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Blog made!

THE NEW URL IS specimen044.tumblr.com

Follow me there! I'll be getting to replies shortly.

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Okay….

The account is made. Setup will have to wait until later, because I can't sign out here until I make sure everything's done and my sister has my phone (and with it the Tumblr app). As soon as she gets back, I'll set the account up and get to replies. 

For now, start following specimen044.tumblr.com

!!!

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ATTENTION!

I've decided that I WILL be remaking the blog. All current threads and important character development posts will be reblogged there, after which this account will promptly be closed to avoid confusion. I will update with the url after the blog is created. If you follow me here, please refollow me there! 

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So...

I've decided that, with my password gone and my registered email inaccessible, and with tumblr support unresponsive, it may be beneficial to simply restart the blog. What do you think?

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((Sorry for the recent inactivity...

…but it will most likely be continuing through until next weekend. I've had a lot on my plate these past few weeks, and I need a little time off. See you guys soon!))

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((why is it i can never like anything i write? going back through old replies here and reading the previous chapters of my fic, i'm kind of startled at how bad they are, pacing- and characterization-wise. i do hope i've at least somewhat improved.))

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◭

Send ◭ to find out any quirks or behavioral patterns my muse would display around yours.

044 would be very casual around Emma, and would not make any attempt at dominance. She would assert herself as being a threat not to be taken lightly, of course, but nothing beyond that. Likely, she would try to crack a few jokes about their “GOREFEST 3” run-through, maybe one or two about her (at least to Emma) unusual birth. Not being privy to human courtesy, she would probably be pretty obnoxious in making said jokes. 

Generally, she would act much more laid-back than around the whitecoats or the guards—Emma’s not trying to hurt her, and she has no intention of going on the offensive (at least for now), so why shouldn’t she be? 

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Offline

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Wings.

Long, feathered, elegant. She didn’t know if she’d seen anything like them. She couldn’t see much but them; whatever they sprouted from appeared to be using them as a makeshift shield. She heard it give a soft chirp. A bird?

No; as she approached, she noticed long, pawed legs under the wings, and a thick tail to go with them. It was something else. Smelled like the Sweet-Giver. But not her, looked too different. Yes, something else.

She crawled along the ground, not out of caution so much as curiosity. Every time she made a sound, the being flinched, the sound of rustling feathers leaking out of the holes in the box. Along with the sound came the smell of fear. She loved that smell. It meant she was in control.

In response, she gave a sharp hiss. She had arrived at the box, climbing atop it and scraping at it with sharp claws. How could she tell what the thing was if it wouldn’t get out?

Social Experiment, for Katanamasako

She had become used to the schedule by now, after coming to know the humans’ words for the days of the week. Monday was for sample-taking, Tuesday was for combat evaluations, Wednesday for visitation, Thursday was a free day. Today, Friday, began the three-day sequence she liked to call “Crosstest Hell.”

She didn’t have any choice but to comply as they escorted her, however humiliating her compliance was. They, after all, had guns.  

Wait, this wasn’t the way to the crosstesting room. Where were they taking her? Three hallways in the wrong direction and two doors down the fourth, they arrived at her supposed destination. With the slide of an access card through a dusty keypad, the doors opened to what appeared to be a giant greenhouse. Just as suddenly, the whitecoats shoved her through said doors onto the wet, soil-covered ground. 

"Enjoy your stay," one of the whitecoats said. The doors closed, and she was left alone. 

The first thing she noticed was the change in smell. Where before there had been coldness and staleness and medicine, there was soil and fresh air and life.

The second was that she wasn’t alone. 

There was a very conspicuously placed enclosure in the center of the greenhouse, and inside was a very conspicuous other. With caution dictated by instinct, she approached.

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"I never imagined you were so… ticklish."

Those spots right under her dorsal spines that she could never reach? Apparently those spots were so very ticklish they made her a spasmodic mess, turning what began as innocent scratches into a bizarre tickle fight that any onlookers would say came from a bad horror film. Regaining her dignity, she stood up, shaking herself off with a huff and a hiss. 

/Neither did I./ 

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((this will suffice for April tomfoolery))

Send my muse one of the following to see how they react! (Fluffy)

"You. Me. Cuddle. Now."

"Don’t move, I just got comfy."

"I’m scared, hold me!"

"I bit my lip. Will you kiss it better?"

"Tickle war has been declared!"

"Bunny pyjamas, really?"

"I’ve never seen so many kittens in one place."

"Come on, just one bite."

"I never imagined you were so… ticklish."

"You’re so huggable."

"You’re under arrest for being too cute. Put your hands where I can hold them."

"Have you fallen asleep on me?"

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◭

Send ◭ for my character’s behavior around yours.

044 knows Samus is a force to be reckoned with, and treats her as such. She is noticeably more timid around the huntress, letting Samus take the spotlight; she is much less likely to assert herself when in the presence of someone so powerful. 044 will follow Samus’s lead and accepts her commands without question.

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((OHH THIS IS INTERESTING))

People act ever so slightly differently depending on who they are around. Send me a ◭ and I'll tell you something my character does or would likely do around yours that is unique or specialized to their interactions.

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"I want to help." ((Sideblogs can't send asks, but this is protoss-menagerie!))

Sentence meme.

As usual, the whitecoats’ careless testing had resulted in injury. They had run her through a maze this time, much like a lab rat (which she supposed, by this point, she was). The “dead ends” had been rigged, of course. She had ended up with multiple turret-fire wounds and burns all over her upper body. They hurt like hell. But she wouldn’t let this nobody whitecoat, toting a comically large first-aid kit, know that. 

She scuttled off to the far corner, wincing as her wounds dripped acid onto the floor. She didn’t need their help. 

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Social Experiment, for Katanamasako

She had become used to the schedule by now, after coming to know the humans' words for the days of the week. Monday was for sample-taking, Tuesday was for combat evaluations, Wednesday for visitation, Thursday was a free day. Today, Friday, began the three-day sequence she liked to call "Crosstest Hell."

She didn't have any choice but to comply as they escorted her, however humiliating her compliance was. They, after all, had guns.  

Wait, this wasn't the way to the crosstesting room. Where were they taking her? Three hallways in the wrong direction and two doors down the fourth, they arrived at her supposed destination. With the slide of an access card through a dusty keypad, the doors opened to what appeared to be a giant greenhouse. Just as suddenly, the whitecoats shoved her through said doors onto the wet, soil-covered ground. 

"Enjoy your stay," one of the whitecoats said. The doors closed, and she was left alone. 

The first thing she noticed was the change in smell. Where before there had been coldness and staleness and medicine, there was soil and fresh air and life. 

The second was that she wasn't alone. 

There was a very conspicuously placed enclosure in the center of the greenhouse, and inside was a very conspicuous other. With caution dictated by instinct, she approached.

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You’re scaring me.

Sentence meme.

The hooded visitor quivered in its gray boots. If she had eyes, she thought, she might say it was a sight for sore ones. She had missed this reaction, hadn’t been treated to the sweet scent of fear in far too long. She strode with an renewed air of confidence to the reinforced window, and pressed her six-fingered hands against it. 

Oh, the fear-scent was so strong. She couldn’t help herself, started drooling, desperate to partake. After all, she was a wild animal.

Good, she thought, only to herself, and gave a long, bone-chilling hiss. 

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((hella))

I’d rather die.

Did you hear that?

I know what I saw.

That doesn’t make any sense.

Promise me, you’ll never do that again…

Don’t touch me.

We make a good team.

What’s the news?

Do you hear yourself?

Are those wedding bells I detect?

You stole that...