#something was just made by a human with no function and no will of it's own

[paaatchm]

Oofs doodles of my old au ig

Something kinda like a self insert? Idk

Sun and Moon didn’t exist without the mekanik… and the mekanik no longer wanted to exist without them…

And I just found some phrases or ideas of it in my notes app so I shall put them here lol:

- The robot men were advanced but really damaged, they didn’t get a single maintenance since they were created- so it took long enough to make them functional again…They are not the most popular animatronics in the plex… so meh, who cared?

- Sun - talked a lot and always laughed uncontrollably, wanted to play, so energetic around kids… adults however… not his favorite kind of human lol

- Moon - whispered things and phrases with no purpose at all… he just liked to mess around and be annoying lol

Several accidents happened and trust was not there yet

- Old security protocol from moon almost left the mekanik with no eye sight-, crisis he had where interpreted as bad behavior…

-WHILE SUN AND HIS PARTY PROTOCOL kept destroying the mekanik workshop with his finger fireworks… sigh

Those two robots hold a horrible past… but the mekanik knew how it feels to be broken and alone… he is different and they are too. The perfect match.

Something dangerous hides in their codes but at least they could face it… together? Right?

What was I thinking LMAO HAHAHA I made that au when the whole obsession for this two robots started… woah time goes really fast bruh…

I was a lil embarrassed about this in that time, so bare with me lol

I might never come back to it lol idk psss I’m not great with storytelling l just like to draw :v

[tarnishedxknight]

Caelen listened to all of "Lamont's" questions, smiling more and more as additional questions were piled on. Finally he put up his hand, "Woah, woah... one at a time, young man," he said with a good-natured chuckle. "Give me a chance to catch up." With that said, he began to think about the answers to all of the boy's burning questions.

"The sound of a struck blade might not always tell you where it is from, but it could very well tell you something about how it was made," he began. "Damascus steel, for example, that which is made by layering different types of steel onto themselves, sounds a great deal different than single alloy steel. Thicker blades will sound different than thinner ones. And sometimes, learning how a blade is made might tell you the culture it is from, though other aesthetics will surely do that as well."

On to the next question. "Oh, I flinch plenty well when I am burned, be sure of that. And I dare say that I burned myself often while apprenticing in my trade. Less so, now. But I am able to stand closer to fire and molten metal and for longer periods of time than those who are not used to such things. I have always been used to extreme heat. I grew up with it." He should not have said that, but it slipped out.

"Hmm... There could be many reasons for one to have callouses on the backs of one's knuckles. Certain professions may have them. Carpet layers, tailors, masons... Anyone who wears abrasive gloves and have an occupation where they are preforming manual labor for hours each day may have them. Opening and closing one's hand constantly within abrasive gloves can cause callousing there the fabric pulls taut." Caelen slipped on one of his thick gloves and opened and closed his hand a few times, showing how the fabric stretched over the knuckles. "Do that several hundred times a day and you too would have callouses."

He laughed at the next set of questions, nodding. "I have indeed had many strange requests, usually from more affluent patrons who can afford something whimsical and less functional to mount on their walls as mere decoration. It is funny you should mention a fish. Come here, I've something to show you," he said, waving at Larsa to join him on one side of the shop. He lifted a wrapped bundle off one of the shelves and laid it on a nearby table, unfolding the fabric to reveal two swords the blades of which were shaped... like sharks. "This client travels often, and he loves the sea. He asked me to make him a set of swords with a shark motif. These are not yet finished, and the designs need refinement, but this is the sort of whimsical request I sometimes get. He'll be picking them up the end of this week." He wrapped the blades again and put them back on the shelf.

Caelen was a bit saddened to hear the boy say he was the first adult who ever let him ask questions. "Surely that cannot be true...?" he asked. "Do you not have a mentor of some kind? I had one growing up. He encouraged me to ask questions. Children must learn to think for themselves, after all." His gaze unfocused a little just then. "I miss him..." he said with a hint of sadness before he shook his head. "Well, come inside if you still want something to eat. You too, Shadow."

The cat, upon hearing his name, stood from his reclined position and meowed enthusiastically. He knew that when the human spoke in that tone, food was imminent. The cat ran through a door in the back of the shop leading to Caelen's home.

Larsa did not expect to be unfrozen at all, let alone in the future. When he had snuck upon Gabranth's ship set for Pharos he did it to ensure the peace would be possible. The last thing he remembered was running towards fallen Gabranth and then... Light. (Marvel AU) - tarnishedxjudgement

@tarnishedxjudgement

Noah didn't have the same abilities and resources in this time period with which to inform himself of anything and everything that was going on around him. He was in the dark, most of the time, unless directly informed of things, a condition he hated. Being at the mercy of others he neither knew nor trusted for information was not a position he usually found himself in.

It was the reason he hadn't known about Drace being found after him until she was brought one day to the training compound. Inexplicably, after executing her in his own timeline, here she was again, seemingly from another. The entire experience was wholly jarring, but not nearly as jarring as losing his only son.

So often had Noah thought of Larsa in the months following his revival in this strange time. Thoughts invaded his peace, his sleep, his ability to function, until he found himself so erratic and unhinged that he did not recognize himself anymore. Even Drace found it difficult to comfort him, and she had always been a master of that feat. There was no closure to be had, no second chances, no going back... and that knowledge was eating Noah alive from the inside out.

But once again, information had been kept from him, and yet another arrival from Ivalice to the Avengers compound was neither expected nor necessarily wanted. Would it be another Dalmascan? Gods forbid a Rozarrian. And the way the people of this time seemed to think that all Ivalicians got along and would be happy to see each other was beyond irritating to him. Nevertheless, when he was specifically summoned to greet this newcomer, Noah begrudgingly left his quarters to do so.

What he saw... stopped him dead in his tracks. Within seconds, his expression betrayed him, and within a few more, he was on his knees, his legs giving way in disbelief of the sight that lay before him. It was little Lord Larsa, looking just as he did when last Noah laid eyes on him, perfect as can be.

He knew he should say something, but words betrayed him as well as his own legs had. Instead, he merely stared, the absence of his helm serving to display to the boy all the shock, confusion, and relief at seeing him standing there. Finally, he forced out the only two words he felt he could say without falling apart.

"My lord..."

[tcffantfu276]

The mission went sideways.

It was supposed to be recon. Quick in, quick out. But the gas that filled the old asylum wing wasn’t laced with anything standard. It didn’t knock Dick out, didn’t slow his motor functions.

It just… stripped away the walls.

Stripped away the carefully honed masks and left him flushed and pliant, humming with emotion. Open. Unfiltered.

By the time Bruce got them home, Dick was on the floor of the cave, sprawled between Bruce’s knees, his head resting—no, nuzzled—against Bruce’s lap.

He should’ve moved. Should’ve pushed Dick off. But Bruce didn’t.

He sat back in the chair like stone, gauntlets still on, cape pooled behind him, while Dick…

Dick looked like paradise found.

Cheeks flushed, lashes heavy over dazed blue eyes, lips parted in a drunk, sun-drenched smile like Bruce had just whispered I love you.

He hadn’t. God knows he hadn’t.

But he had said—

“You’re not leaving my side again, Robin.”

And that’s what did it.

That name. That claim.

Dick had gone still for half a heartbeat.

Then—like it struck something inside him and filled him up all at once—. A soft, crumpling sound, full-body, and immediately curled closer, breath catching like he'd been kissed.

Bruce watched the way Dick trembled, hips giving a tiny involuntary roll, face nuzzling further into his thigh like Bruce was warmth, safety, home.

“You okay?” Bruce asked tightly. His voice was all gravel, rigid in his throat.

Dick’s smile turned beatific. Soft and messy. Like Bruce had blessed him.

“You said Robin,” he whispered, voice syrup-sweet, eyes heavy-lidded and drunk. “Say it again…”

Bruce swallowed. “You’re compromised. You need rest.”

“M’fine,” Dick slurred gently. “Just… just love it when you call me that.”

The words landed like a punch.

“Love it,” Dick repeated, hands curling loosely near Bruce’s boot. He held it like an anchor, fingertips brushing the laces like he was petting it. “Love when you say my name like that. Like I still matter.”

“You always matter,” Bruce said before he could stop himself.

And fuck—

Dick’s eyes fluttered, cheeks flushing darker. His smile turned helpless. Drenched with affection. He looked up at Bruce like he’d handed him the moon.

Bruce’s hand—traitorous, treacherous thing—fell into Dick’s hair.

Dick shuddered.

His lashes fluttered and he actually arched into the touch, letting out the softest, most contented noise Bruce had ever heard from a human being.

“You’re flushed,” Bruce murmured, trying to distract himself. “Your temperature—”

“M’not sick,” Dick interrupted, dreamy and warm. “Jus’… you keep touching me.”

Bruce froze.

Dick smiled wider. His lips were pink. Kiss-bitten. His eyes were glassy, glowing.

“You’re touching me, Bruce,” he breathed, reverent. “And I don’t wanna move. Ever.”

“You’re high.”

“I’m happy.”

Bruce’s jaw ticked. His hand still hadn’t moved from Dick’s hair.

And now Dick was—purring wasn’t the word. Not really. But something inside him was buzzing, alive, and it made Bruce feel it in his chest like a second heartbeat.

“You’ve never let me,” Dick whispered. “Just… just be here. Just be soft. Just be yours.”

Bruce closed his eyes. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t let this happen. But Dick was there—at his feet, radiant and unraveled, looking like he’d burn the world for another stroke of Bruce’s hand.

“You’re my partner,” Bruce said quietly. “You always have been.”

Dick’s whole body stilled.

Then: a broken little gasp.

Then: collapse.

Head bowing, fingers trembling, he pressed his cheek harder into Bruce’s lap, like he could sink into him.

“Yours,” he whispered, “always yours. Say it again. Please. Please.”

“You’re mine.”

“Yours.”

“My partner.”

“Yours.”

Bruce looked down.

Dick looked younger. Brighter. Like the boy he once was, only now all grown up and beautiful and dangerous and so damn full of love.

He’d laid himself bare. Caged on the ground. Head in Bruce’s lap like it was the only heaven he’d ever known.

His body was loose now. Malleable. Not sexual—but offering. Worshipping.

Not because he had to.

Because Bruce had let him. Acknowledged him. Touched him.

“You don’t need to do this,” Bruce said, quiet.

Dick’s eyes shone. “But I want to.”

The words were heavy. Full of things unsaid.

Bruce curled a hand behind Dick’s nape. Pulled him closer.

“Then stay,” he murmured.

Dick smiled.

That fucking smile. All giddy and open and glowing.

Bruce had never seen anything so lovely.

“I’m yours,” Dick said again. Not a whisper now. Just truth.

“Always yours.”

[deceptibots]

"Can’t Sleep Without You" - Ratchet x Reader

“Too bad, you need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore.”

Prompt by @/creativepromptsforwriting 

Pairings -> Ratchet x Y/N

Warnings -> None

Genre/Theme -> fluff, teasing

Note -> n/a

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The med bay was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of monitors and diagnostic equipment. You sat perched on a crate, your knees pulled up to your chest as you watched Ratchet finish his nightly maintenance. He didn’t need to do it every night, but you knew it gave him something to focus on when the base was too quiet.

“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “it’s kind of unsettling how you can just keep going without ever needing to sleep. Don’t you get tired?”

He glanced at you, his optics flickering. “Cybertronians don’t need sleep the way humans do. Rest cycles are sufficient for our systems.”

“Yeah, but you don’t even rest,” you pointed out, stretching your legs out in front of you. “You just keep working until something breaks—whether it’s you or the equipment.”

His optics narrowed slightly. “I’m perfectly functional, Y/N.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, smirking as you hopped off the crate and walked over to him. “What about mentally? Emotionally? You ever give that a break, Doc?”

Ratchet sighed, his servos pausing mid-motion as he turned to face you fully. “I don’t need you psychoanalyzing me at this hour.”

“It’s not psychoanalyzing,” you said, grinning as you leaned against his workstation. “It’s called concern. You know, that thing people feel for other people when they care about them.”

“I’m aware of the concept,” he replied dryly, though the faint flicker of something softer passed through his optics.

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms. “Because I’m concerned that you’re going to work yourself into the ground.”

He huffed, turning back to his tools. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re stubborn,” you countered, stepping closer. “So, I guess we’re even.”

You reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. The motion made him pause, his optics flickering toward you again. “Seriously, Ratchet,” you said, your tone softer now. “You need to take a break. Just… shut down for a little while. Recharge. I promise the world won’t end if you’re not working for five minutes.”

He studied you for a moment, his frame relaxing slightly. “And what about you?” he asked. “You’re still awake, too.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one holding this place together,” you said with a small smile. “I just can’t sleep.”

“Why not?” he asked, his tone curious but cautious.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping for a moment before you met his optics again. “Because you’re not there,” you admitted quietly.

Ratchet blinked, his servos stilling completely. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I’ve gotten used to you being nearby,” you said, laughing softly. “And now, when I try to sleep somewhere else, it just… doesn’t feel right.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he muttered, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

“Maybe,” you said, shrugging. “But it’s true. So, too bad. You need to sleep here now. I can’t seem to sleep without you anymore.”

His optics widened slightly, his frame stiffening as if he didn’t know how to process your words. “Y/N, that’s—”

“Sweet?” you interrupted, grinning. “Adorable? Completely unexpected from someone as grumpy as you?”

He groaned, dragging a servo down his faceplate. “I was going to say ‘unnecessary.’”

“Too bad,” you said, stepping back and crossing your arms. “You’re stuck with me now. Deal with it.”

Ratchet sighed heavily, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am,” you said, smirking.

He glanced at you, his optics softening slightly. “I suppose there are worse humans I could be stuck with.”

“Was that a compliment?” you asked, feigning surprise.

“Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, though the faint flicker of amusement in his voice didn’t go unnoticed.

When the silence stretched out between you again, it wasn’t awkward or tense. Instead, it was warm, filled with unspoken understanding. You sat back down on the crate, leaning against the wall as you watched him work.

“Seriously, though,” you said softly, your eyes starting to drift shut. “Don’t stay up all night. The base needs you. I need you.”

He glanced at you, his frame stilling for a moment before he turned back to his tools. “I’ll rest. Eventually.”

“Good,” you murmured, already half-asleep. “Because I sleep better when you’re here.”

As your breathing evened out, Ratchet turned to look at you again, his optics dimming slightly. For a long moment, he stood there, silently watching you sleep.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, though the warmth in his tone betrayed the words.

Finally, he set down his tools, his frame relaxing as he leaned back against the wall. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he found himself agreeing with you: it was easier to rest with you nearby.

[presepohne]

❝ HEARTBREAK LIQUOR ❞

Professor!Simon Ghost Riley x Photographer!F.Reader

cw: none, just simon's monologue

[masterlist]

oo— memories that are blurry now

Time is currency.

Words are sacred.

Memories are holy grounds for the ruin we built ourselves upon.

Grief is the altar where we offer it to the absent god we always hope is there.

Certainly, life has taken away most of the good things I had between my palms. Light ebbing in my venus when I was a teenager— a young adult who thought he had enough time to know this world, to love, to live, to give without taking.

But that's the myth that ruins our conception of our very own existence on this planet. Whatever we are, human as we have named ourselves, the higher being with intelligence that surpasses all the organisms and their bodily functions— we surely are the dumbest fucks out there.

Good things have always got taken away— so I stopped naming them. Naming them made them real, acknowledgement made them exist within my orbit and the gravity of my melancholy could easily rip apart any happiness that would come my way.

You see mate, I had learnt this the easiest way— the way no one has to suffer, the way it has always worked through your bloodline into you. The relentless exhaustion that pushes me down, the strangeness that surrounds me when people recoil from my sheer presence in their room, an intruder, a predator, something unholy that forgets to name itself.

Something too tired to name itself because naming makes it real.

Mad real.

So when she came by and looked at me with those hopeful eyes, my blood boiled. It burned my skin, made me jealous, made me think that all this melancholy I carried like a vessel not chosen well enough for life went to waste. It made me feel useless, she made me feel— useless but fuck she was good at making me feel as if I'm human again and not just grief and anger emulsified.

The hope that shimmered under her skin and the way she rubbed it off on me, made me stand back— take the last seat in the performance of her life as I tried to watch by the sidelines, but Gods, Gods her orbit was so small and so broken yet— so strong that it pulled me in like some fragments comet that needed something or someone to steady him down.

It made grief feel like sour milk and optimism ruined this perfect cover of hopelessness I carried, that made people flinch.

You see, war and blood that lived under my nails like a second skin had successfully sucked the marrow out of my bone leaving a hollow human who was good for his existence only in dreams— moths that fed on silks and insects. An infected gnat that made your skin buzz— the forbidden dream.

I tried, I really did— to keep myself away from her so that I don't ruin her because in her drama— her broken stage and melodies that stung and struck cords that didn't need to be played with, she was the moth and I was the flame.

And for once I wished, I wished my flame would go out before her's.

[estcaligo]

Thoughts about worldbuilding and magic in Twisted Wonderland

Of course, twst is just a gacha game - not some big literary masterpiece. But still, what distinguishes a well-made fictional world from a poor one? We all know examples from literature of good fantasy, and we can also tell when something just doesn't add up in the story.

It all comes down to one extremely important detail - a fictional world must have rules (the clearer, the better) by which it functions.

Otherwise, it falls apart. No one will believe in it.

For twst's world to have more depth, I'd like certain rules to be more clearly defined.

The biggest trap many authors fall into when creating a world where mages and regular people coexist is this question - how? What stops mages and magical beings from seizing power? From abusing their abilities?

Power.

Anyone who believes that "everyone lives in harmony and happiness just because :D" is simply naïve.

In the real world, anyone who has more power will inevitably try to gain more control - whether physical, moral, or economic, military, etc. That's human nature. If we look at history, that's how it always was. That's how it is now.

So the question is - what stops mages from taking over? If there are any limiting factors - pacts, treaties, threat of execution - then how do they work, and why are mages afraid of them?

Isn't anyone among the non-mages worried about the fact that someone in the crowd could randomly set someone on fire? Magical terrorism? Put bank employees under hypnosis and rob everything?

It was only stated that it is "considered rude" to use magic on someone without consent, but that just sounds unserious. And we know there are laws and special organizations that control the overuse of magic. I would like to know more about those.

There's also the Mage's License. Does it give more authority over mages who don't have one? Over non-mages? Who can get one and who can't? All mages? If not, then why?

Magic and Technology

I find it endlessly funny that on one hand, we're studying in a college with flying brooms, scrolls, ghosts, and spells. And on the other hand, we have social media, cars, idol groups, and artificial intelligence. I wish we had more details on this balance.

What comes to mind is the poart from Book 4 when Ace and Deuce travelled to Scarabia - which is in a pocket dimension - by regular transport, not magic mirror. Also Ignihyde, Idia and Ortho, Styx - technomancy exists but I wish we had more information about it.

Historical Events

From Lilia's dream, we learn about at least one war that happened between humans and fae. Naturally, there were more wars in Twisted Wonderland, not necessarily between races, but in general.

How often were mages used in those wars? Because it's obvious that an army that includes mages will clearly have an advantage over one that doesn't.

We know there are things like "anti-magic armor", so most likely there are other ways to defend against magical attacks too. It is still produced in modern days? Most likely yes. Why? Are humans afraid of mages still?

Rarity

It was mentioned that only 10% of human population in Twisted Wonderland can use magic (at least at a basic level), but still... Would one basic-level mage be stronger than, say, 50 non-mages? Or would they just get shot?

Lilia said that magic was originally a miracle born from a strong wish in one's heart. So I was wondering - can magic manifest in someone if they wish for it strongly enough in twst world?

It was said that you must be born with an aptitude for magic, but how is that determined? Even if both of your parents are mages, that doesn't guarantee you'll have magical ability.

What exactly triggers the appearance of magical powers then? And why is it so rare? What's the statistic for other races?

Also, we know that in the past, people feared mages and tended to avoid them (calling when "witches and wizards")

Why did that change? What caused it? Or are they still feared? What is the public opinion on marriages between mages and non-mages? Are there many people who share Rollo's views?

We need more clear laws of Twisted Wonderland world.

In successful fantasy works - for example, in C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia - there is a clear boundary between the magical world and the ordinary one. This allows for logical separation of the two aspects and avoids logical inconsistencies.

Another example of good fantasy (the best in my humble opinion) - Tolkien's works. Magic is simply part of the world, but there is no such thing as scientific or technological progress, which prevents conflicting elements and allows focus purely on the magical aspect of the said world.

A bad example of a fantasy world is Rowling's Harry Potter. There, magic coexists with the ordinary world… just because. And all the above questions are applicable. It's illogical. I don't believe it.

Some explanations in twst that I am personally satisfied with:

Both flying and potion-making (some aspects of it) require magic, and Yuu relies on Grim for this at NRC.

Magic stones (or wands or any other object) are not required for casting magic, but they help make the process safer for the mage.

Negative emotions speed up the accumulation of "blot" (I like this one because it reminds me of ancient beliefs - viewing negative emotions as physical substances. I'll elaborate in a separate post).

Magic can be present in wild nature, where things like stones, etc. absorb magic and become magical items themselves.

Transformation potions are outlawed. However, potions for merfolk not only seem to be legal, but are also distributed for free by a special organization that helps merpeople adapt to life on land. They need to be consumed quite frequently, and I like the detail that Floyd's mer features started to show up because he forgot to drink his potion. Nice detail.

I also like the lore about holidays in the universe - it always makes the world feel more "real".

There's more, but I'll stop here for now.

[tass3l]

heartbreaking! this man got attached to a character who is doomed no matter what

[astro-b-o-y-d]

I've been thinking on how to incorporate Bill's mutation into Triangulum, and I'm slowly reaching a point where I think I might just have to say 'It still exists but he's also IN the third-dimension at this moment in time, so it's really just doing the same thing it would if he were back in his home dimension.'

Which is a longwinded way of saying 'Having a mutation where you see into a third-dimensional plane and then being plopped into a dimension that exists in a three-dimensional plane makes said mutation kind of redundant.' Which sounds terrible, because the last thing I want to do is get RID of that mutation.

But also it's like. I didn't. It's still there. But also it's not so much a mutation for a dimension that has more than two dimensions. Sure, there's probably other ways to tweak it so he can see into other dimensions, play with the fact that to US (the audience), Gravity Falls and everyone in it is still in a 2D plane of existence.

But in the literal sense of 'he can see into the third dimension while the rest of his species cannot', I can't really find a fun way to twist that mutation into something that remains a mutation in a three-dimensional dimension. In his dimension, it's a mutation. In ours, it's just...normal.

[fagulaa]

im a grown ass man and im coming up with wolf 359 ocs. dont look at me

[inorganicorgan]

Uhhhhhhhhh mandbela catalgoue correee

I spent a hot minute blending the ghost frequency into the music lol

[hibernating-stag]

Oh interesting... I do remember Robo-Ky being referred to as a "doll" a lot before, particularly how he (and his out of commission brethren) were described in Zappa's part in the drama CDs

I didn't put two and two together that a "robot" wouldn't be as common of an concept anymore, especially pre-Xrd and before they started being used in the military again.

[pitch-pearl-void]

Hi, Hey, Hello!! Couple of questions here,

1. What was Phantom wearing in 'A Little Taste'? (This is for fanart purposes. Was it his suit? A modified version of his suit? Casual clothing?)

2. Would u like to see the sketch ver of the fanart? idk when i'll finish it (or if it will even be done this century) but if it gets done, it'll probably b posted on ao3 - Which leads to the final question,

3. Would u mind if I gifted the fanart to u on ao3??

Thank u in advance, love ur prose(lovely, well-balanced blend of characters' thought and action!!) and have a nice day~

Oh. My gosh................

YES

YES OF COURSE

All the above!

Wait no no I can't just squirrel about, answer time!

1. He was wearing ratty, casual clothing because my poor boy is homeless. Perfect target for the GiW. Unlike Sam who comes from a wealthy vampire family, or Vlad who has been running a business empire for centuries, Phantom was a runaway when he was turned. His resources are limited, consisting of mainly shelters and the occasional theft.

(If I were to give this AU more attention, part of the plot would include him developing a father/son relationship with Mr. Lancer over time, but that's a whole separate thing xD)

2. I LOVE SKETCHES

I have a friend on discord who mostly shares sketches because adhd won't let them finish projects, and trust me, I EAT THAT SHIT UP

3) Mind? Mind?? Who would mind that?! I'd love an ao3 gift! Fanart of a fic is such a high compliment oh my god gdjjfnfjc

(And now that I'm out of questions to answer I'm reduced to being shy and flustered again hdidjjff thank you so much for the compliments at the end! I'm just bjjfkfkfkc)

[outlying-hyppocrate]

positively despising how my consistent personality is leaving me and how i resort to such strange lies

[veganagenda]

fascinating new argument has entered the animal rights field: "it's okay to breed animals for a specific human-related purpose over a long period of time and then continue exploit their bodies for that purpose even when they are no longer obligated to because they enjoy fulfilling that purpose. because we bred them to enjoy it"

Not to sound like I was raised by protestants, but I think those kids who argue that it's animal abuse to put working dog breeds to work doing the tasks they were bred and born for have simply genuinely never encountered the concept that they, too, could be genuinely happier if they could do work they found wortwhile and enjoyable. Like engaging in useful and constructive activities might genuinely make life better than a life of doing absolutely nothing because nobody's making you do anything.

[hernymills]

wait i was wondering if Dr. Gaul's name was in reference to Charles de Gaul, like gaulism, like 'if we want to avoid another wwii we have to have a strong france not reliant on allies' guy (so like, nationalism. just specific)

so like i googled just "gaul" to see if that was what came up or something else

gaul was an ancient way of referring to like that whole region? like france and others? like charles de gaul leader of france in ww2 was named like

Chuck from Here?

[bmpmp3]

i keep choosing like the hardest songs possible to try to learn to make midis for vocal synth covers on. why do i keep doing this to myself. like is that reverb doubling back creating noise, vocal doubling, or a harmony. if its a harmony i'll explode on impact