#this is so very out of place from like

[slayerlevampire]

Technically Untitled - Almost got burned at the stake for this one lads

Idk a very short written thing I made a while ago about Robotnik becoming a vampire

Or something like one anyway

Since everyone is posting about their monster AU's around here aidnakxnskxj

It was a dark and stormy night, perfect for dramatics, dark magic, and mad science... Even if the "storm" was actually heavy snowfall in the form of a blizzard. Ivo Robotnik delved deep into his own writings, his notes scattered across a table as he took his own advice from each paper. As delicate as this process was, he was frantically scrambling to get it right this time, as it would be his last chance. The power to unlimited life came with human sacrifice, he knew that early on in his work, so with his failed attempts so far? The nearby village had finally figured out what was going on despite how much of a recluse he was in the woods. He knew they would be here by morning, so this was his last chance to get this right before he was most certainly taken and executed.

His human sacrifice was currently tied up, wrapped round-and-round in rope to keep them as still as possible. Alive of course, but unconscious by virtue of getting hit really hard on the head.

From tales of magic to science he's tested to be rooted in fact; he finally found that he compiled the key to eternal life. At least, a form of it anyhow. There was no way of truly knowing if this method was the most effective, but he figured that if it worked, it didn't really matter as long as he wasn't making any demonic deals. As easy as making a deal with some otherworldly being might be, there was no way he'd let himself be overshadowed by or even as much as connected to someone more powerful than him, nor would he allow himself to be put in a debt so deep.

This reasoning of his meant that it required him to do a little extra work, crafting his own demonic sigils rather than using ancient ones, so that he could make his own life rather than summoning an existing demon. Not to mention his dabbling into the science of lightning and its electric properties was something that most people this day and age thought was just things to do with deities of sorts, but he knew better. Variations of demons and maybe even angels might exist - along with other "supernatural" entities such as spirits, fairies, or werewolves - but gods, at least of the "all-powerful" kind, were nonexistent. No, this electricity from the sky was the work of natural forces that could be tapped into by less natural means. It just took skill and know-how, both of which Robotnik had acquired.

He took his various items outside into the blizzard, setting up a large circle in the snow of a cleared out area from the forest, his sacrifice in the middle. It pained him inside a bit to be letting his notes get wet from melting ice, but if this worked, he'd have plenty of time to rewrite them anyway. He followed his own instructions, drawing his symbols in the snow, cutting deep enough down to trace them into the icy mud below. Lightning struck a tree not too far off in the forest as he was doing this, almost as if it was a warning, but he ignored it and kept his concentration, mumbling an incantation that was honestly just him repeating a general idea of what he wants to happen. A form of manifestation, if you will.

Once he's got his magic items carved and laid out, he brings his human sacrifice out and in the circle. Then, he looks up to the sky, and counts between lightning strikes. This is the part he's yet to ever get to… And may or may not be the end of him here. So, admittedly, even through his intelligence and certainty that this was going to work, he was still just a tad nervous.

1… 2… 3… 4…

1… 2… 3… 4…

1… 2… 3… 4…

1… 2… 3… 4…

With each set of numbers, he drank from a new vial, each tasting more bitter or rancid than the last. It was like a waltz, counting the time between crashes of thunder and flashes of light until the electrical storm was dancing around his very circle, making it impossible to hear his own chanting even as he raised his voice louder and louder for nature itself to shy away from. The air was full of static, hot like fire despite the torrents of frozen rain that continued to pound down harder on the two forces of life on the ground. Robotnik raised his dagger high as sweat poured from his brow, melting into the clean snow on his face and running down into the earth, and he soon plunged the blade down dramatically into the chest in front of him. The sacrifice's waking scream from the burst of pain wasn't heard by anyone, not even Robotnik himself as the desire for immortality burned in his eyes while he watched the life drain from the only other pair around.

He pulled the dagger back out, and before he could hesitate or second guess himself, ran the side of the blade along his tongue before the air could freeze the blood or make his mouth stick to the metal. Then he plunged the dagger into the ground and raised his arms to the sky, calling out one last incantation to the clouds above.

That's when the first lightning strike hit the inside of the circle, hitting him directly. The pain was indescribable, like he should have been ripped apart from the very impact, but entirely energizing at the same time. The burn was searing just afterward, as if he had been in a fire for hours in the span of a second.

A second strike, hotter than the last, and Robotnik felt his body convulse as he fell backwards into the snow. He couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't hear, could hardly feel.

A third strike, and he knew no longer. Nothing but electricity and heat as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Into death.

~~~

Everything was too much. Way too much.

Robotnik was already trying to pull himself off the ground, but the snow piled on top of him was oddly sticky. The wind was too loud. Smells too strong. Everything was heavy. He couldn't have possibly been out for long, it was still dark out. However, he may have woken up just in time: The torches and lanterns were already sputtering in the distance. He had to try his best to block out as much as possible. No matter how weak he felt, how overwhelming it all was. He had woken up from a short visit from Death themself, and he was already on the run. He could hardly lift them, but his pure determination got him to pick up what was left of his notes after being in the pounding blizzard so that he could stumble his way back to his house. He needed to hurry, but he needed to change, as he wasn't getting anywhere far like this.

He slammed and barred the door behind himself, and had to continue pushing forward to refrain from just sliding down the wall.

He didn't even realize he wasn't breathing. Wasn't blinking. Wasn't shivering despite the cold, but his hands trembled as he shoved as much of his life's work as he could into a bag. That's all he cared about. No other possessions mattered other than that of his notes. He could hear the mob approaching as he shed his outer layers of heavy clothing, only having enough time to throw on a dry coat before banging sounded at his front door.

A lantern crashed through his window as he lifted his bag over his shoulder, and when the oil spilled it didn't take long for the old, wooden floors to catch fire, along with all the other flammable objects that were nearby. He went to escape out the back door, but it was blocked. They had trapped him inside.

At least, they thought they did, but Robotnik wasn't about to let that stand. He sidestepped what he could around the fire to make sure it didn't catch onto him as he made his way to a ladder, climbing up it and to the roof above in order to escape. It was hard to open with all the snow, but he managed to climb out and look around. His little house here is mildly surrounded, in a sense that if he hits the right spot, he could probably book it. So, that's what he aims for - knowing they'll gather too close if he waits too long - and hopes the snow is deep enough to break his fall somewhat as he jumps from the quickly burning building.

He hits the ground harder than anticipated, pain shooting up his legs, and thus he collapses then and there with all the rest of the pain he has going on. He shakily tries to stand, but before he knows it he's being lifted off the ground and slammed into the wall, the heat from the fire inside burning at his back. He grits his teeth as the man who lifted him up shines a lantern near his face, illuminating both of their angry faces. Though the anger on the man's face changes swiftly to one of disbelief, even mild fear.

"Глаза демона!"

The eyes of a demon.

While the man was distracted, Robotnik took the opportunity to reel back and send a punch as hard as he could muster, which - surprising even himself, with how weak with pain he's been feeling - manages to knock him reeling, dropping Robotnik in the process.

That's when he could smell it.

Another look up from both parties, and that's all it took. The sight of fresh blood pouring from the man's nose, less than a meter away.

Everything else seemed to go hazy, time felt slower. All he could think about was the warm, red flow of life.

Something he no longer had for himself.

Everything went out of focus. Everything, including what was right in front of him.

When he came to, the mob was gone. The snow was red. He was covered in red.

Robotnik felt temporarily satisfied.

[clown-owo]

been replaying the Portal series I think this is where its heading

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok? See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. [Fit tries to lasso Pac] You're coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, we don't have time to be gay right now.

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

-

Pac: I'm just here to say goodbye to you, Fit.

Fit: Goodbye? We're not– we're gonna be fine, we're going to get out of here, don't worry.

Aypierre: Yeah, don't worry!

Pac: I know, but like– I will sleep until the end, you know? I will pass through this moment sleeping, man. I won't be able to be awake for the moment.

Fit: [Laughs] You know, it's– I mean, if that's how you wanna go, but– I mean, that- I mean, isn't that bed kind of like.... I don't know, it's–

Pac: No no, I will be staying on the sofa, you know, I will be staying on the sofa.

Fit: Oh the sofa. Ok, that's a nice sofa! Yeah, that is a pretty nice sofa.

Pac: Yeah, it's a nice sofa right? No, yeah– I'm going to stay on the sofa, you know? So, since I will be going Fit... [Pac starts tossing Fit all his items]

Aypierre: [Not paying attention to their conversation] Is that bigger cell? I don't think it's a bigger- biggest one.

Fit: Oh... Thank you Pac, thank you.

Pac: Everything you need to survive, ok?

Fit: Wow.

Aypierre: Wow.

Pac: And if you need this one also, maybe, who knows? [Throws him more items]

Fit: Ohhh, well hey– just take this to remember me by, ok? [Tosses him a photo of himself – the same one Aypierre was carrying all day yesterday]

Pac: [Laughs] Ok, I will sleep holding the picture you know, like this. You know, I will dream about you, Fit. And I hope this is gonna be good dreams. I see you in the other side. Good luck, my friend.

Fit: The other side... Yeah, you know, yeah, we– we– you know? It's been an honor, Pac. It's been an honor, you know?

Pac: Yeah, for me too, you know? Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok?

Fit: Ok.

Pac: See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: I will sing your praise– Oh yeah, hey– [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can't just say "big boy" and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. You're coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You're coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!

Fit: Sorry, there's–

Pac: I'm sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There's homosexual activity going on Mouse, don't worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, you guys– we don't have time to be gay right now, come on. There's no time.

Pac: No, there's no time! Oh, goodbye Fit...

Fit: Ok, c'mon, no no no, come on, we got this we got this!

Pac: Goodbye Fit, I'm sorry!

Fit: [Laughs] Oh no...

[flashhwing]

i love the kirkwall squad because they all have such protagonist energy. any of them could be the main character. except for varric but he did that on purpose. any of the rest of them could be the main character

[ruporas]

pet names

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. Vash overhears a conversation from a nearby table at the restaurant they're seated at, the unnamed character saying, "Honey, can you pass me that?" Their partner says, "Sure thing, angel." The unnamed character begins again, "Say, did you hear the news from earlier?" In response, "Haven't got the chance. Tell me about it?" Vash smiles fondly, listening in as the conversation continues, "You'd never guess, babe! The runner--" Abruptly, the conversation is cut in by a "Needle nogging", Vash's expression changing instantly and no longer smiling. The panel cuts to Wolfwood who smiles lop-sidedly, pointing at Vash's plate and says, "If you're not going to eat that. I'll take it." Vash grabs the plate and holds it away and says, "Mine" while Wolfwood clicks his tongue. He pauses for a moment before asking slowly, "Hey, is there any reason you don't use cute names with me?" Wolfwood lifts a cup of water up to his lips, looking confused. He says, "I do though." Vash cuts in, "Spikey and needle nogging aren't cute!"

Vash continues with a shy expression, "Since we're together now..." he trails off and Wolfwood picks up, taking a sip of water as he says thoughtfully, "Together, huh..." Vash pauses in his sentence with a look of confusion before reaffirming, "We are together, right?" Wolfwood nods, "Right." Vash says, "Right", before continuing, his shy expression returning, "Then you can use stuff like... honey or-" Wolfwood cuts in this time and says casually, "You're not a honey though." A panel cuts of Vash's expression changing again, shocked. He asks, "Huh? Then who is?" Wolfwood says immediately, "Milly." Vash exclaims, "Milly?!" Wolfwood continues, "She's sweet, just like honey." A bubble pops up of Milly smiling as Wolfwood speaks. Vash continues, "Okay, true... What about sweetpea?" Wolfwood responds, "Kids. Kids are sweetpea. And pumpkin too." Vash continues, "Okay... What about baby?" Wolfwood says without hesitation, "Meryl." Vash exclaims again, "Meryl?!" Wolfwood explains," Noisy, like a baby." Vash mutters, "Hey, that's a bit mean..."

Vash continues persistently, "Then what about babe?" Wolfwood shrugs with a grin, "You are not a babe." Vash looks at him, slightly frustrated before exclaiming with flushed cheeks, "Then what am I?!" Wolfwood points at his hair and smiles softly, "I told you. You're the one and only needle nogging." A panel closes in on Vash's widen eyes, cheeks still red, pausing before he ultimately resigns, planting his face into the palms of his hands and muttering, "I give up..." At the same time, Wolfwood sneaks and grabs the plate of food that Vash left unattended, saying in response, "You get up cuaght up about the dumbest things, y'know that?"

The comic then picks up again to a jump in time, after they've left the restaurant. Wolfwood muses to Vash, "You said all that about the names earlier, but I don't hear ya using them for me." Vash looks to him excitably and asks, "Did you want me to?" Wolfwood looks at him with an uncertain expression, "Not really, but I guess I am curious..." Vash beams, "Then let's try some, okay... dear?" He fingerguns Wolfwood with a grin, little hearts surrounding him. Wolfwood just looks at him neutrally and says, "Okay," while thinking to himself, "Cute..." Vash exclaims, "So unenthusiastic!"

The next comic picks up at a different time, but on the same theme of pet names. Vash hugs Wolfwood and says to him, "Thank you, my love." A panel close up of Vash steadily opening his eyes before he sees Wolfwood's reaction up close, his eyes glancing away, cheeks flushed, and the smoke out of his cig forming soft hearts as he mutters, "Sure..." In a smaller, cartoonish style, Vash has a comedically exaggerated expression of shock and widened eyes as he grips Wolfwood by the shoulders while Wolfwood still wears a shy expression. He then nudges his head to the side of Wolfwood's with a close eyed happy smile, hugging him close and says, "So, there WAS one you liked!" Wolfwood, still looking away, but now with an irritated and embarrassed expression, grumbles, "Shut up..."

The final image is a short sequence. Wolfwood is working on something, spacing out as he does, while Vash from off screen calls for him, starting with "Babeeee? Babe? Beautiful? Honey? My love?" All of which gets no reaction from Wolfwood. Vash pauses for a moment before piping up again, "wolfwood?" Wolfwood turns around, finally noticing that Vash was calling for him and asks, "What?" A box at the bottom of the page says, "Unresponsive to anything other than his names." END ID]

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: dismemberment / ]

I think a lot about how Leo’s rescue could have easily ended in him losing a leg as the portal snaps shut on the Krang still clutching the limb, or, alternatively, only having Leo’s right arm make it out, still held dearly in his brother’s hand as the rest of Leo is left behind. (The latter hits even harder, as it directly parallels his future self in the worst of ways.)

I think a lot about how so many things could have gone wrong during the course of the movie with even a little bit of a change, but it really is harrowing how much of a coin-flip the entirety of the Prison Dimension rescue was.

[ashipiko]

<3 post sleepover mornings

[nemurian]

@bigboobyhalo Your sacrifices have been accepted by the great Dapper. I'm so sorry but I don't think you'll be getting them back anytime soon. Or ever.

[mondaymelon]

me n who ?!?!?!? ME N WHO GUYS ...

picrews: 1 2 3 4

mking silly girlfailure picrews are the only thing saving my sanity which took quite a number of blows today ( its hanging on by the measliest thread but i think its better to consider it go n e )

anyways i wanna make a silly tag game so we are going to make a silly tag game because in the wise words of martin luther king i think wait it was probably gandhi "be the change you wish to see in the world" arent i so cool guys im taking like the first step forward and :stareyes: ahahah

(no pressure) tags !! 🏷️ : @cienxpidity, @ilyuu, @anonbinaryweirdo, @suntoru, @tuesdayberries, @lume-nosity, @mrcrazyvillainvillainn, @ceneid, @amalythea, @xianyoon, @aeon-yao, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @auroratumbles, @snobwaffles, @the-white-void + everyone i probably forgot to tag (SPS IM SORRY) n anyone else whod like to join !!

[c6jpg]

Ever heard of the Hexenzirkel? As the spooky name suggests, it’s a secret society. Once upon a time, it even challenged the Anemo Archon himself. But he replied: “Let us make music, not war, and resolve our conflicts through song.” From then on, the mages would only ever convene in the woods, in the skies, or on the edges of cliffs.

At these tea parties, they discussed their stories and secrets and resolved their differences, as the tea and cakes bore witness to their pledge never to fight amongst themselves.

[good-beanswrites]

My thoughts on how the Milgram mv machine works based on the evidence we have:

(I know there’s been discussion about where exactly the interrogations take place, but wherever they are,) the prisoners are made to sit in a specific chair near the wall that houses the machine.

It’s ordinarily hidden, but the wall panels shift aside to reveal it when the mechanical sounds play in the dramas. As well as the walls moving, the chair transforms to restrain the prisoner and attach whatever it takes to access their brain. The fact that none of the more frightened prisoners try to run or break it makes it seem like they physically cannot. This is why Fuuta sounds so panicked, and why Amane is suddenly helpless in front of Es in their T1 vds.

(My mind conjures very classic sci-fi mad scientist machines with wires, pipes, lights, nodes, needles, etc, but I’d love to hear how other people visualize it.)

In some vds (maybe all? I’d need to check,) you can hear Es take some steps right before their iconic line -- it would make sense that for safety reasons, the power mechanism is placed across the room. Once again it could be anything, but the sound effect makes me think of one of those giant wall-mounted levers you have to pull down.

The voice dramas don’t really provide the type of crime details that an actual interrogation would reveal, and it’s odd that they’re placed before the extraction rather than after Es gets to see the new details. This leads me to believe the machine functions with priming. All Es needs to do is get them talking about their murder, so it’s on their mind.

The video produced is much like a (non-lucid) dream. Even if the prisoners figure out that this is how it works, they can’t control it just by thinking really hard about something else. The murders produce the strongest emotional affect, and that’s what it picks up on. If someone else used the machine, it would default to whatever gave them the strongest emotional reaction in the ~15 minutes beforehand, hence why Es’ video focuses on their daunting task ahead. (The Undercover theory is still a bit loose, though, given the private shots that Es wouldn't have known about). It’s why the videos are usually closely linked to the vd topics/beats. I also like to think that the reason their prisoner colors appear so much is because they’re looking at those colors on their uniform 24/7.

The bell rings to inform Es that it’s the optimal time to use the machine -- the prisoner has been thinking about things for long enough that the video will be about their crime, and if the conversation lasts much longer they’ll start thinking of other things. It’s at a different time for each prisoner because it’s based on the specific conversation. I guess Jackalope is listening in to the interrogation, timing it perfectly. (The only one that kind of messes with this theory is Yonah, because they just keep talking afterwards lol, but it could just show that the interrogation is still in Es’ control.)

Their “Sing your sins” is the final priming nudge to get them to think of their actions as a sin, revealing their guilt.

Once activated, the prisoner enters a sort of trance/sleeping state. It’s very much like REM sleep, with the machine forcibly activating neurons and recording the output. The prisoners have asked Es what they saw, meaning they don’t remember the mvs. I like to think the prisoners do experience the mv in real time, acting as the major version of themself that appears, but can’t remember it afterwards. It’s when you experience a dream, but as soon as you wake up you’re just left with fleeting emotions and memories right on the tip of your tongue.

The video plays immediately upon extraction -- whether on a huge projection or little screen depends on which room it’s in. It simultaneously saves the memory so that Es can rewatch it later (on those old TVs in the jailbreak mix). The machine downloads the song and video together, but requires special parts to retrieve them. The technology is pretty new and fragile, so if one is broken, there might be a delay between when Es can hear the extracted song and see it with the video. (That’s my justification for Kotoko’s delays -- after 9 prisoners the parts wear out, or maybe Mikoto himself overheats it with his complex situation.)

Based on the lack of conversation we get afterwards, I picture Es leaving before the prisoner wakes from the trance. The machine adjusts their brain back to normal before they awaken, restraints freed and able to return to the rest of the prison.

It’s very much like a dream, so it’s not harmful despite the amnesia/head injuries the prisoners have. It does, however, exhaust them. Brain activity alone takes a lot of energy, so forced brain activity with added emotional strain would cause them to feel pretty drained the rest of the day.

[wildbasil]

group therapy (they make each other worse)

[favoriteblogonthecitadel]

I thought the best part of learning to use Blender would be making a face that looks like Xiomara, and I wasn’t wrong, but I also wasn’t expecting the sheer euphoria of remodeling outfits to give her more body fat and make her thicker like she deserves :')

[art-soboro]

PICK UP THE RECEIVER, I'LL MAKE YOU A BELIEVER

[shitouttabuck]

several sentence sunday

hello! from this post i saw on here yesterday and also the ridiculous would u peel an orange for me tweets

He imagines his heart as a citrus fruit, bright and bursting. This feels like digging a nail into the rind, working your thumb in, peeling it; quick, because this is already a familiar act—so much of loving Buck feels like memory, even the new. Half of what’s inside, the softest, stickiest, most tender parts of Eddie, given to Buck. The way Buck holds and handles with wonder each wedge of it like it’s—maybe not the first he’s ever had, not some Garden of Eden shit with its contorted belief of sin behind wanting and sharing, but like he’s going to savour it for the rest of time, plant the seeds inside that full-of-life place in his own chest. Keep Eddie there, look after this thing they’re giving each other so they can grow: upwards and intertwined and old together. Jesus, has Eddie always been this gross? This kind of giddy-in-love feeling that has every cell in his body vibrating with want and excitement and—joy, isn’t it? Untouchable, unshakeable joy, every time Buck so much as looks at him, never mind the touching and the telling and the loving on. That’s normal at the start of a relationship, Frank had told him. Yes, even an adult one, not a teenage hormone in sight. It’s just—his relationship with Ana hadn’t really had that, even at the start. And his second go-around with Shannon had been fraught with way too much hurt still held onto by them both. Attraction, passion, desire—check, check, and check. But this simple exhilaration, this fucking thrill that runs through him every time he remembers he gets to take Buck’s hand whenever the urge strikes? Every time Buck takes his hand, casual and easy? It’s a rush like no other. But that fades, right? You date for a few months, you live together, you learn, or relearn, every one of the annoying fucking habits the other person has, intimately, and you love them, so much, but the giddiness fades, right? But they’re coming onto a year, and there’s a ring stuffed into the bottom of the pair of Eddie’s socks he’s sure doesn’t have holes in them, and still, still, he thinks of Buck and he wants, giddy. He looks at Buck and the excitement is a full-body thrum. He reaches for Buck and the joy inside him is bursting, demanding, cannot be contained; it spills over and stains them, sticky like his split-open heart. And maybe that’s okay, he thinks, that he gets to feel like this without a deadline. Because if he gets to give it to Buck, press it into his hands and his mouth and the wispy curls at his hairline? It feels like joy is the point, and Buck’s the glowing foundation of it, and Eddie’s ready, actually, to spend a very long time getting accustomed to just how much happiness is his to keep.

idk where this fits yet, might belong to a wip or may write something more around it :)

tagging @onward--upward @eddiebabygirldiaz @housewifebuck @chronicowboy @colonoscopys @rewritetheending @jeeyuns @zahlibeth @anakinfallen @buckactuallys @bucksbignaturals @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @eowon @clusterbuck @try-set-me-on-fire @butchdiaz @transboybuckley @devirnis <3