comfort for all the brutal imagery this post apocalyptic world usually beholds; but it is brief, as your neck tenses, giving away your lucidity. The hand pauses, lifts- settles somewhere to the side.

When you dare to open your eyes, you are unsurprised to see the question-begging smirk and sharp eyes peering down from above, "Have a good nap?" You bolt upright, and immediately regret it when the bending of your leg snags one of the stitches you didn't know had been sewed into you until just now. Defeated, you flop back down, turning your head to the side to gaze into the dying embers of the fire beside you- praying you can brush off the flush of blush creeping into your face to the influence of the fire. Eventually you garner the courage to speak, "Feels like I've only been out for an hour." He snorts, shaking his head, "You went down around sunset, and it'll be sunrise in a couple hours." This catches you by surprise, and not just because of the amount of time you've lost, "What happened to getting your caps as soon as possible? Lost a lot of time waiting." He frowns, but does not lose his grin, "You trying to get yourself killed? 'Cos you've done a damn fine job of that so far. No, I've just been doing some thinking." "Congratulations. I'm proud of you." His eyes narrow into slits and he tuts at your sarcasm, following your gaze into the fire, "See, it could be argued that I would've been minced ghoul splattered n' buried six feet under the dunes if you hadn't gone all psycho slicing yourself up like that to get that baby deathclaw where it hurts." "That was a baby?-" "Anyway, guess my point is I might be willing to do a lot of things, but I still got my principles- only human thing I got left, probably. So I'd say I owe it you to not kill you at least. When you can walk, we'll go east to- well, to what's left of Shady Sands, and then you can do whatever the fuck you want."

You consider his words, and not knowing how to express appreciation or what to begin to make of this mysterious stranger and his obscure appeal, you find yourself rejecting this suggestion, though you don't know why- and so naturally, you dig yourself into a hole, "Well, you could also say that I would have died of blood loss if you didn't stitch my leg up." He studies you then for a minute, before shrugging and clasping your hands together at the wrists. You begin to stammer indecipherable protest and with a smirk he pulls you up, your hands still held rigid in your lap by his own, his head resting on your shoulder as he murmurs, "Now, I'm starting to get the impression you want me to march you up to our friends at the brotherhood just to keep my company." If he can't see the warm hue in your face now, he can certainly feel the heat flushing through your flustered face- you fight against the feeling, if only to make sure you stand a chance of winning this little exchange,

"Says the man who watched me sleep all night." You feel him shrug your comment off as his grin extends, "I might look like a monster, but I was a gentleman once upon a time. Like I say, I got principles." He lets you slip forward out of his grasp when you move to shuffle yourself around. As you do, you feel for the first time you are looking at him properly, sincerely- face to face, on equal grounds, with no threats of death or necessary facades of false confidence. After soaking in as much as you allow yourself to without losing yourself to curiosity entirely, you crossing your arms across your chest, and reply,

"Well, I have principles too- and if you're oh so graciously not turning me into the brotherhood then I still I owe you, so I guess I'll just have to stick around until you nearly get yourself killed again- that's all. No other reason." The ghoul rises, resting a hand on his pistol,

"You tell yourself that, darlin'- I'm gonna enjoy this change of scenery, I think."

[just-a-gamer-daydeamer-girl]

Ok so I have a lot of ideas for stories in my head, one of them is a rewrite of PLvsPW but I already have three unfinished fanfics that I started that I want to finish, and it’s not even the only ace attorney or professor Layton story I want to write, I got tons of other stories I want to write! So I’m just gonna give one of my favorite piece of the story I came up without there and hopes that it will satisfy that part of my mind. (I wish I could just focus on one project but nooooo… I keep hyperfixatening on a lot of different stuff)

For a bit of context, I wanted to keep Phoenix and Maya a bit of a mystery in this reimagining, how and why they are in Labyrinthia is different than in the original story and is told how they got there later in the story, not at the beginning. Hence Phoenix’s new attire, it will take a bit more deductive reasoning to figure out that they aren’t from around here, trust between the Amaricans and the British team will be a bit more of a slow burn as a result.

As for why Layton started crying…. Phoenix had to learn the hard way that people are flawed by nature, even himself is flawed and can’t live up to his own unrealistic ideals (farewell my turnabout) so while he respects the Professor he keeps in mind that Hershel is a person just like him. Layton on the other hand is a man that has a lot of high expectations placed on him, from other people and even himself with his whole ‘gentleman’ thing. So when he hears those words, they are the kindest thing anyone has ever said to him in a very long time. He starts crying and doesn’t know why.

Any other fanfic writers out there feel free to use this interaction in any of your works. (Not just for these two)

[treatsf]

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Characters: Scout, Pyro

Genre: Angst / Hurt/Comfort, Character Study

Warnings: Drug Abuse, Heroin Addiction, Needles, etc.

Word count: 3.9k

Summary:

“Pyro had this odd, almost uncanny cat clock in their room, the kind that had those swiveling eyes and pendulum-swinging tails. Scout had never exactly liked it, but it wasn’t his room, so he never let himself make a fuss about it. But now, when was he spread out on the cold linoleum flooring of the other mercenary's room, the only sounds to distract him from his ailments being the quiet bubbling of boiling water, the drone of the ceiling fan, and the repetitive clacks of plastic striking plastic? He couldn’t tell whether he was relieved by the clock or driven mad by it.”

OR:

Scout, deep in a heroin addiction ripping him apart at the seams, goes to Pyro for some assistance.

[ohhcinnybuns]

As Sweet As Your Name - Day 2 ✨

Today is Day 2 of KE’s celebratory 300 kudos milestone. Below are potential spoilers for ASAYN. Thanks for reading!

Day 2 - Chuuya’s Bakery and it’s inspiration 💕✨

[ant1quarian]

Skeletons in your Closet.

FIRST CHAPTER IS HERE!!

Skeletons in your Closet - TheCrowBro - Undertale (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own]

The Sans x Reader with Anx, Error, Fatal, Geno and Crow (Birdtale Sans)!

[incorrectsibunaquotes]

We don’t talk enough about how love potions are canon in the Anubisverse

[bad-hellaverse-ideas]

Because I’m incapable of enjoying media normally…

I wanna share a conspiracy theory.

*puts on the tinfoil hat*

The existence of the upside down cross being a demonic symbol never phased me until they made Saint Peter into an actual character. Now it low key sends me.

Okay, for those who don’t know, I’ll explain the context. I’ve always had a big interest in symbolism and this one of my favorite little bits of trivia because many people don’t know this. (Which is probably the real reason why this is the case, but that’s the boring answer and I want an in-universe explanation. This not the blog for boring answers!!)

The upside down cross is used as a demonic symbol in media and modern Christian culture in the west. It is often associated with the Devil and disrespect of Christ. This appears to also be the show’s interpretation of the symbol as well due to it commonly being used in the background of Hell. I remember it from Kiki’s earrings and Alastor’s nun outfit.

And I would say “yeah it be like that.” However, originally it meant a different thing. The actual meaning of the upside down cross is meant to represent martyrdom and humility. It is called Saint Peter’s cross because it is associated with his death. He was sentenced to be crucified but requested to be crucified upside down as he deemed himself unworthy of dying the same way as Jesus. So for a long time it was holy symbol and even used in churches. Around the 18th-19th centuries it shifted into the meaning we know today thanks to people misinterpreting it (guys, it’s upside down so it’s opposite and therefore satanic), people using it for other things relating to Hell or whatever, and horror media popularizing it.

Okay, now for the conspiracy theory part

Peter isn’t wearing it. He wears a normal cross. Whenever we see crosses in Heaven, it’s always the normal one. Complete opposite of whenever we see it in Hell.

So, if he exists and is present while being presumably well liked by everyone…why is it still a symbol of Hell? Why is it not present in Heaven let alone on the guy it’s representative of.

I’ve made three explanations for this aside from the most likely true boring meta answer I mentioned before.

1) The symbol was never a thing in the hellaverse and instead was associated with demons since the beginning. But come on…you know that’s also a boring answer.

2) Demons started using the symbol themselves and gave it their own meaning as a way to express themselves and their culture. It’s entirely possible because humans started changing the meaning of the symbol and when they die, they bring their cultures to Hell. That’s probably why Hell has so many of their own equivalents to Earth creations.

3) Basically scenario 2 but with more of an unfortunate scenario attached to it.

We know Heaven is known to keep secrets from their own citizens, including higher ups. We also know that they don’t think highly of Lucifer despite the dude being pretty chill. So clearly this is a place with lots of propaganda and false narratives being told to people.

If demons did start reclaiming that symbol, it would inevitably be associated with Hell alongside the original meaning. Well…Heaven didn’t want any connection to Hell. They, or at least the higher ups, have a very paranoid and “Us vs Them” mentality. It isn’t uncommon these things to happen in real life when it comes to banning symbols. They’re powerful, they’re a way of spreading ideals and communication. Oppressive people want to take these things away from others. So…because the Elder angels or whoever calls the shots doesn’t like things getting watery…censorship go brr.

Heaven not only whitewashes history, but bans symbols associated with Hell as a way to continue to brainwash their population and keep them from questioning what goes on behind closed doors. Even if said symbol is representative of one of their own.

To cut off their access to learning what demons are ACTUALLY like. Keeping that symbol and others around leaves them vulnerable to curiosity and sympathy. They want a world where even the mere mention of Lucifer or any other famous demon is cause for some level of concern or awkwardness.

[235uranium]

speaking of fanfics that change ur brain chemistry please please read Faith for the second run by Senblades if you are even somewhat a persona 5 royal fan it is quite literally the best ng+ fic I've read and it's not even finished. the sumi characterization is so fucking good I cannot exaggerate that this is just excellent

[allylikethecat]

id be interested to read something about postpartum depression if you ever decide to write it!

Ooooo I currently have a very large collection of active WIPs and an even larger collection of fics I would *like* to write as well so I'm not sure *when* I'll get around to writing this concept, BUT I'm glad to hear I'm not the only one intrigued by it! I haven't seen it explored very much in fanfiction (at least not the fanfic I frequent) and I think it would be interesting as such a very real and very difficult / delicate topic. Because those are my favorite things to explore! Thank you so much for your interest and the support!! I hope you are doing well and that you have a wonderful weekend!

❤️Ally

[problematicpunks]

A NEW AO3 6TEEN COLLECTION INTENDED FOR OG/OLDER FANS 🔞

I don't know if literally anyone else will care or be interested in this, but I had the idea that it would be a fun challenge to write a smut-based story set in/heavily themed by every store in 6teen's Galleria Mall. We have such a varied and interesting playground of various stores in this giant story playbox. Like a never ending playground of settings and characters to play with, and all sorts of dynamics and kinds of stories can be told just by the kind of store involved. Is it an athletic romance story told between workers at the Penalty Box? Is it risky public play at the coffeehouse Grind Me? What do the patrons get up to in the dark at the Gigantoplex? There's just so much room to explore. So, I thought it might be fun to open it up to the entire fandom to tackle together!

Realistically, I know I'll probably still be doing this mostly by myself, but if you've ever been interested in writing these kinds of stories and have just been looking for a reason to start, it can be a fun thing for us all to build together.

I've started with 15 of the more iconic/prominent stores, with the hope to keep adding more in batches as entries get filled.

archiveofourown.org/collections/GalleriaMallNSFW

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 15: Literature Review

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Also on AO3

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Research Question (RQ) 1: What is the root cause of the following symptoms: accelerated heart rate (independent of physical or mental stress), unusual warmth in the general torso region, loss or redirection of mental focus?

Qi stared at his open journal, idly tapping his pencil on the table and propping his chin up with his free hand.

His visit to Dr. Fang had been fruitless. The doctor had insisted that he was perfectly healthy (though he firmly recommended that he sleep more). Aside from some odd squawking from the bird (“Oh, are you nervous, honey? Squark. It’s okay, don’t be scared. Awk! Just say it, dummy!”), he’d gotten nothing from the clinic. So he was back to square one, and without any help.

It had been at least two hours since he came back, and despite his usual morning dose of tea (plus an extra cup for good measure), he still couldn’t think of anything. He huffed a sigh, rubbing at his still-puffy eyes. Times like these weren’t uncommon; when he’d get stuck on ideas or designs with no discernable way forward. Usually he’d at least be able to walk away from the problem for a while and work on something else. But this time, getting stuck on a problem was causing a total mental blockade. His mind wasn’t able to produce anything, but he couldn’t bring himself to think about anything else, either.

At least the builder had picked up their blankets while he was out. Who knows how much worse his internal deadlock would be if he had to deal with them being here?

Qi sighed again and brought his pencil back to the page. He was hoping to tackle each of his questions in successive order, but perhaps with the mental block, he should consider multiple questions at once.

RQ2: How and why is the builder associated with the aforementioned symptoms?

Even though both his intuition and an overwhelming amount of circumstantial evidence pointed to them, he couldn’t just assume that they were the root cause. Needlessly blaming them for his problems would be poor practice and unproductive. Also, they would not take very kindly to that.

Perhaps, if he could aggregate any and all observational information he recalled about the builder, he could pinpoint something more specific that was causing his symptoms.

He drew a simple two-column table on the page, labeling the left side “Symptoms”, and the right side “Obs. abt Builder”.

The symptoms column was at least easy to fill out.

Accelerated heart rate (unknown cause)

Warm sensation in general torso region (esp. heart and stomach)

Unusual dreams?

Constant distraction

Disruption of normal thought patterns

Now for the harder part, the observation column. Not necessarily because Qi was lacking in information, but because he had absolutely no idea where to start. Well, maybe with the obvious ones…

Skilled, efficient builder

Regularly comes to research center for diagram requests, pleasantries, and stargazing

Semi-routine schedule; deviates according to demand

Amicable conversationalist

Willing to assist townsfolk for both large and small matters

Those were the basics; things that anyone with rudimentary pattern recognition could see. What about the less obvious things? Things that not everyone would be able to see, or at least not right away.

Skilled relic hunter

Shows interest in relics, science, and technology

Procures many data disks and power stones, often donates to research center

Proficient cook

Engaging storyteller

Creative thinker

His hand was moving faster now, coasted by momentum, writing out words before his mind could even process them.

Inquisitive

Observant

Generous

Proactive

Tenacious

Persistent

Courteous

Wonderful

Qi froze. What was that last one?

Wonderful

His eyes bore into the page, scanning the lines, seeing the grain in the paper where the graphite couldn’t quite mark. That was indeed his handwriting, calling the builder wonderful.  

He took his hands off the journal and reread everything he just wrote. The right column of the table trailed way past the end of the center dividing line, all the way to the bottom of the page and straight onto the next. He read over the extensive list from top to bottom, page to page, over and over. A frown grew deeper on his face the more times he read it. 

Maybe the problem wasn’t only caused by the builder. Judging by this list, perhaps it had something to do with Qi and his perceptions instead. This was getting complicated fast. Feeling a tad uneasy, he wrote down his next research question:

RQ3: What are my attitudes toward the builder?

Right as he finished dotting the question mark, his mind kicked into high gear, bringing forth memories of quiet nights and the smell of tea.

I find them reliable.

When they first arrived in town, they established themselves as a reliable builder within a week. Far more reliable than nearly every other member of the Commerce Guild. Even outside official commissions, he’d come to rely on them for other things, like relic excavation.

I’m curious about them. I find them intriguing.

They had always been a curious individual. How could he not be intrigued by someone who single-handedly managed to triple the output of the Commerce Guild in a month? That curiosity only grew when they started coming over to stargaze. He still had no idea why they decided to come. He’s not even sure if they knew, either. But what he did know is why he let them keep coming, week after week.

I enjoy their company.

Putting it down in writing caused an odd shift in his stomach. Hm. Qi quickly added that to the list of symptoms. But regardless, it was true. He hadn’t really spent too much time with anyone in Sandrock since he moved here, and what little time he did spend was usually limited to business. He thought that the builder would’ve just been another regular client to add to the roster. But soon enough, he found himself enjoying the company of another for the first time in years. So much so that…

I don’t want to inconvenience them.

The builder was always willing to do things for him. Building machines he designed for his own personal use, showing concern over his well-being, providing him with power stones and relics and nourishment, all without so much as a second thought. All of it was immensely helpful when added up over time. He wished there was a better way of expressing his thanks to them. The very least he could do was ensure their efforts weren’t wasted. The last thing he and his habits needed to be was an inconvenience.

I hope they retain a positive outlook of me.

Qi stared at the line. It shouldn’t have been a statement that dumbfounded him, but somehow, it did. It never really crossed his mind, he supposed. He was very aware of the last two statements, but for whatever reason, he never put two and two together. Indeed, he hoped that the builder thought well of him.

I feel at ease holding any conversation with them.

At first, he never cared much to talk to them beyond commission and research talk. But soon, they had started showing interest in astronomy, which gave him some motivation to converse more. He’d been more cautious when the topic of the Mobile Suit started to come up, nervous that he would be subject to mockery. But even with some light teasing at first, Qi quickly found himself comfortable talking to them about it. Not to mention how he so effortlessly divulged some of his earliest, most precious memories, something that he was pretty sure that no-one outside Mint and his family knew.

No matter what the subject was, even those that made other people’s eyes glaze over or those that were deeply personal, the builder always had an open ear and an open mind.

…But it wasn’t just in conversation, was it?

I feel at ease whenever I’m around them.

There were many stargazing nights where hardly any words were exchanged. A simple “hello,” maybe, but nothing else. Just the two of them, the stars, and the silence. And yet, he still felt the same way as he did when they were talking. Unrestrained and unrestricted. At peace and at rest.

Something clicked in Qi’s head. That felt…familiar, somehow.

His dream. He felt it there, too.

Because memories of dreams rapidly decayed soon after waking, he’d been mentally rehearsing the events in it ever since he woke up. But he hardly needed to struggle recalling that undeniable feeling of ease when they appeared. Not to mention, how it only managed to morph and amplify when they…when…

Qi swallowed.

RQ4: What kind of reactions do the builder and their behaviors trigger in me?

His heart pounded and his stomach churned. His grip on the pencil tightened, but still kept frozen in place. Somehow, someway, he knew the answer straight away without needing to put it into words. But nonetheless, the tip of the pencil met the page again and slowly wrote out the answer, plain and simple:

Ease

Fascination

Gratitude

Happiness

L

Qi furiously shook his head. No. Impossible. That wasn’t what it was. All these symptoms, these thoughts, it couldn’t be, they…

…were a perfect match, weren’t they?

With unsteady legs, Qi got out of his seat and numbly went over to his bookshelves. Shaky hands scanned the spines and flipped the occasional book open to check. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a medium-sized volume with a cool-blue cover: Refine My Heart, Build Our Love.

He’d gotten it a few weeks ago with his last book order. As for why he’d gotten it, he still wasn’t too sure. It was definitely for…research, though. Of course it was. He devoured the book in a single day when he got it. A perfectly decent novel, better written than some of the others he had in his collection (which were also purely for research, thank you very much). He’d hoped that through reading it, he’d figure out exactly why he felt compelled to get it, but no such revelation came.

He skimmed through it again, rereading different sections. As he relived the protagonist falling in love with their builder sweetheart, he caught glimpses of their thoughts and reactions. So many of them were similar to his symptoms: an odd fixation, funny feelings in the heart and in the stomach, bursts of exuberance… It was practically one-to-one.

And it didn’t stop with the protagonist, either. As his eye caught segments about their sweetheart, his mind couldn’t help but make some…choice substitutions. The attributes of the builder character started to morph in his head, transforming into features he was a little more familiar with.

Familiar bright eyes, familiar strong arms, the familiar curve of a familiar smile…

And a familiar voice, declaring their love to the protagonist in the sweetest whisper.

Qi snapped the book shut with clammy hands, heart pounding faster than ever.

But even so, that voice still echoed in his mind throughout the recesses of his memories, just as warm and honey-sweet.

“Aw, were you worried about me?”

“Hey. Thanks. That helped. A lot.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

“It feels nice to know that you’re thinking of me.”

“I’m glad you let me share that joy with you.”

“I…I care about you, you know?”

Another jolt spiked through Qi’s stomach. Last night…

He’d been so preoccupied with trying to remember and analyze his dream that the hazy, sleep-deprived memories of their conversation just before had completely drained from his memory. But the echoes of their voice suddenly dredged them back up, bringing them back into alarmingly clear focus.

He remembered how unsteady he felt, waiting for the builder to arrive, the sound of their footsteps signaling that his efforts for them hadn’t been in vain.

He remembered how angry they sounded when he explained the situation to them.

He remembered the unsteadiness only growing as he laid down, head lolling to the side.

He remembered how the edge in the builder’s voice and the fog in his mind drove him to admit his worries.

He remembered their smile and the absolute sincerity in their voice. How they quashed his greatest worry with a few simple words. And suddenly being awash in an emotion he had no idea how to describe or name.

It had flooded his nervous system with a most exuberant sensation, tingling all down his spine and into the very tips of his fingers. It stirred his stomach and pulled at his heart, as if determined to change his very anatomy. It stoked that unusual warmth inside him again, almost like a tactile glow.

And then, having spent the very last of its energy creating that incredible rush, his body finally succumbed to fatigue.

The last thing Qi could remember was drifting off into oblivion, cradled by warmth from within.

All that…to lead up to the present moment. Where Qi could finally put a name to what that unknown feeling was.

RQ5: What is the answer to all of the aforementioned research questions?

Pencil met paper, and Qi’s eyes met his long-awaited conclusion:

Love.

With the word finally solidified both on the page and in his mind, Qi felt a sense of release, despite his pulse still hammering. The rush of finding a difficult answer, of making a discovery…he knew it well. Although this time, it was compounded with…something else. He didn’t need to think through what it was.

Now that he had his conclusion, Qi just had one last thing to consider to wrap up this study: further work.

There was only one follow-up question to come from such a conclusion, which Qi threw up his arms and shouted into the empty research center:

“Now what?!”

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[just-a-gamer-daydeamer-girl]

More stuff from the PLvsPW rewrite inside my head. (Thanks @aceblaze01 for the name idea)

Here we have Phoenix Wright Nicolas and Mia Maya Fey, two completely normal Labrithan Citizens.

I am still learning how to draw ace attorney and Professor Layton characters. I swapped his eye colors cus it looks better.

For Nicolas I did my best to make his outfit remenestant of a modern day suit while staying period acrute. So I went with a vest, I thought there would be no pure white shirts in this time as well so the undershirt is a bit of a dirty white color. The main thing I had to think about was what could replace a tie? The most accurate thing would be a Cravat, but a normal one seems to fit better on someone who would oppose Nicolas, so I gave him one that was tied in a bow instead. Nicolas does his best to make sure his clothes are in good condition to be presented in, that’s why it’s difficult to see the repairs done to his clothes.

Mia was a bit trickier, I wanted her to have a different outfit then Espella, and commoners back in the day didn’t really wear purple. First I thought about giving her a yellow outfit (as it is complementary color) but ultimately I gave her a lavender color with the yellow undershirt. accuracy be dammed. I am happy I managed to make her hairstyle work while still being age appropriate. As well as some hints to her spiritual nature. She is also a bit dirtier than Nicolas due to her having a wild nature.

These two make their living doing odd jobs around Labyrinthia (at one time they were bakers and worked for Patty Eclair) they are a bit lost on what to do with themselves, as they hop from job to job, from goat milker to blacksmith helper, but nothing seems right. Who knows maybe they will find their calling sooner or later.

(Don’t worry they will still wear the aprons in the story!)

[jemichi90]

Now that there is no question about it - the homemade version of the story is way more interesting and fun than what we got in "canon" - I kind of want to get myself a few of these and put this alternate reality on display.

While I'm at it, you can also get these (and some other SW Rebels / Thrawn goodies) from my Redbubble store: https://www.redbubble.com/people/jemichi/shop

[afterthegreatunknown]

something set in my post-canon headcanons that may or may not be expanded on/rewritten in the future (i'm conflicted):

"there's now way he could have wander that far," mutters hector, walking down the sidewalk of the outdoor shopping center. he glances around, hoping to spot widdershins.

hector's stress level isn't as bad as it could be. that's because he knows where everyone else is at: the two-floored bookstore with the coffee shop inside it.

all of the quagmires were on the second floor together. duncan was seated in an armchair, reading a raymond chandler novel. isadora was browsing through the poetry section, scrunching up her face every so often. quigley was standing by the railing, flipping the pages of the newest edition of a cartography book he had before the fire.

fiona and fernald meanwhile, were on the first floor, in the coffee shop. fernald was doing his best to not glare at the poor nervous barista as he drank his coffee. fiona meanwhile, was laughing and talking, taking the occasional bite of her chocolate muffin.

hector thought about telling the two of the situation with their stepfather, especially fiona. out of the two, it's fiona who's keeping a close eye on their stepfather and his whereabouts.

but hector didn't want to worry them. and as said before, there's no way widdershins could have wander that far.

"i really hope he didn't went to that agua fresca vendor. as much as those drinks are absolutely delicious, especially the jamaica, the prices the vendor is selling them at isn't worth it." hector clicks his tongue as he readjusts the sun hat over his head. he peers down the sidewalk that is decently crowded with people, and-

"oy! haven't you heard of personal space or permission!?"

the shouting voice behind him has hector (and potentially others) quickly turning around. behind him in the not-to-far-away distance near the bookstore, is widdershins. in his right hand appears to be a jamaica drink.

widdershins' left hand - his left wrist, more exactly- is being grab by a stranger. the stranger is a man who is several inches taller than widdershins, as well as maybe older by a few years. the man is dress as if he should currently be at work in his office, not having fun at an outdoor shopping center.

the most standout observation though, is that the man is leering downward at widdershins. given widdershins' sudden exclamation, he's anything but happy. hector makes a dash towards them.

upon getting closer, hector can see and hear more of what is going on. the situation is more worse than hector thought from afar. the man is not just leering at widdershins. he's leering at widdershins with a smile that means one thing on the mind.

the man moves his face closer to widdershins. "here i though you couldn't get above a whisper."

widdershins attempts to break free of the man's grasp. "let go of me!"

"the pain can't be that bad. and why should i? i'm a man who can give you a good hell of a time, and not just with my hands."

"what-sir!" hector can now see widdershins' face is slightly flush.

"don't deny anything. you're more interested than you let on."

"are you that daft? can't you understand that i'm-"

"he's taken, sir." interrupts hector, deciding to stand right by beside widdershins. hector then places a hand on widdershins' shoulder. it's tense, no doubt because of the man.

widdershins blinks a few times. as the tension in his shoulder slowly leaves, widdershins gives a brief glance -and smile- at hector. "aye. i'm taken."

the man stares at them with some confusion. the man also unknowingly, slightly loosen his grip on widdershins' wrist. "there's no way you're with him. he's a mouse. a plain, boring mouse who looks like he wouldn't know how to use his mouth for any sort of recreation."

"well, you know what people say. looks can be deceiving." hector couldn't help but smirk at the man. hector admits this is rather fun; he hasn't acted like this in years.

the now flabbergasted man loosen his grip on widdershins even more. it's loose to where widdershins breaks free his left wrist. "now that we cleared everything up, will you please leave our sight before the situation becomes worse?"

"hey, now just wait a-"

widdershins quickly takes off the lid of the jamaica drink.

"my partner did warned you," says hector, feeling the smile on his face. "and he's a man who doesn't hesitate in decisions that i fully support."

"alright, alright! i'll leave, i'll leave!"

and the man quickly scurries off, making his away to the parking lot. when the man is a proper speck in the distance inside his car, widdershins gives out a laugh, and places the lid back onto the drink. he then hands the jamaica to hector.

"thank you for what you did back there. i don't know how to return the favor."

"i think it would mean being my fake boyfriend if i'm ever getting harassed. but you don't have to do that. we're not stuck in the organization's system of repayment anymore." hector looks down at the jamaica drink in his hand. "you also don't have to thank me by giving me your drink, widdershins."

"oh, that drink is yours," answers widdershins. "i bought it just for you."

hector quickly looks back up at widdershins. "but i didn't ask for it. and the price like i said before-"

"you used to drink these things back in the day. aye, and the way you went on about them as we passed the vendor has me thinking you been craving one more than you let on. price be damn! you deserve something nice, hector." widdershins then scratches the back of his neck. "granted, this treat can't be brought into the establishment because it's not water or a drink from the coffee shop. we're stuck outside until you're finish."

"that's fine by me. um...thank you, for the drink."

"you're welcome. now, are we just going to stand here? aye! we ought to rest our legs!"

they end up taking a nearby seat on a metal bench underneath the shade that is the building's shadow. as widdershins sighs and leans back against the bench to relax himself, hector removes the lid of the drink to takes a sip of the jamaica.

it's sweet and tart as he remembers it.