#spiel machinery

[spielassociates53]

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#binding equipment and supplies #binding machines #machine die #book binding machine #spiral binding machine #graphic whizard #spiel machinery #book printers and binders near me #best binding machine #perfect binding machine

[cfiesler]

New research alert! Research about research, actually!

A couple of years ago we recruited here (and elsewhere) for interview participants for a research study about fat people's experiences online. As part of that study we also asked for thoughts about how to ethically conduct such research, both in online communities and in human-computer interaction research more generally. This short paper was presented as a poster at the ACM Conference on Computer-Supported Cooperative Work & Social Computing. Led by PhD student Blakeley Payne, this also won the conference's Best Poster Recognition! <3

"How to Ethically Engage Fat People in Research"

(1) Choose respectful language. Use participants' own self description in conversation and reporting. Consider the connotations of euphemisms and medicalizing language. We recommend "fat" as a default term to use until participants or the context indicates otherwise.

(2) Consider positionality and practice reflexivity. Fat people are not a monolith but are experts in their own lived experiences. Engage with the history of fat oppression, especially as facilitated by research and medical institutions. Consider your positionality with respect to this history.

(3) Rethink assumptions around weight loss. Don't assume fat people are unhealthy and/or want to lose weight. Interrogate "weight loss" as an embedded design value and its potential for harm. Use notions of health that are weight-neutral such as Health at Every Size.

(4) Engage fat people in research. Fat people want to be engaged in technology design and research! Center fat people's voices, needs, and desires when choosing research questions and methods.

Citation and (open access!) link to full paper: Blakeley H. Payne, Jordan Taylor, Katta Spiel, and Casey Fiesler. 2023. How to Ethically Engage Fat People in HCI Research. In Companion Publication of the 2023 Conference on Computer Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing (CSCW '23 Companion). Association for Computing Machinery, New York, NY, USA, 117–121. https://doi.org/10.1145/3584931.3606987

#research paper #fat liberation #body positivity #fat acceptance #haes #research ethics

[welcome-back-to-hoimycraf]

AHHHHH ARO WEEK!!!!!!

this fic was made for march 15th: free day for the @mcyt-aro-week and as propaganda for the @mcyt-rarepair-tournament :DDDD (plus it's the first thing i've written for my empires frozen au hehehehehhehehe)

this was so much fun to write and i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did ^^ (spreading my fwhornoth agenda)

“Why are we doing this again?” fWhip asks from their spot by the door where they were bent over tying their boots, one foot propped on the small bench by the entrance. 

Xornoth glosses over the realization that the redhead looks cute with his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth from focus, redirecting their mind to the question asked with the mental equivalent of clearing one’s throat, “Well, Mr. Inattentive,” fWhip gives them a light glare in response, which Xornoth smugly ignores in favor of pinning their long hair back, “if you actually listened when I talk instead of admiring my beauty, maybe you’d know that we’re going out to pick flowers for the cookies I’m baking.” 

fWhip rolls his eyes as he watches his partner clip their cloak around their shoulders, wordlessly moving over to help adjust it for them. “I do listen!” They defend, with all the drama to match. “Your charming allure is just too much for me to handle,” they chuckle into the nape of the Prince’s neck, finishing off his teasing with a light peck to the area before backing away to open the door with a silent offer for them to go ahead- Royals first or something similar. “Plus, why are you using flowers in baking? I’ve never heard of that.”

For a moment, Xornoth stands in place, staring dumbly at their boyfriend with a love-struck smile and a rapidly flushing face- but then they’re broken from their trance, grumbling as they pass fWhip, who’s looking ever so slightly more cheeky than usual. “Well- they’re specifically pressed flower cookies. It’s mostly for decoration,” the elf explains as fWhip joins them once more down the stone brick walkway, “Seeing as you’re, well- you- I wouldn’t expect you to appreciate the prettier things in life.” 

They smirked when their intended reaction was drawn from the man, his sharp gasp cutting through the otherwise peaceful courtyard. “You take that back!” The shorter demands, wings puffing out behind himself as he stabbed a gloved finger into Xornoth’s chest. “Just because that prototype I made last week looked like shit doesn’t mean I can’t decorate- that wasn’t what it was intended to look like!”

The Prince gave them a dismissive hum, dissolving into giggles as fWhip continued their spiel under their breath. “You know,” they started, taking in the stables as they passed. One of the newer stable-hands, a younger boy, was struggling to remove his sleeve from a horse’s wandering mouth- reminding them of fWhip getting his coat sleeve caught in one of their strange contraptions earlier that week. They’d complained and groaned about needing to patch it up later as Xornoth helped free him from the machinery, which was somehow endearing in a way, “you’re rather cute when you’re complaining,” they tease. 

They don’t miss the way fWhip’s face mimics the bright color of his scarf as he buries it under the fabric. “Asshole.”

“Eh, true- but I’m yours, sweetheart. You’ll have to get used to it,” they retort, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the man’s temple before hurrying along the path down to the Southern Bridge, heels clicking against the cobble beneath their boots. “And hurry up!”

-------

“So- what’s your actual reason for coming all the way out here?” fWhip interrogates, moving another low-hanging branch from colliding with his face. 

Xornoth turns to raise their eyebrow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

The other scoffs, which fades into a chuckle, “Come on, you’re not gonna drag me out of town for some flowers. I know you better than that.” Xornoth rolls their eyes and fWhip’s smirk widens. “You’re scheming~” they taunt, turning their tone sing-songy with the last word. 

The elf’s reddening face certainly didn’t go unnoticed, but fWhip pushed down any remarks in favor of letting them speak. “Fine- you caught me,” they sigh with no real disappointment behind the words, “I was just…” They pause for a moment to gather their jumbled thoughts before speaking again. “I was just wanting to do something nice for Scott, really.” Xornoth ended the sentence with an awkward shrug.

fWhip hummed for them to continue, and so they did, even if the icy ground was seeming far more interesting at the moment. “I think, now that the permanent winter has set in, Scott’s been a bit…” They faltered, struggling to find the words, “depressed?” Xornoth shook their head. “Well, not exactly- but he’s always loved spring and everything that comes with it. The warmth, the atmosphere, the flowers, the food, everything. And now that it’s gone I think he’s a bit disappointed.” They had noted the distinct lack of energy Scott brought into a room over the past month. The palace felt rather empty without their dear brother feeling his best. “I thought that bringing a bit of spring to him would cheer him up.”

fWhip’s coos brought them out of their thoughts. “Aww, that’s sweet,” they commended, and Xornoth found there was no teasing behind the statement. 

They decided to play into it. “Plus,” the elf drew out, “it gives us time to spend together, just you and me.” It was meant genuinely, but flustering the other was a secondary goal, they supposed.

“Oh, wow-” fWhip grinned, and Xornoth knew their jokes had been turned against them, “I didn’t know you were looking for that kind of escapade.”

The Prince let out a snort that was rather un-Princely of them. “Not like that, you imbecile.” They swung a hand out to swat at the man, which fWhip dodged with practiced skill, laughing the whole time. 

“Ok, seriously,” they redirected the topic back to its original state, “What kind of cookies were you thinking of? And what flowers?”

Xornoth readjusted their cloak from where it’d slipped down their shoulders. “For the cookies, I was thinking of shortbread. They’re some of Scott’s more favored.” They paused to give a quick “look” at fWhip. “Plus, they’re easy to make.” 

“It was one time-”

“As for the flowers,” they continued, “Any we can find, really,” they gestured to the wasteland of snowy forest they were traversing through, which had a distinct lack of visible ground beneath the thick frost. 

At their side, fWhip breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

As the pair continued down the makeshift path, they noticed the subtle change in scenery. The further they went from town, it seemed that the snow wasn’t as thick and had stopped falling altogether. They took this as a good sign to keep going. Eventually, about an hour out, they came across a patch that had melted in the sun, revealing the vibrant colors of pansies. The first they’d seen in months. It was strange, how once you noticed something was missing, its presence seemed amplified. They decided to pick out a few of the best looking sprouts- blue, purple, yellow, as many as they could find. 

“That all?” fWhip checked, arms full of the sprigs, painting a picture that made a domestic sort of warmth creep into Xornoth’s chest. 

“I think so,” they confirm, starting off with a bit more pep in their step than when they had started. “Let’s head back home.”

The walk back was shorter than the trip to get there, which gave the two enough time to bake and decorate these cookies before noon struck. The only kitchen staff on for the day gave the pair a questioning glance as they laid their spoils out on the main counter. 

“No need to worry, we’ll have the place cleaner than when we came in once we’re done, I promise you that,” Xornoth assured the man.

“Mhm, not on my watch, you’re not,” he grinned.

“Well,” the Prince cockily crossed their arms, “how about the rest of the day off, then?”

The chef made a show of tapping his finger to his chin, looking out into the distance and humming as he faked making a decision. It seemed he’d made up his mind, judging by the way he shrugged and took off his apron to sling it over his shoulder. “That’s an offer that’s hard to refuse, Your Majesty,” he chuckled good-naturedly. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Xornoth rolled their eyes at the familiar snarky man they’d been faced with since childhood, “go home and tell the wife I said hi.” 

“Will do!” He called back, already hanging his apron by the exit and giving a quick two-fingered salute through the crack in the door he’d disappeared through. 

fWhip snickered from where he’d already taken it upon themself to strip his heavy coat and gloves in order to wash their hands, as well as the wildflowers they’d collected. Xornoth’s face split into a grin, turning on their heel to head back into the heart of the palace. “Be right back!”

It didn't take the elf long to find what they were looking for in the palace library, which unintentionally announced their presence with a loud BAM as it hit the wood, scaring fWhip out of their skin.

“SHIT-” the man pressed a hand over his heart, flattening his wings back down from where they’d flared out as they spun around , “you can’t do that to me!”

Xornoth snickered. “Whatever you say, old man,” they teased, studying the cover of the book as they unbuttoned their coat. 

“For the last time, I’m only a year older than you,” fWhip rolled his eyes, trailing off when he noticed the comically thick book now on the countertop. “Uh- what’s that?” He questioned, eyeing it curiously. 

“An Elven History, Volume One,” the other answered while pushing their garment down their shoulders and rolling up their sleeves. “We need something heavy to flatten the flowers with, and I think this huge thing would be perfect,” they chuckled softly. 

Once the flowers were washed and pressed between the weight of the pages, the baking went fairly smoothly for their tastes. As Xornoth had said, the recipe was simple, even if the first attempt of too-dry dough sat shamefully in the bin, the result of a distraction or two.

But, one clumsily handled cup of flour over their aprons and a few stolen kisses later, the cookies had shaped up nicely for their stint in the oven, giving them ample time to clean their mess and start a small water fight- which fWhip lost, of course. The cookies turned out great, surprisingly, so they worked on the decoration part next. As it turns out, fWhip was astonishingly good with the flowers, not a single petal out of place, though fWhip's dexterity wasn’t so surprising now that they thought about it. Working with delicate machinery probably translated rather well to the feeble plants. Even Xornoth's weren’t looking too bad, which fWhip rewarded with a kiss.

“Prince Xornoth?”

The one in question leaned back as best they could in their position trapped against the edge of the island, gasping sharply. fWhip wasn’t much better, fumbling backwards, face flushing rapidly. “Uh-”

The head of staff looked less than impressed with the couple’s antics, having been in this position before more times than they would’ve liked. “Am I interrupting something?” They smiled knowingly, discreet as it was. 

Xornoth hung their head in their hand, hiding their burning cheeks. “No, Elwyn, we were, um-”

They let out a sigh with barely masked fondness, brushing out their skirt apron in the telltale sign they were taking this situation into their own hands. “No need to explain,” they eyed their splattered garments as they picked up a bowl to set in the sink, “just go and clean up, I’ll take it from here.”

A wave of gratitude swept over the Prince, and they made very sure to make Elwyn aware of their appreciation as they headed off, fWhip mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ before disappearing through the doorway. 

It wasn’t long before both were rid of flour with a change of clothes and a freshening up, heading back downstairs to find that Elwyn had outdone themself. The cookies had been placed on a tiered tea tray, along with a few assorted leftover teats. They’d even accompanied it with Scott’s favorite flavor of tea! It looked absolutely wonderful. The amount of thought and care put into the action panged at Xornoth’s heart, making sure to sing Elwyn’s praises (which were humbly dismissed) the whole way out to the garden and shouting back a request for the housekeeper to grab Scott for them. 

It only took a few minutes for the King to arrive in the garden’s breakfast area, where the couple had already made themselves comfortable, talking about nothing in particular. Upon seeing the set up of food and vibrant plants, Scott was immediately made suspicious as to what his sibling was up to. 

“Uh- what’s going on?” He questioned tentatively.

Xornoth brightened at the sight of their brother, straightening up and gesturing toward the vacant seat across from them. “We decided to bring you your own little bubble of spring,” they explained sheepishly. “Come here, sit!”

They faltered at Scott’s watery smile, but their worry soon vanished as he rushed to grip them tightly. “Thank you, that’s so, so thoughtful.”

They couldn’t help but beam as they embraced him back. “Of course.”

#fanfic #my fanfic #empires smp #empires s1 #scott smajor #scott of rivendell #xornoth #fwhip #count fwhip #fwhornoth #empiresshipping

[pillowbeast]

I’d love the spiel on good ol’, classic-model Maddie!

OH BOY, I've been waitin for this one, crackin my knuckles here Long and short of their personality is that they're pretty quiet around those they don't know, minmaxes their speech in order to communicate if necessary but otherwise they just kinda stomp around and mind their own business. Around people they DO know though, practically an entirely different person, very energetic, very prone to illustrate what they're talking about with gestures (and subconscious flourishes of magic and whatnot) with a mixture of cheekiness and a hint of protectiveness that manifests itself every so often. Very prone to talking on end about a subject if the chance is provided as well (Who'd have figured right?). --- So Maddie's whole deal is that like, essentially they're comprised entirely of magic? Constructed with a mix of both mana and data due to the completely incidental circumstances of their creation (long and short is a growing magic crystal formation piercing an old-world computer with an AI core and template in it). They're kinda really curious as a result? A lot of their info starting off was strictly inherent (language and all that) so they spent a lot of time learning stuff from their outside environment, which is at least partially why they tend to take on beastly appearances due to a lot of that developmental time being spent in the woods with the wildlife in the area surrounding where they were created. Especially early on in their time they kinda just, walked around as this big quad kitsune lookin beast and would even still wander around towns and cities in that appearance in spite of clearly sticking out like a sore thumb. As a result of essentially only being magic, they kinda don't really have an interior or anything, like if you were to perform an x-ray on them it would kinda just, show absolutely nothing. All their thoughts are essentially done as "processes" really due to that partial AI component, they just absorb things they eat once they swallow rather than having a distinct stomach or nothing. Since their form is really loose in that regard it's what allows them to shapeshift so damn easily honestly? Plus the whole like, mana+data mixture means that it's really easy for them to just, get into people's machinery and operate it for them if they so desire. A lot of this stuff kinda just, ended up being elaborated upon later but it all kinda fell into place as far as like A. I like Maddie being an AI to an extent B. I like Maddie being made of magic to an extent Which ended up leading into C. I like Maddie being a volatile beast of magic that kinda just hangs around in spite of being monstrously overpowered, big beasty that chills with pals and is vaguely a little off-kilter

#asks4beast #maddie

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

What's your thoughts on Kazuichi/Mukuro?

(I once heard someone that they could be similar to Kaito x Maki, and that was their interpretation from a fanart of Kazuichi noticing her looking at a book with picture of a tank, with him saying "Tanks are so cool!"with a smile on his face, and Mukuro having a shocked and flustered face)

Oh my god Kaz and Mukuro bonding over tanks is the cutest shit I’ve ever heard of. I’m just imagining Kazuchi walking in on Mukuro disassembling/cleaning/reassembling her guns and being absolutely entranced by the whole thing—asking her questions about certain parts and what they do, asking if he could try disassembling/reassembling one himself. And Mukuro is hesitant at first because these are her precious life lines, but no ones ever shown any interest in them (or her) like this before and surely the Ultimate Mechanic would know how to handle these properly without breaking them right? So for the first time Mukuro places her precious tools into someone’s else’s care, and I think that pretty much opens the gates to Mukuro being more than happy to talk whatever weaponry/military machinery Kazuichi wants to spiel about any day.

And spiel he does because Mukuro is one of the few people he can ramble mechanics with who actually listens and responds and it’s AMAZING. Mukuro usually fixes her own tools, but since Kazuichi has been learning a lot about military weaponry, and again he IS the Ultimate Mechanic, it would be best if she took it to him to repair right? Leaves her more time to…train. Yes. This was not an excuse to chat with him more, this is a strictly professional transaction. If Mukuro stuck around to trade a few (many) words with him while he took a look at her rifle then that’s just how life goes you know. And if Kaz makes this really adorable face whenever she gives him a chance to be able to work on machines he hasn’t had a chance to before then that’s just life too.

They would definitely have the same vibes as Kaito/Maki! Himbo 4 Quiet Can-Murder-You-And-Needs-Better-Social-Skills Girl.  A double date would consist of Kaito and Kazuchi nerding out over spaceships while Maki and Mukuro discuss the most effective way to complete an assassination mission with only a rubber chicken in their arsenal (and other convoluted missions they make up to test their strategic abilities).

#anonymous #danganronpa #kazuichi souda #mukuro ikusaba #ikusouda #sounds like a cute ship name ngl #fala replies #a e i o queue

[shot-by-cupid]

Ok here's a thing

An Overwatch op goes sideways and Staci gets captured by the Deadlock Gang. She wakes up tired to a chair surrounded by the gang. Ashe walks in like the absolute boss she is, repeater on her shoulder, brimming with charisma and malice.

She starts the usual "What've we got here?" intimidating spiel, calling her demeaningly affectionate names, making thinly veiled threats, etc. Except after a while the gang notices she's not threatening or intimidating anymore, she's just paying Staci legit complements in a menacing tone.

Staci, meanwhile, has not been listening at all because she's just staring at this beautiful cowgirl. Mesmerized by her immaculately painted lips and piercing eyes.

The gang (plus Bob) stand there uncomfortably all the while.

"Caught" | Ashe

sorry this took so long to answer. I straight up just wrote an entire fic for this;; its been a looooong time since ive written anything so it might not be great lol

♡♡♡♡♡♡

Staci slowly awoke, her eyes struggling to stay open as they adjusted to the darkness. 

She winced as she recognized the sharp pain of ropes digging into her wrists, accompanied by the pounding of a headache.

She stared into the darkness, making out the silhouette of a man.

“Hey, you! What-“ 

Before she could even get her question out the man barks back at her.

“Quiet you!”

He slammed his hand against the wall, silencing her in an instant.

Staci let out a quiet, shaky breath- knowing its best to keep her mouth shut in situations like this. She sits back in her chair and stares up at the ceiling, praying for some kind of backup.

They sat in silence for what seemed like ages until the quiet sound of a door creaking open cut through the static.

“Well, well… what do we have here?” 

The leader of the deadlock gang sauntered in with a large, intimidating omnic following not too far behind. 

Ashe leaned in close, her hand resting on the back of the chair, her face inches away.

“What's a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this?” 

Despite her soft voice there was a venom to her words.

Staci's breath caught in her throat as her eyes trailed over the woman's sharp features. For once in her life the talkative girl found herself at a loss for words. 

Ashe sighed impatiently as reached forward, her fingers squeezing Staci's cheeks roughly as she tilted her face up.

“What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

A shiver ran through Staci as Ashe spoke and she quickly snapped back to reality, clearing her throat before she spoke.

“W-what’s going on here?” 

her voice cracks, her confidence wavering more and more each second as Ashe’s red eyes narrowed at her. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head at Staci.

“Why don’t you answer my question first, sugar.” Ashe chuckled softly as she let go of her cheeks, letting her head fall. “What are you doing here?”

Staci frowned as she looked down at the ground, her eyes ran over a large crack on her boot, exposing the broken machinery underneath. She sighed heavily, there really wasn’t a way out of this- especially not with damage like this done to her equipment.

Staci looked back up to Ashe, sucking in a sharp breath as she tried to put on a brave face.

“It was… a stakeout.”

Ashe groaned, rolling her eyes. 

“I wish you people would just leave me alone.”

She looked back down to Staci, an amused expression on her face as she knelt down in front of her.

“So, where’s the rest of your team then? Ain’t no way you came here all alone.”

Staci froze for a moment, the sudden realization that she was alone finally hit her.

“I…” She bit down on her lip, her brow furrowing as her voice got quiet. “I don’t know…”

“You can’t be serious.” Ashe laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’re team just up and left when things went south? And y’all call yourself heroes?” 

She laughed a bit harder, her hand gently resting on Staci’s thigh. In a weird way, the touch provided comfort to the little space cadet. 

Ashe sighed softly as her other hand moved to tilt Staci's chin up.

“What a shame. Only a fool would ditch a pretty thing like you…” 

Staci's breath hitched, heat rising in her cheeks as the cowgirl's words hit her ears. She couldn’t tell if she was being toyed with. 

An awkward tension was rising in the room, the man who was still leaning against the wall shuffled uncomfortably.

There was an odd silence as the two continued to look at each other, unsure of what either of their next moves would be.

Staci opened her mouth to speak but found that no words could come out. Her eyes met with Ashe’s, there was something almost soft about them, a sincerity that shone within them.

A sudden voice cut through the static, pulling the two away from each other as Ashe stood abruptly. 

Another member of the gang walked in, holding a small box filled with equipment and setting it down on a nearby table.

“Here, Boss.”

They spoke hesitantly, sensing that they walked in on something.

“Good work.” Ashe cleared her throat. She scratched the back of her neck as she walked over to examine the items, letting out a whistle as she picked up a familiar headset. Staci huffed softly as she watched Ashe handle her equipment, only realizing now that she wasn’t wearing them. 

“Impressive work… you make these yourself?” Ashe held up the headpiece, clicking the button on the side that activated the visor. Her smile widens as it lights up.

Staci scoffed, frustrated by Ashe touching her stuff.

“Maybe.”

The anger in her voice caught Ashe’s attention. She cocks her head to the side, smirking as she tosses the headset back into the table.

“Well I’ll be… we could get a pretty penny for junk like this.” She crosses her arms as she leans against the table.

“Yeah. I bet you could.” Staci glares at Ashe, struggling against her ropes. 

“Woah there. No need to get angry, sweet pea…” she laughs softly as she picks the headset back up. She kneels back down in front of her, placing it on her head carefully. 

“That better? Looks good on you.”

Staci’s expression softened, shifting to one of confusion rather than anger.

“Thank… you?”

Ashe laughed, tipping her hat at Staci. “Any time.”

The man leaning against the wall cleared his throat, getting Ashe’ attention. She took her eyes off Staci, glaring daggers at him.

“Uhm, boss?’ he stepped forward, gesturing towards the two of them. “I don't think this is exactly-”

“Can it, Zeke.” She hissed at him. She stood up, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You know what, why don’t you all head outta’ here.”

The large omnic looked over to her, tilting his head. She sighed, giving his arm a firm pat. 

“That includes you, B.O.B.”

She ushered the three other gang members out the door, shutting it quickly behind them and locking it. She sighs softly as she looks back over to Staci. 

She grins playfully, taking her hat off and holding it over her chest. 

“Now… I believe we were in the middle of something?”

#selfship #self shipping #self ship fanfiction #self insert x canon #self insert fanfiction #elizabeth caledonia calamity ashe #romantic f/o #f/o community #wlw selfship #♡.written in the stars #♡.mail box

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Our Town (2x24)

Heat warms Jess Harold’s cheeks as he leads the two FBI Agents through the winding assembly lines. The hum of machinery and the sharp scent of raw chicken suddenly seems more intense with outsiders walking amongst his workers. He’s been here before, of course: on the spot and questioned by authority, his proficiency and professionalism on the line — his neck, even — and has always come out of the hot pot as smooth as boiled bones. 

Jess Harold’s loyalties lie in Dudley. 

Or else.

“So George Kearns really did threaten to shut the plant down,” Agent Scully prods him for more.

“Oh, he tried.” He hands her the FDA approval sheets. “The only problem this plant ever had was George.”

“Problem enough to do something about?”

He feels Sheriff Aren’s eyes glued to him, following his every move. He shrugs it off to spout his usual spiel: nonchalance, nothing out of the ordinary here, folks. 

Jess excuses himself when the shift horn blows, but Agent Scully seems contemplative, her blue eyes glancing up at her partner’s overly curious ones. He is a problem, Jess knows. In fact, they both are.

Read the rest on Ao3 | @monikafilefan

#mulder #scully #fanfic #x files fanfic #x files #season two #all eyes lead to the truth #our town #2x24 #jess harolds

[ackletze]

CTRL + C

Rating: General Audiences

Relationship: Can be read as either The Narrator/Stanley or The Narrator & Stanley

Warnings: None

Summary: After accidentally finding the heaven ending, Stanley finds a physical narrator

Beta Reader: @is-cat

Ao3 Link: Here             

“What did you do? ” The Narrator seethed.

Had the Narrator always sounded so far away, Stanley wondered to himself as he struggled to open his eyes. Memories of the last reset came back to him as his eyes readjusted to the dim fluorescent lights. One moment he’d been playing around on his computer, hoping to play solitaire as he’d seen on a couple of the screens he’d passed in previous runs. The next thing he knew he’d been transported to that strange place, surrounded by buttons and creepy, different from usual voices telling him to press them. While Stanley usually wouldn’t listen to directions given from any disembodied voice, Narrator or not, Stanley had found himself unable to resist the urge to press the buttons. Apparently, he hadn’t done a very good job at it, though, as he’d found himself blacking out to a reset after only a few minutes.

Stanley stood up when his vision cleared, wondering why the Narrator hadn’t started his spiel yet. Maybe he was annoyed that Stanley had disappeared like that? Stanley wouldn’t at all be surprised that the jerk would take something as completely out of Stanley’s control like that as a personal insult.

“Stanley, what did you do?” The Narrator repeated, and this time Stanley couldn’t help but jump in surprise. The Narrator didn’t just sound far away, he sounded muffled, like he was in a room over. Curiously, Stanley left his office and walked into the open office floor.

He gasped when he got there and saw a figure angrily standing in the middle of the room with their arms crossed. It had been so long since Stanley had seen another living being that Stanley almost didn’t believe it as he watched the figure standing there, chest fluttering rapidly as they studied their own hands and body. It wasn’t until the figure began to talk that Stanley considered who it might have been.

“Whatever you did, you better undo it,” the figure said, and his voice was unmistakable. “I mean it, Stanley.”

If he could have, Stanley would have laughed. Without even thinking about what he’d do next, Stanley began to walk toward the Narrator.

Showing what Stanley considered to be a shocking amount of common sense- or maybe it was just instinctual self-preservation- the Narrator stumbled back as Stanley approached, his eyes widening even as he tried to scowl. “Now, Stanley,” the Narrator began, but whatever he was going to say was cut off with an undignified yelp as the Narrator tripped backward over one of the office chairs and fell to the ground.

When it looked as if there was nowhere left for the Narrator to retreat to as he’d managed to back himself against a desk, the Narrator opened his mouth to speak again. Stanley wasn’t going to have that, though. It was his turn to be in control. Stanley lightly feigned a kick at the Narrator’s closest leg, careful not to actually hit anything.

Stanley had wanted to see the man flinch, but the Narrator practically jolted back, scrambling to avoid the blow and slamming the back of his head into the desk as he did so. Stanley winced sympathetically at the loud sound, immediately stepping back to give the other man space as the Narrator fell to the ground, grasping the back of his head. Without thinking, Stanley brought his fist up to his chest and pulled it around in a circle, but the apology was completely lost as the Narrator didn’t look up from where he laid, still holding his head.

 Stanley frowned. Sure, it looked painful, but Stanley was fairly positive a little bump to the head had to hurt less than something like, say, being blown up or crushed between two pieces of giant machinery. Still, Stanley couldn’t help but feel a little bad that not two minutes into what was apparently a brand new experience of being corporeal and the Narrator was already having to come to terms with pain.

“Now look what you’ve done,” the Narrator said as he finally tried to sit up after making a show of repeatedly checking his hands to see if there was blood. Stanley just rolled his eyes and turned to leave, earning a surprisingly desperate, “Where are you going? You can’t leave!” from the Narrator.

Placatingly, Stanley put up his hands but turned quickly to leave nonetheless. He was gone for only a matter of moments as he went to retrieve his bucket from where it had fallen when Stanley had been transported to that weird dimension of buttons, but that apparently was still too long for the Narrator. “Stanley, please, you can’t just leave me like this!”

Stanley returned quickly to find the narrator wobbily trying to stand up, presumably to follow Stanley. Shaking his head, Stanley gently placed the bucket onto the floor before going over to help the Narrator sit down on one of the desk chairs.

“You left me for that ?” The Narrator asked, eying the bucket with annoyance. Stanley nodded eagerly, picking up the bucket and gingerly trying to place it in the Narrator’s arms. When the Narrator made no move to hold onto the bucket and just glared at Stanley, Stanley took the bucket back. With exaggerated motions, Stanley tried to demonstrate how to properly hold the bucket to get the most comfort out of it.

“Stanley-” the Narrator began, but he stopped to stare at Stanley incredulously when Stanley tried to press the bucket into his arms again. When it was clear that wouldn’t work, Stanley instead placed the bucket onto the Narrator’s lap before grabbing at the Narrator’s arms and trying to latch them around the bucket.

When Stanley let go of the Narrator’s arms and stepped back, though, the Narrator immediately shoved the bucket off his lap, causing it to bounce on the floor and land on the other side of the room. “I don’t need the bucket, Stanley, I need you not to attack me like some brute!”

Stanley frowned, wishing he could say some unkind things to the Narrator. The Narrator, at least, seemed to regret at least how loud his outburst had been as he held the back of his head in his hands again and groaned in pain. Stanley thought it served him right but went to retrieve the bucket nonetheless.

“Don’t you dare,” the Narrator hissed. Stanley paused and sighed, righting the bucket but leaving it on the floor. Deciding to change tactics, Stanley instead reached for the strings on one of the Get Well Someday balloons.

“We need to figure out what you did when you disappeared so you can undo it before,” the Narrator began, but he stopped himself mid-sentence when Stanley grabbed for one of his hands. “Stanley, what are you doing?”

Stanley just shrugged as he tied the balloon’s string around the Narrator’s wrist, double knotting it to be safe. Stanley, deciding he liked the contact after so long even if it had to be with him, patted the back of the Narrator’s hand before letting it go.

For a second, the Narrator seemed too stunned to speak. Stanley just grinned and went to retrieve the bucket for himself.

“Thank you, Stanley,” the Narrator finally said, sounding bemused as he tried to undo the knot around his wrist. “Now, if you’d listen to what I was saying- Hey! Where are you going?”

Stanley ignored the Narrator as he, bucket in hand, headed back to see if his office door had reopened. Stanley didn’t have to look back to know that the Narrator was frantically trying to follow him. Stanley wasn’t going to stop him, of course. If the man was that determined to watch Stanley play solitaire, who was Stanley to get in his way?

“Stanley, this is serious!” The Narrator complained, still hovering awkwardly behind where Stanley sat at his desk. Stanley just rolled his eyes. The game was going badly, but one trash hand wasn’t that serious. Not when he had all but an eternity to play again. “I don’t mean your stupid game! I mean this. ”

Stanley reluctantly glanced back to see the Narrator was gesturing at his own body, the now gnawed on balloon’s string still wrapped tightly around his wrist. Stanley turned back to his game. The Narrator had stopped complaining about the head injury, at least, and Stanley considered anything past that squarely not his problem. It made no difference to him if he was trapped in this repeating hell with a disembodied annoying voice or an embodied annoying voice. At the very least this was novel.

“You can’t be serious! You should be more upset about this than I am!” The Narrator whined. “Without a narrator, your story is completely meaningless now! If you even still have one! How will you make sense of what happens to you now? How will you know what’s a choice and what’s merely a distraction?”

Stanley grimaced when he realized that there were no moves left to make in the game. The Narrator prattled on behind him.

“Look at you! You’ve already lost your way, wasting your time, even with me still here to guide you like this. Think about how bad it would get if we got separated.”

Stanley paused at that, briefly considering where they might get separated at. For such a new form the Narrator had been surprisingly quick when he wanted to follow Stanley, so Stanley doubted there were many places he could outrun him from. If the doors were all unlocked Stanley supposed he could see if the red door was there. The Narrator loved that room more than anything, Stanley knew, and Stanley was sure that he could get at least a couple of hours to himself if he left the Narrator there. Stanley shook the idea off, though. As much as he might like to privately fantasize about the Narrator dying in various brutal, gory ways, he didn’t actually want to see what would happen if they got locked in there with only the stairs as a way out.

“Stanley, I’m serious. You have to help me. We need to retrace your steps. What was the last thing you remember doing before you disappeared?” The Narrator continued, his voice beginning to take on that soft, vulnerable edge to it that always managed to get under Stanley’s skin.

With a melodramatic sigh, Stanley swiveled around in his chair. He stood quickly enough that it caused the Narrator to flinch back slightly, earning another eye roll from Stanley. Stanley stepped aside and pointed at the computer on the desk.

“I don’t want to play your silly game!” The Narrator protested, before pausing thoughtfully. “Oh, this was the last thing you were doing, wasn’t it?”

Carefully the Narrator sat down at Stanley’s desk before turning to face the computer. He stared at the thing uncertainty, his hands wavering above it but not touching any of the keys. “Well, yes, I’ll just look around.”

When the Narrator still made no move to do anything on the computer but stare at it in confusion, Stanley picked up the bucket and began picking at one of the stickers on it as he thought. This was obviously going nowhere, so Stanley tried to remember what he’d been doing before. Hadn’t he been playing on some other computers, trying to find one that had games on it? Before that, he thought he’d gotten blown up by the Narrator a couple dozen times trying to find out if there were any secrets in the mind control room.

That might be fun, Stanley thought. Getting to see what would happen with the mind control device turned on without the Narrator able to start the countdown. Then again, if the countdown started automatically, he’d be in the same situation as the room behind the red door.

“Stanley, uh, how exactly do I do this?” The Narrator asked, pulling Stanley from his thoughts. Stanley looked at the Narrator dumbly.

“How do I use this computer, I mean,” The Narrator continued, sounding uncharacteristically bashful.

Stanley snorted and pointed at the mouse and keyboard.

“I know that! I’ve seen you do that before,” the Narrator snapped. “I mean how do I actually use it? How do I find what you were doing?”

Stanley shrugged. How would he know? He just did what he was told to do on it. It had taken him this long to even consider pulling up solitaire on it.

The Narrator’s frown deepened. “Well, uh, that’s no good.”

Stanley nodded as sympathetically as he could. It looked like they were both going to have to get used to this for the time being.

“Okay then,” the Narrator said, nervously clasping his hands in front of him as he turned the chair to face Stanley. “What next then?”

Stanley glared at the Narrator.

“Oh, what, you’ve spent God-only-knows how long trying to take control of my story and now that I’m giving you the chance to make a decision you’re against it?” The Narrator scoffed. Stanley wanted to argue, but there was that slight tremor in the Narrator’s voice that made Stanley pause again. He’d long ago figured out that the Narrator wasn’t as in control as the Narrator wanted Stanley to believe, even when he had been a disembodied voice with apparently God-like powers. Besides, the man had a point. Wasn’t this exactly what Stanley had been wanting- a chance to be in control for once? To make his own story?

Making up his mind, Stanley crossed his arms and sulked out of the room. The Narrator jumped up quickly to follow.

“Where are we going?” The Narrator asked as he tried to catch up.

Stanley didn’t answer.

#the stanley parable #stanley tsp #the narrator tsp #my writing

[hostilecityshowdown]

Adam Bomb adopting a little dog with Johnny Polo (it can be just HCs or full on minific)

good morning you win the award for funniest shit in my inbox.

• the little dog is a cocker spaniel. jot that down. they're the smallest sporting dogs, good to train, good in dog competitions, and were one of the most popular dog breeds in america for a While in the eighties if i remember correctly

• this is, without a doubt, johnny polo's dog. she's his little buddy. he likes to dress her up in matching outfits or scotty flamingo-inspired attire. they have matching clubmaster ray ban sunglasses. this is a dog that could kick your ass in croquet

• adam doesn't know when/where the dog came from, exactly. in the wake of a ten day working-on-machinery-and-trying-not-to-explode-it bender, adam... noticed A Dog.

• johnny may have lied about her being a retired bomb squad dog to convince adam she was allowed to hang out with him. shame on him, adam's just concerned about workshop and lab safety, but he still gives her the same meticulous safety spiel he gives everyone, makes her wear PPE, and even teaches her what to do in most emergencies. puppy dog loves laying in her little bed and listening to adam bomb's crisis training lectures

• she might not be a bomb sniffer, but she can sniff out sporting equipment. thanks johnny. she likes finding polo's stuff when it gets buried under all his... other stuff. she's also good at fetching papers adam leaves all over at random. her process of making a selection is extremely calculated, but neither of them can figure out her pattern or why she brings adam six month old decontamination-related equations. there's no functional use in asking her to fetch papers, it's just enrichment for her and really funny to watch

• johnny polo in a poolside lawn chair, cocker spaniel lounging beside him in a similar position as him. wearing matching sunglasses and a little bikini matching his shorts. she gets to lick the condensation off his fruit bowls

• admittedly, adam's not much of an animal guy, but he doesn't dislike them. he just treats their dog like a little person who can mostly communicate in barks. this can be very frustrating for adam, because a dog isn't actually a little person and therefore won't act like one even when treated like one. but she does tolerate his more incoherent ranting and he appreciates that

• adam likes that she tries to jump and catch his foam nukes mid-air when he throws them for her. adam might not be able to work his old job anymore, but he's still got his education background+work experience, and he uses these combined with his muscles (and johnny's money but he doesn't notice that one as much) to gain access to superfund sites, detonation zones, and very big, very unpopulated areas. he can throw their dog's toys as hard as he wants without having to worry about destroying property. not that he Doesn't want to destroy property, johnny thinks their fluffy little dog scrambling through a hole adam punched into the side of a house with a frisbee isn't actually healthy

• adam doesn't sleep a lot because he's got nuclear fission happening in his brain non-stop. johnny polo doesn't sleep a lot because he's always a little wired. their cocker spaniel decides when it is sleep time for her stupid idiot men and enforces this determination with an iron paw

#everyone fight about what to name this dog /j #[ colour commentary ] #long post #[ mango madness ] #[ requests ] #adam bomb #johnny polo #some fun nuclear plant related names for your funny sport dog: #sievert. becquerel. criticality. deuterium. isotope. nuclide. ... coolant.

[quick-drawn-a]

     @chronal-anomaly​ asked:

"Hey." Lena mumbled softly, lurking quietly in the doorway. So muted, compared the vibrant and kindhearted woman that typically ran the show. Instead, her face was filled with regret, with concern, with disappointment and everything else that came with watching the trauma of others.

Jesse had been returned a day ago, all blood and gristle and missing limbs, his blood soaking the cracks between her nails, staining the skin there. That morning, Reyes finally gave her the call - She could see him now. He was awake, still groggy, but alive.

Hands clasped awkwardly behind her back, Lena advanced, taking a post next to his frame that seemed so small in the hospital bed. One hand revealed her prize, a dirty and beaten cowboy hat retrieved from the scene of the horrible crime.

"Thought - thought you might want this. Saved it for ya." Lena had tried to scrub the blood off, leaving the only evidence as another dark stain in the fabric. She balanced it carefully on his head, a little awkward. "That's better. Now you look like yourself."

          The exhaustion was bone deep — and it settled heavily, PINNING him to the mattress in a way where, even if he wanted to get up or adjust any, it’d feel like lifting BRICKS...

     — he learned that the hard way, after fumbling his phone that remained SOMEWHERE on the floor. He tried to look for it, but any attempt to even sit up proved futile as his head began to spin and whatever limbs he had left sunk into the mattress like CONCRETE.

     So instead, he sat there. Still...SILENT, propped up enough to get a good view of the holoscreen across the room...if it was on. The remote was on the bedside table — typically a great place for it. But he couldn’t help but wonder if this was a nurse’s version of a CRUEL JOKE, having it sit almost mockingly on his left side. He’d roll his eyes, not even wanting to ATTEMPT it.

     Therefore the only noise in the room was an occasional BEEP from machinery that’d confirm he was indeed still alive — it was rather ANNOYING, actually, but for the moment, he’d take this over all the sorry’s and how are you feeling conversations he’s heard spewed like a broken record for the past hour and a half — of course unable to express how he really felt...

          — he’s confused, he’s DISAPPOINTED and dejected...he’s happy to be alive but probably most of all he’s ANGRY. He’s not quite sure why, or at who...but it was more than losing his phone to gravity, or being unable to grab the remote sitting right next to him, or the PAIN settling throughout his body as medications began to wear off — it was something more than any of that. Perhaps it was something beyond his understanding, or because he didn’t know all of the details — but it’s definitely what keeps him from greeting Lena with his usual mirth when she announces her presence.

     It takes a few seconds longer than it probably should have, but he acknowledges the woman with an empty glance. He’s immediately reminded of the mission — or, what he remembers of it, anyway. He remembers Lena and the part she played in it all — the part where she’d somehow picked just the right alley of THOUSANDS to zip down, the part where he was bleeding out in her lap. He remembers her voice, but not the words she said — how WARM she felt, and the tears in her eyes...

          — she’s almost wearing the same look now.

     He remains silent as she approaches him, honestly hoping not to hear the same spiel as the last three groups that made their way through here; he was never one for repeating himself. Thankfully, these two have practically MASTERED speechless communication, and she must’ve read his mind because she skips the formalities. The sight of his hat brings a faint grin to his features, the most anyone’s probably seen of one since he got admitted. And he’ll continue to wear that hat, grime and all — through thick and thin they’ve both survived over the years. Somehow she always ends up back where she belongs...

          “You sayin’ I normally look this SHITTY?” Even if she doesn’t laugh, he will. 

     It takes a pretty great deal of effort, but he reaches up to grab the hat by the crown. Closer examination reveals all that grime — or rather, the remnants of it. Lena definitely tried to take care of it in his absence — she’s obviously no professional, but he sees the effort. “One hell of a mission, huh?” it’s mumbled under his breath, voice taking on a sort of MELANCHOLY undertone as fingers brushed absentmindedly at the faint stain on the brim he doesn’t remember being there before. “Y’did good, kid — remember hearin’ ya over comms for a minute there...” That already UNCONVINCING smile fades even more as he begins to recall what little he remembers of the mission. It must’ve been horrible for her...traumatizing, even. Having to see your home in literal FLAMES, just before finding the very person you’ve spent damn near every waking hour with for the past four months half DEAD in some back alley — that’ll change a person. It’s why his gaze is suddenly overwhelmed with such a look of worry as he finally glances back up to Lena.

                    “ — you okay?”

#✯ — el мaтador × [ ic ] #✯ — rιѕιng ѕυn × [ blackwatch ] #✯ — ѕoмeone нad тo вreaĸ тнe ιce × [ ask ] #✯ — ғollow yoυ way down тo yoυr deepeѕт low × [ chronal-anomaly ] #chronal-anomaly #RATTLES MY CAGE —

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 1: Mechanic Weirdo

Narrated by Caprico.

Narrator: An abandoned factory in Rosset. The distinct smell of hyper-fiber material lingers in the air.

Narrator: It’s dark. All information is converted to data through my robotic arm and sent to my brain.

Caprico: ...Insufficient explosive power. Transformer No. 238 requires adjustment.

Narrator: The number of explosives required for this order is twice the usual number for top-class products in Rosset’s black market.

Narrator: It’s a challenge indeed... though the aforementioned top-class products are my handiwork as well.

Choose either “Isn’t that weapon illegal?” or “What’s going to happen if the bad guys get it?”

If “illegal,” ...

You: Aren’t those forbidden weapons? Are you sure you’re allowed to do that?

If “bad guys,” ...

You: What if criminals get hold of these dangerous weapons?

--

Narrator: Doesn’t matter. I sell machinery and people pay me money. That’s all there is.

Narrator: Knives with special hidden mechanisms, androids, explosives... whoever you are, whatever you want, I can make it for you.

Narrator: There’s a set of electronic communications equipment at the factory door. My clients can pick up their orders there.

Narrator: They wouldn’t want to interact with me anyway. I’m the one they call a “lifeless cyborg” after all.

Narrator: However, on this particular day, someone is pounding on the factory door.

Caprico: ...Irritating.

Narrator: I press a button and the AI customer service system repeats its usual spiel, asking the visitor to leave a message.

Narrator: The knocks stop briefly but begin again, anxiously, expectantly, intterupting my stream of thoughts.

Narrator: Who in the world is it? Tiresome reporters? An enemy of one of my clients? Cops seeking trouble?

Narrator: In a fit of annoyance, I put down my work and open the door.

Narrator: A battered, bloody girl in Wasteland attire stumbles into my factory.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

#caprico #shining nikki #chapter 1 #transcript #ssr designer #ruins #ruin island #mechanic weirdo #black market #weapons #machines #cyborg #fleeting time

[slippery-minghus]

lol lol i'm absolutely fine and didn't even fall but uh. they should probably mention "Don't Climb Ladders" in the whole "don't drive or operate heavy machinery after anesthesia" spiel 😅

because i was not accounting for the change to my balance/proprioception 😅

#i mean.... in hindsight it's kinda common sense #and i was definitely more careful after losing my balance but uhhhh #that was a thing #but the little 3D dragon decals i hung up in my kitchen look great! #narrating my life

[charcoalhawk]

POV you are Dead

Summary: You decide to check out your parents’ creepy failed ghost portal, after all the thing’s just a useless hunk of metal right?

Right?

Written for Dannymay 2022, prompt was new genre/style, where for a new style I chose to write in second person.

You had never really liked the basement, your parents secret pride and joy. It was always abnormally cold and filled with machinery that gleamed like fangs in the maw of a terrifying beast.

The only mildly interesting thing about the basement had been, in your opinion, the hole in the wall your parents insisted would open up as a door to another dimension.

You and Jazz were both called down that night to ‘witness history’, as your mom put it. You and Jazz share long suffering looks as the two of you are forced to listen to your parents' whole ghost spiel. Finally with a dramatic flourish your dad plugs the portal into the main power of the house, and-

(Against your will you lean in slightly, as much as your parents' obsession with ghosts has soured your idea of the undead, the idea of punching a hole into another dimension is fascinating)

-nothing happens.

Of course, the one interesting piece of machinery your parents build in ten years doesn’t work.

After that the house is quiet for two whole weeks, with you barely seeing hide nor hair of your parents the entire time.

The beginning of the third week is also your first day as a freshman at Casper High. Jazz drives you to school and gives you a bitter smile when you remark on how neither mom nor dad was there to see your first steps as a high schooler.

The irritation sits with you all day until you mention the failed portal to Sam and Tucker at lunch. After the initial reluctance that comes with talking about your parents' ghost obsession you lay out the failure of the portal, and after some one sided debate agree to take your friends to see it tonight.

Jazz convinces your parents to go out to a nice meal to take their mind off the failure of the portal, and in her buzz to get ahead on college applications doesn’t spare a glance when you invite Sam and Tucker over.

You sneak your friends down to see the failed portal at their insistence and with only some reluctance. After all, the last time you brought them down here without mom or dad’s permission you had been forced to listen to three grueling hours of lab safety by not only your parents but Jazz as well, and she hated the basement even more than you did!

When you reach the basement your two friends are just as enraptured with the portal as you were, and after some heated debate on whether your parents knew what they were doing you decide to take a look inside the portal propper.

You put on the hazmat suit mom and dad bought specifically for you, and at your friends' confused looks you shrug and remark that if your parents find out you came downstairs without their permission they at least wouldn’t be able to get on you for not following lab safety.

You slowly step into the portal proper, allowing yourself to admire the intricacy of the wiring your parents did and the sheer level of detail they put into this now useless hunk of metal.

You run your hand over a particular gathering of wires, scowling as you’re reminded how obsessed your parents were with making this thing.

You think this might be the thing you hate most in life.

Which made it an especially inconvenient place to die.

With a start you feel your hand depress into the mass of wires slightly, and a haunting click echoes through the chamber before your vision is enveloped in white.

(You think you scream. It’s hard to tell when your entire world is consumed with a white-hot agony that knows no start and no end. The pain goes on and on, to a point you wish you could just escape, leave this pain and this body and not ever look back)

When you are aware again of the world around you the first thing that you notice is that there is absolutely no pain, as if a switch had been flipped and the pain that had consumed you is completely absent. You glance around and see that you are once again at the mouth of the portal, but this time instead of the dark cavern that you entered there is instead a swirling mass of green that seems to hum with the air around it.

With a start you remember your friends and turn to see Sam and Tucker’s horrified faces, glancing at something on the ground lit up in a halo by the green glow of the portal.

Before you can even start to assure them that everything is ok-

(it’s not it’s really not it had hurt so much the pain like nothing you had ever experience before)

-you look down, down farther than you think you have to because for some reason you’re significantly taller than you remember and there, on the ground, is…

There, in front of you, is your body.

#Dannymay2022 #danny phantom #pov second person #cw brief mention of electrocution and a dead body #no beta I die like Danny

[yandere-wishes]

Dr.Frankenstein

💀Yandere Idia Shroud x Reader

💀Summary: Idia wants to prove the world wrong. To show that there is more to life than good and bad, villains and heroes. But somewhere along the way, he falls in love with what he is trying to prove. 

💀Warnings: Dead reader, delusional tendencies, gore,

💀Edited by my beloved Peri!! @tealyjade-libran

💀 Alternative title: Dr. Frankenstein falls in love with his monster. 

Idia had known, from an all too young age that his heart was fashioned to be enraptured with misery and sympathy.  

Once before, a few thousand eons ago, Idia had been a meager child, boyish, shy and happy with life. Sitting on his mother's lap, as her thinner than bone fingers ignited themselves on his scorching hair. He'd listen as her sunken lips recited story after story from forgotten books and dead myths. content, long ago he had known the feeling of contentment. 

And yet said feeling had died so long before Idia even comprehended the narrative behind death. His joy at hearing tales about daring heroes and bewildering gods ran dry all too soon. He'd grown numb to the stories of good and evil, the same formula used over and over and over again. Good won, good prevailed; evil lost, evil vanished. It lacked logic and sense. The probability behind mindless heroes saving the day each and every time was astronomical. It couldn't happen. Yet the history of their world and his darling mother's tongue told a different tale. 

-Not only could it be done, but rather it had been done on endless occasions.-

There had, however, been one story that stood out amongst the rotten batch. An anecdote that lacked morals and didn't defy a single law of nature. One would never think that a god born would find solace in a tale of a simple human trying to play god. The only story that sunk deep into his arteries like fragile needles, swimming through his blood before pricking manically at his heart. The only story mama told with faint nostalgia and a distant voice. The spiel of a scientist, whose mind was both his greatest ally and worst foe. A man who looked at the heavens with neither admiration nor hope. A mortal who wasn't satisfied with what good and bad had to offer. Dr. Frankenstein, whose one true desire was to do what gods did, to prove that he too could accomplish what the heavens claimed a miracle. 

It was then and there among the pitch black of his parent's room that the oldest -no the only- son of the Shroud family proclaimed in a hoarse voice that cracked at each interval. That he too would be like Victor Frankenstein. That he too would live in a world of his own, a world with no room for good and evil. A world free of wretched stories that filled the minds of jovial children. And on that day, fate had the gall to listen to the claims of a brainless brat. 

Even after countless millennia, Idia Shroud had not changed, he'd only grown into the role he forged for himself some centuries ago. 

Yet nobody ever said it would be so hard to suffer the pain of a once maddening genius. The stories made it seem easy, made Frankenstein’s pain into pretty poetry that held only a fraction of the weight. Idia came to question time and time again, what it really was he was trying to suffer for. Why did he bestow upon himself the endless torment of alienation from a world that he too longed to be a part of?

Victor Frankenstein had something to prove, he longed to be a god in the most unclassic way. All the frenetic doctor wished was to shout at all mankind and the heavens above that he was the greatest. For in his suffrage he had discovered the antidote to what sets men apart from gods. That he, the overlooked boy, the forgotten pupil had -with solely his intellect- created life. 

-Idia too desired to do just that. To scream at this fairy tale world that he, the cursed heir, the villain, the monster, was superior to every prince and hero in existence.-

Somewhere along the line, in the space between todays and tomorrows, he'd somehow lost the method behind the madness he had come to cage himself within. He lost purpose, lost hope, forgot why he'd declared to earth and Olympus that he too would be a genius akin to Dr. Frankenstein. 

Idia didn't know what spark had flared his senses, what made him realize what it was he lacked from the hopeless doctor. He liked to think it had been the moment glacial fingers rinsed in fair blood and washed away gold and been stripped from his pale clammy hands. Phantom kisses had waltzed away from his burning cheek to float back into the spiral from which they had risen. 

The dead marching back to the land of the deceased.

Leaving him to crawl back into the dark pits of his self-made hell.

Only this time, he'd understand why Frankenstein had dedicated his life to seclusion. Why he'd taken gulps of anguish, rather than air. 

It was so painfully obvious, sitting in front of him on a golden throne this whole time. How in Hades' name had he been so blind? How had he forgotten?

Although admittedly his chagrin of forgetting far outweighed his elation of finally remembering. Frankenstein hadn't suffered for not, he had suffered to build, to create. His isolation wasn't of choice but rather out of necessity. 

-The monster-

 The Monster was Frankenstein's raison d'être, The final fruit of his endless labors. He had risked everything to build him and that's exactly what Idia would do too. 

Victor Frankenstein had his monster. 

Idia Shroud would have his monster.

//

It was on a dreary night that Idia beheld the accomplishment of his toils. anxiety burned through his fragile body, amounting ever so quickly to agony. Thoughts of do's and don't's flooded his body, pilling on top of each other like corpses after a genocide.

Inside the lights were just barely surviving, every few minutes they would flicker breathing in a final breath before a short death, only to be revived minutes later, spilling their artificial glow throughout the chamber. The room itself reeked of rotting flesh and something so sickly sweet, it almost made the dorm leader of the nearly deceased heave. 

Idia's eyes remain static, seemingly stitched to the thing on the metal slab of a table. The body lays limp like a porcelain doll. No, not a doll, Idia thinks, like the monster, Frankenstein’s monster before it arose from its deathly slumber. 

Outside A flash of lightning crackles through the night sky, rough sparks of electricity flow through the murky air. They jolt and dance before dying in the night's void. 

After it, the world falls still, trapped behind the iron bars of an endless minute. The once meek god feels a surge dance through his core. The levity of his dreams prancing about. He's close, all so close. A breath away and it will be done. A minute away and all the world will see that there's never been any need for good and evil. Morals are merely prejudice beaten into every living thing, a simple way to keep mortals in their place and gods ruling above them. 

The bloody needle in his hand slips through his leather-covered fingers, chimes as it hits the blood soaked ground. Idia's mind races through the odds and ends of everything. Through the fairy tale that is his life. He wonders, would they be proud of him? Would His darling dead brother whose soul now rests in a metal body, shut down and laid to rest in a forgotten corner, advocate what he's about to do? Would his mother's sickly lingula sing praise to him, retell the glory of her son's endeavors to the children of the accursed isle? Probably not, it's a bitter thought, but as true as they come. What parent or brother on this damn earth would be proud of their monster trying to fabricate an abomination? Who, in the millennia to come would look back on him and declare with pride that Idia Shroud had been a genius, one who stood above the heroes and villains and gods? Who would ever call him something better than a hero, better than a villain, better than a god? 

In hindsight, Idia likes to think he always knew what he was doing. Always knew that he wanted the world to remember him as the one who broke the rhythm that the universe had been dancing to for endless years. To show this story-obsessed world, that good, and evil were merely perceptions of broken minds. Ideologies fabricated to justify meaningless actions. 

Good could be bad.

Evil could be nice. 

But science prevailed over all else.

Idia's knees quivered as he bends down by the table, his pale blue lips hovered above his creation's stitched-up forehead. He knew it was wrong, so, so wrong. But it couldn't be helped. For some ungodly reason, as the days ticked by and he began to sew together the bag of mismatched limbs. Idia had, in some way, come to love his creation. He wouldn't call it love per se. But he did long to hold his fragile creation in his arms. To kiss their reddened lips as their torn tongue invaded his mouth. 

In the dead of night as he laid beside his still dead lover, no monster, not lover, not yet. He began to wonder, had Frankenstein fallen in love with his abomination somewhere along the road? Had fate once again played its silly little games and twisted their paths to forever meet? Did Victor Frankinstine ever wish to kiss his creation, to have them kiss him?

It may have been wrong. The storybook-bound people of this world may even call it evil. But it wouldn't be that way for long. Idia's fingers curled into his palm, the shards of his bitten-off nails dug deeper into his flesh. His chest tightened with a foreign sensation. A feeling that made cold sweat run down his thin neck. 

Using what little strength he had left, Idia pushed himself off the ground and wobbled over to his mainframe machine. He braced himself on the heavy machinery trying to regain a semblance of his balance. He could do this, he had to do this. 

His bony finger coiled around the silver leaver, the patched of rust bite into his skin. He held the power to defy everything. To make a new world. His golden pupils land on his fingers for a second. a faint memory of his mother slither back into his mind. It's murky and foggy but he remembers the way her boney fingers use to trail down his hair and arms and legs. How she traced ghosts and blood splatters on his chubby wrists, as she retold the story of the mad scientist. Comically enough she had been the reason why Idia had fabricated this self-induced prophecy and now he'd grown to be her spitting image. A carbon copy of the person who fueled his obsession with defying the laws of good and evil. 

The leaver budged forward, clicking in protest as Idia pulled it lower and lower. Outside thunder boomed through the air, louder and louder. Maybe the ancient gods knew what he was doing. Maybe this storm was their warning to him. Yelling and shrinking to get him to stop. Threatening him to give up this game he had played for so long. 

No.

Not this time. 

Idia had operated by the book, he'd done everything like Victor Frankenstein. No ancient deity or prized warrior would be able to stop him. The gods' threats were the last part of his plan, all he needed was the lightning, the stray string of electricity. Then you would come alive. You'd be his to hold, to love, to cherish. To show to the whole damn mindless world. 

A crackle shot through the air, twisting itself around the rod connected to the device and to an extension, you as well. It slated around the iron, like a wild tiger trapped in a cage. Squawking and fighting to free itself as it slid downwards. The moment it came in contact with the larger body of the machine, it roared, a deafening white noise that reverberated off the stone walls. It pierced Idia's ears, causing a thin line of blood to drool down the side of his head. The apparatus buzzed to life, bright lights filled the chamber and the wires attached to your corpse began to stir. 

The once still carcass began to jerk violently, its head and arms and feet shaking, twisting in inelegant gruesome movements. Its torso would lift from the table only to crash down once more, with a force that surely fractured a few bones. Amid the madness, the mouth of the monster began to open, popping the loose stitches around the edge of her lips. Its long tongue darted out like a snake. And though it was mostly hushed by the hissing of the loose electric bolts and the harsh rain that had started to pour outside. Idia swore he heard her whisper his name.

The fire-haired boy ran across the room, tumbling to the side of the metal table. His large arms wrapped around your tiny ones. His eyes bore into yours. Watching as your inconsistent eyes stared into his. Your face was soft and tender, painted in an innocence only worn by young children. You were his now, his perfect creation. Something began to build inside of him, a forgotten feeling. 

Contentment; this was contentment, something he hadn't felt for a long long time. 

What are gods if not humans who possess a secret no one else could obtain? With you by his side, in his arms, Idia could finally, finally triumph overall. He had made life, he had defied all else, surely now everyone could see he was superior to all else in this make-believe world. 

But the moment ended all too soon. Your eyes began to dull over, darkening with every blink until they shut permanently once more. The thumping of your borrowed heart began to slacken. Pounding slower and slower until it stilled. The patched up body came next, falling limp, dead again, floating back to the yonder of the grave. Out of his grasp, out of his life.

The world didn't stand still this time, instead, it scrambled forward at aching speed. No sooner had you taken your first breath had you taken your very last. You'd left without ever saying "hello".

Maybe in the midst of all the chaos, glorious altering chaos, he screamed, maybe he cried. Maybe it finally dawned on him why Dr. Frankenstein was merely a myth. A fable told to accursed children. Because Victor Frankenstein wasn't good or evil. He neither harbored joy nor malice. He wished only to be the best. And for so long Idia had wished the same. Searched for the same purpose in his meaningless life. 

What is a scientist if not a harbinger of grief and pain? 

Someone who devotes their life and loin, riddle and reason, in search of true purpose amongst the forces of the universe. What's a scientist if not a god in their own right. 

Had he been a god just now, Idia was left to ponder. For two glorious, astonishing, baffling moments Idia had been better than any god in existence. He had prevailed where every hero had failed. He had accomplished what villains went mad trying to achieve. He had been victorious.

Yes, Idia Shroud had fulfilled his dream. 

If only for a couple of inert moments. 

Gods were merely that, humans who had created something from the very soil they too were made of. 

And he too had done it. 

But alas in the end, maybe the legends and the myths had been true, credible good always won and evil did always vanish. Barring you had been so young, so new, you didn't even comprehend good or evil, you hadn't been alive long enough to understand what those two defining forces even were. The world didn't yet know if you were even good or evil. But it matters all so very little because you were his creation, his monstrosity, his, and Idia Shroud had always been and would always be evil, a villain in his own right. Just another gear in the predominant forces of the universe.

He'd been a fool to think he could defy the structured narrative this world had come to accept as law. 

Although, no narrative could ever change how much he had loved you, dead or alive. It wouldn't change how he had almost, almost, became Dr.Frankenstein. 

Although at the final page just before he closed the book. In the back of his mind, Idia was sure he had become the doomed doctor. 

For he too had both fallen in love with his creation and driven himself mad over it.  

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland idia shroud #twisted wonderland idia shroud x reader #twisted wonderland yandere idia shroud #twisted wonderland idia shroud x you #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #yandere idia shroud #yandere idia shroud x reader #yandere idia shroud x you #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere #yandere twisted wonderland #yancore #twisted wonderland x reader

[guilty-pleasures-abound]

Maybe I'm the only crazy person who wants this but?

One of those ambience/asmr room videos (example) but it's Rick's garage; you could have bubbling beaker sounds, typing, pen and paper sounds, shuffle of tools in a toolbox, light music in the background... hell, I'd even take the occasional Rick burp lol.

I'd love more Gravity Falls ones too; there's a couple general ambience ones on YouTube already that just feature soft music and a static exterior shot of the Mystery Shack, which are nice, but one inside the Mystery Shack with appropriate sounds to go with that would be so cool. Inaudible talking from the gift shop, sweeping/cleaning sounds, nature sounds like birds and insects or maybe even some rain, maybe hear Stan doing his Mr Mystery spiel here and there, or him singing what he's doing.

Could easily do Ford's lab, too! Lots of the same sounds as Rick's garage, but maybe throw in the low hum of machinery, or the occasional dice roll as he takes a little break to work on a DD&MD campaign, or some kind of mysterious creature shuffling around.

Oo! Ship and ocean sounds on the Stan O'War! Could do waves lapping, rain on the ocean, whale songs, the crackle of a radio, the gurgle of a coffee maker.

Idk I just think they would be so fun and relaxing.

#gravity falls #rick and morty #asmr #ambience

[hey-hey-j]

oh boy here we go last two episodes of season 1 of the owl house here we go here we GO

- Leave Eda alone already she doesn't want to join your stupid little coven cult

- Ha ha get WRECKED Lilith

- DESTROY her ass, Hooty

- Well if you ask me I think Belos is a little bitch and his oh so precious ""coven system"" is a load of bullcrap

- "Using magic all wrong" shut the fuck UP Belos you don't know anything

- You see?? Amity gets it!

- Yo is it weird that this Belos backstory spiel is making me genuinely uncomfortable

- Yo is the abundance of machinery in the castle compared to the largely non-technological world of the Boiling Isles supposed to be a red flag or

- Oh what the fuck I read "(heart thumping)" on the subtitles and thought it was talking about Lilith but what the hell there's an actual HEART in that there throne room

- "You're always your best self" Excuse me while I go bawl my eyes out again

- yo what the fuck what the fuck was that

- OHOHOHOHO EDA'S PISSED

- YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- oh.

- oh she is dead

- FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK

- Bro

- Bro what the fuck

- Give me a minute I just gotta. I just gotta catch my breath before the finale.

- Bro I'm scared

- *inhale* okay here we go

- wait wait wait okay I was making to x out of this episode to go to the next one and uh. Um excuse me that isn't how the end credits are supposed to look

- okay, now here we go

- If some creepy asshole showed up on my magic island claiming that only he can wield this powerful unknown knowledge I simply would not trust him. Sorry to all you Boiling Isles bitches but I'm built different.

- Forgive me father for thinking "Sans Undertale?" when Belos showed up in the middle of this very tense and emotionally charged finale

- HA

- I --

- fucking dumbass

- *megalovania plays softly in the distance.....*

- get fucking wrecked belos you son of a bitch

- I don't know about you but. I think I've had my fill of Creepy Tyrannical Overlord Villains Who Crave Conformity in cartoons.

- Would anyone be mad if I said I'm not entirely satisfied with this "Eda and Lilith are sharing the curse now" ending

- Why is "Deja una luz puesta para mi" hitting me so hard man I have been emotionally compromised

- Well at least the credits are back to normal

So.

I finished season one of the owl house.

And.

I liked it!

The characters, the animation, the writing, all of it is so, so good! I like how you can tell where the show took inspiration and influence from others that came before it, but it's integrated so well into the show that it isn't distracting at all. I love how the characters interact with each other and how their relationships have changed over the course of just 19 episodes. I love the designs in this show! I can't remember the last time I watched an animated show with a design style that made me feel something! I love the magic! I love King!

And while the finale wasn't perfect in my eyes, it still resonated with me, made me hurt and cheer for these characters I've come to love so much, and at the end of the day, isn't that what's really important?

Tomorrow we start season 2. I can't wait.

#j watches the owl house #or: j gets way too emotional over the owl house for an hour and a half