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powderblueblood · 4 months

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Dear Powder, may I please request

"Look, I'm just gonna go home and kill myself. You want to share a cab?"

With my girl Robin please? 🖤

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS!

"it's ten pm!"

robin stares at you like that means anything, literally anything, the both of you letting the cold seep through you on this frozen city street. lights dapple the slowly thawing sidewalks. snow bunches up around stationary cars like mounds of forgotten icing. the light dapples her face too, peeking out from behind her woolen behemoth of a scarf-- multicolored reflections from tacky christmas bulbs still hanging all around make her sparkly eyeshadow even sparklier, like a pre-show for the new year's fireworks.

she looks pretty. prettier than you remember her from freshman orientation, and you remembered her.

you scoff. "you can't kill yourself at ten pm on new year's eve, it's like-- it's like you didn't even try."

"i tried!" robin protests, hands gesturing wildly towards the bar you've just followed her out of. "i tried, and i got stood up, so i failed, okay?"

"and you wanna go into the new year in a new city with that bullshit attitude?" your arm goes up and you're hailing a cab. she's just kind of bobbing her mouth at you, but you know that you both need to find another bar-- and fast. "fine. but the way i see it, you got two more hours of spectacular striking out left in you, buckley. better make 'em count."

the yellow cab screeches to the curb and you hold the door open for her.

"wait a second, are you offering to wingman for me?"

you shrug. "why not? i got dumped tonight, remember? i need somewhere to channel all this affection or it'll give me an ulcer. i really don't want an ulcer!"

she stares at you a sec, brow pinched like why would you do this for me? you don't even know me!

"and look!" you extend a hand, "if we totally fail, you can at least kiss me at midnight before you go home and stick your head in the oven. deal?"

robin swallows, takes your gloved hand in hers. "my dorm only has a toaster oven."

you giggle. reluctant to let go of her hand. "then we better get to work."

#powder room talk #dr-aculaaa #r. buckley by powder #robin buckley x reader #blurbs #published by powder #THANK U SM DRAC #this reminded me of a draft i have buried somewhere that i need to finish #the wacky misadventures of robin buckley doing lesbianism in college you are everything to me

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mocamoca1 · 1 year

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#just finished watching the series with my friends 😭😭#still thinking about this a lot #arcane #league of legends #jinxarcane #jinx #powder arcane #fanart #arcane fanart

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revelisms · 7 months

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Excerpt: Emptied Spaces

Vi recalls her first nights as a new recruit to Zaun.

From a work in progress set after 'heron blue,' an AU where Vi and Jinx reconnect under different terms. Slow, rocky relationship rebuilding, found family messiness, and hurt/comfort abound.

A series of tinny pricks muddle the air.

"He's not all bad, you know," her sister mumbles.

Vi presses her nails into her palm.

In her mind's eye, a litany of refusals.

She sees the stairs down to the storeroom—their old room—that she'd found boarded up, paint streaked over the walls: a glaring, caution-taped denial to any who dared to enter. She sees Jinx slumped at the bar, dotting black varnish on her nails, flippant as anything to Vi's tight-mouthed questions of what had happened to their things; if there was anything left.

Just ghouls and ghosts, Jinx had said, in an accent not her own, and shot a whip-fire glare through her fringe. Then she'd grinned, cold and feline. Droused on, Key's in Silky's desk, if you care that much.

Like that room was nothing more than an ill memory, to her. Her and Vi's things. Mylo and Claggor's things. Mom and Dad's things. Vander's—

Like all of it wasn't theirs, anymore.

(Never had been.)

They had new rooms, now—ones of their own, only paces down that dark-lamped hall from each other.

Just days prior, that rat had dangled hers in front of her, in some twisted attempt at an olive branch.

It had ridiculous wallpaper and jade-tinted windows; furnishings absurdly ornate, for all their simplicity; shelves upon shelves filled with books she'd never read. They'd given her a bed with smuggled silk sheets and feathered pillows—the kind any Fissure brat in their right mind would dive into, relishing in the best sleep they'd had in years. A luxury all of them deserved.

Her own room. A real, proper room.

Not four walls and a cot.

(Not a room with Powder.)

In silence, that bastard had stood behind her: smoke and spice on his clothes, a chill like an autumn sea seeping off his bones. The shadow of his suit had lingered in her periphery, unnervingly still. Spindly hands folded at his back; too-clean shoes canted, unmoving.

Will it suffice? he'd graveled, eventually.

Vi'd fought down the urge to scoff.

Suffice.

As if he couldn't give a damn that he'd paid for it all on the backs of children carting industry wares as much as vials of liquid death; hadn't taken up his keep in their home, Vander's home—claimed the damned thing unrightfully as his own—and now had carved out a pathetic share to toss back to her.

Vi'd found her voice. Our old room was fine.

Hands ticking at his back. If you'd prefer to sleep on the boxes, then be my guest.

She said you emptied it.

Silence ebbing, knifing. A heaviness had snared around his bones: the kind that had rage smelting around it, slow-simmered and tightly leashed: one that set the hairs on her nape rising.

In it was an image. A memory he wouldn't give her the privilege to share.

She didn't want to picture it.

Powder, eleven years old, bruises on her cheek, standing alone in the center of that storeroom.

Powder, frozen, for minutes or hours or ages—a tattered bunny squeezed between her hands, blood still on her clothes—before the screams finally tore their way out of her.

She didn't want to picture it—but the thought had itched within her, like a virus. She couldn't blink it out.

It's been emptied enough, Silco had answered her: a slither of a hiss. His mismatched stare had veered away, notched to an unseen point in the wall.

Under your orders? Vi'd pressed on.

Another tick of his fingers.

He'd known they'd already spoken about it. That she was aware, by then, that it was Powder—Jinx—who wanted nothing to do with that room: who couldn't sleep in it, couldn't stand to be in it; could only hover at the foot of those stairs, boots welded through the floor, every time this shark-skinned thing offered for her to go through her belongings and do with the space as she wished.

A denial Vi couldn't grapple with had pooled nauseously in her. One he'd had no qualms in laying out to dry.

I will remind you, Silco had said, placid for all its venom, once, by whose request you are here. And he'd stared her down, like a beast waiting to strike: head tilted, eyes inhuman: chloroform polluting the sea-foam of the living one, magma igniting the ore of the dead.

Nothing but a dull indifference. Bemusement glazed beneath a fanged snarl.

He didn't see her as a threat, she'd realized. Not as mirrored strength to be wary of, the way Vander had.

In the path of his leering, she felt like a child. A gutless, gut-twisted kid.

Like a pair of boxing gloves squeezed shamefully behind her back, and her father's glare simmering above her, a finger lifted slowly between them—Don't you leave her alone, again.

In his image, the words twisted. A different voice. A dead eye. A threat that bastard didn't need to speak.

She'd heard it, all the same.

Give her one reason to regret that choice, and I will see you out, myself.

"Y'know what's funny?" Jinx says, plucking another piece of metal off her knee. Vi's fingers stutter around her hair. "You've got way more in common than you think. Little spit-fire peas in a pod, really—all Zaun this, Fissurefolk that—No pickles in the stew, Jinx; No bombs in the basement, Birdie-blue." Her sister pitters into a snort, piranha-teeth gleam over the shoulder. "It's bonkers. Like I've got two of ya, now."

And Vi pictures him occupying a similar space in this bar, this room, in her sister's own head. Pictures, dreads, refuses the thought of him toiling over a stove, with little Powder's fingertips peeking against the counter: of him standing bland and impatient in the glittering eaves of a Piltie tailor, wrinkling his brow at the colors this girl insisted on piecing together; of him waking to her tear-muddled face at ungodly hours of the morning, as Vi had done so many years before, and groggily flipping back the sheets; of holding her, at all, in a space that never should have been emptied, in the first place.

The thought curdles in her throat.

Six years—nearly seven, now.

Now, her sister speaks about Powder like a dead self. She spends her free hours dancing around that monster's desk. She has nightmares more vile that the ones Vi remembers, that made voices crawl from the walls, the kind that said the nights would never end and that none of them would ever come back, never come back again (and Mom and Dad never did, and Vander was taken from them)—

And still.

Still, after all of it—after those terrors would send her panicked and shaken into the hall, with Vi's door already cracked and waiting; after the years Vi had cared for her, reassured her, done her best to be the lovely softness that their mother was, that she feared she could never be—Jinx would go to him, first.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut.

Slowly, the comb picks through another tangle.

"Two of us, huh?" she mutters, a fire in her chest—and denies it.

#picking up this fic again #*finally* finished the opening ahgh #i can't wait to finish this dang thing #all kinds of emotional whump you can expect here:#vi stewing over her memories/regrets of trying to raise powder - and not understanding why jinx has changed so drastically #vi thinking - both fondly and resentfully - of her and powder's father #(and refusing to accept the ways she's beginning to find points of comparison between him and silco)#vi meeting demian the gunsmith (aka silco's on/off fling winkwonk)#sister bonding time over birthday gifts #and emotional crime family shooting lessons #i'll probably cry editing it it'll be a great time #arcane #arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #writing #silco #vi #jinx

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iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife · 11 months

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Citra emulator: Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney trilogy

A hopefully comprehensive guide on all the malfunctions ive run into so far. Because honestly, ive recommended aa on citra to so many people, the least i can do is give yall a guide for when you run into problems.

Spoilers under the cut for aa1 (rise from the ashes mostly).

1. Ema's aluminum finger print powder (Rise from the ashes)

In the final case of the first game you meet the Skye sisters. Lana is the Chief Prosecutor and Ema is a high school student who wants to become a forensics scientist. In her guest to prove her sisters innocence Ema will employ a couple of tools like Luminol blood splatter detecting spray and finger print detecting powder.

How does the aluminum powder work? You click on a suspicious surface. Make sure to cover all of the fingerprint with white powder/pixels!

And then what? This is an emulation of a Nintendo game. You are prompted to blow in your mic to blow off the powder and reveal the fingerprint. But well. You can't exactly do that now can you?

How can you get around this?

Maybe if you have a mic you could connect it to your laptop/pc and blow there but i don't know if that would actually work since i don't have a mic and therefore can't give it a try. But theres a way to get around this obstacle! A way that took me like an hour and a lot of research in ace attorney and emulation related forums to find 😭.

You will have to go on the top left corner of your screen and open the configuration option. I think.

Now as you can see my program is in greek which is not exactly making this easier to understand for the rest of you. But nonetheless we will persevere!

What you have to do is go Configuration -> sound -> microphone -> real device ??? It must say something like that. It might take you a little bit of trial and error but you can find it. Try a few of these choices and see which one works. This will make your laptop/pc pick up on the games music and use it to "blow away" the powder by itself. Problem solved <3

2. Playing connect the dots with Ema's name (Rise from the ashes again)

In the final day of the trial we have a piece of evidence that almost everyone hates: that goddamn jar. Aside from its ridiculous resemblance to that monstrosity the blue badger when you rotate it in a highly specific way, this jar holds yet another secret. And that secret is a name written in blood that seems to have been wiped off. We are asked to "connect the dots" to prove whose name is written there. Normally connecting the dots would make red lines appear on the jar that make up Ema's name but well. If this worked as intended i wouldn't be making this post now would i.

When playing in Citra the lines won't show up. Nevertheless, you can still beat this new obstacle: just connect the dots anyway. Be extra careful: you don't want to forget one of the smaller ones. If you connect them all and present the evidence in court the game will progress as it should. Personally, when i was playing i kept forgetting to connect the top right dot in M and got penalised a few times too many over it. I suggest starting from the bottom of E and progressing carefully from there.

Ema's name wiped off the jar's surface.

Ema's name after you've connected the dots or how it would look if citra hadn't messed that one little detail up.

Aaaand those are all the malfunctions i stumbled upon on aa1. Honestly, could be worse. And they were both on the same case too, so maybe there won't be any more trouble in the rest of the trilogy games. But if i find any more i will come back and update this post. It will probably take a while tho, im very slow when it comes to video games.

#ace attorney #citra emulator #emulation #aa #rise from the ashes #ema skye #making this post because god knows i could use it when i was desperately trying to finish that goddamn day of investigation and go to bed #but i didn't know what to do with emas aluminum fingerprint powder.#alex plays the goddamn lawyer game #Al's ramblings

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