#$TICS token

[36crypto]

Price Moves and 516M Tokens Sold: Why Qubetics, Injective, and Tron Are the Best Cryptos to Hold

In a market known for speed and volatility, utility and timing usually define success. Qubetics is in its final crypto presale phase, with its Real World Asset (RWA) Tokenization Marketplace gaining both institutional and public attention. Meanwhile, Injective continues a steady price climb, posting a live market cap of over $1.15 billion, while Tron holds its ground as a top-ten blockchain asset…

[horny-marbles]

ꪶꪮꪜꫀ ꪗꪮꪊ ꪶỉƙꫀ ꪖ ᦔꪮᦋ (Ticci Toby x F!Reader)

CW: obsessive/stalker reader, angst with no comfort, verbal abuse, forced oral and anal (and ass to mouth soz if ur not into that), hate sex, lotta spit and slapping

word count 3.9k

guys i don't condone or romanticize this behaviour!! also this is kinda old lol

It wasn’t even a smile.

It could’ve been a twitch—just his face doing what it always does. A tic, involuntary and fleeting, the skin near his scarred cheek jumping just so, lips barely tugging. But it was enough. Enough to make your heart shudder like it was trying to punch its way out of your ribcage. Enough to rewire something deep in the grey matter of your brain.

You caught it in a hallway. Just a passing glance, a flicker of Toby's eyes toward you before he looked away. And that twitch, that almost-smile, settled into your bones like it belonged there. You didn’t smile back. You were too busy falling in love.

He looked tired. He always did. Restless hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, head low, a jittery edge in every step he took like his body was a cracked circuit. His movements were crooked. Unstable. Beautiful.

He was perfect.

You started following him. Not closely enough to be obvious—just enough to learn his patterns. How he’d disappear into the woods behind the mansion, dragging his axes behind him like a dog on a leash. How he’d sit near the creek and smoke until his hands stopped shaking. How sometimes he’d scream—ugly, broken, guttural, ragged things—like he was trying to rip something out of his own throat.

You never got scared. If anything, it made you ache for him. That kind of pain—it needed to be held. It needed to be cradled and worshipped, you thought.

You told yourself you weren’t being weird. It’s not like you were doing anything wrong. You were just watching. Learning. He was interesting. He was lonely. You could fix that.

You didn’t approach him. Not yet. He was skittish, like a stray, and you couldn’t risk scaring him off. No, if you wanted this to work, you had to play it right. You had to give him reasons to trust you.

To love you.

So you started small. A lighter on the step outside his room—one of those black Zippos with a flame etched on the front. You heard him mention in passing, voice low and fraying at the edges, how his last one got busted. You stole it from a gas station half a mile out.

Then the candy—peanut butter taffy, sticky and awful, the kind only freak kids liked. You knew because he said it once, muttered under his breath after a mission debrief that it used to be his favorite. It was old and half-melted when you left it near his room, but it didn’t matter.

What mattered was the perfume. Your perfume. Just a little spritz on every gift, every token of love. You wanted him to know. You wanted his nose full of you.

He tried to ignore it. You could feel him trying. But that didn’t stop him from pocketing the things. From taking the candy. From unwrapping the gum and chewing it like it didn’t come wrapped in the scent of your obsession. Like he doesn’t know it’s you.

But he knows. Of course he fucking knows. You’re not subtle.

You leave everything reeking of your perfume—heady, sweet, clinging like oil to his skin when he brushes against whatever you’ve touched. His pillow, one night. You only got a second in his room when no one was looking, when he wasn't around, but it was enough. You didn’t take anything. You didn’t leave anything.

But you couldn't help yourself. You just breathed the air he breathed, smelled him on his messy sheets, and your hand flew between your legs like it had a mind of its own. It was quick, but you swore that it was the best orgasm you've ever had.

You start writing notes next. Tiny, cryptic things. Folded tight and buried under the offerings.

“i like how you laugh when no one else is around.”

“i saw you last night. you looked tired. you should rest more.”

“you deserve good things, toby. i want to give them to you.”

You think you’re being sweet. Gentle. Loving.

He thinks you’re watching him.

Because you are.

He becomes... different. Quieter than usual. He walks faster when you’re in the same hallway. He twitches more violently when you’re near. There’s a nervousness in his eyes—like a dog expecting the boot. You think maybe he’s just shy. You think it’s cute.

So you don’t stop. You up the ante.

You start leaving things only someone close would know. His favorite pair of gloves—stitched back together where they ripped—left on his bed. A burned CD with a playlist of every song he’s ever lingered on too long in the common room. A pack of cigarettes, unfiltered, left on the ledge of his bedroom window... one of them already lit, smoke curling up like a kiss meant for his mouth.

He snaps one day. Not at you—yet.

Just in general. A loud “FUCK OFF—stop—stop giving me this shit!” that echoes through the hallway. You hear it through the wall and it makes you freeze. Then smile.

Because if he’s this upset... it means it’s getting to him.

You’re in his head now.

Right where you belong.

And then—

Tim.

Fucking Tim, of all people.

You hear him talking to Toby one night in the kitchen. Voice low and amused.

“She’s obsessed with you, dude. You should chill out, give her some attention. Get some bitches on your dick."

You hear Toby stutter, curse, throw something into the sink, voice hushed and paranoid, like he was expecting you to be close and listening. Fair.

“I d-don’t—sh-she’s f-freakin’ me out, man—fuck—sh-she’s everywhere!"

“Yeah, and? It’s not like she’s doing anything dangerous. Could be worse. Just let her crush burn out. Give her a cigarette or something. Jesus.”

And somehow—somehow—that works.

Because the next day, you’re out back, pretending to mind your business, and he shows up. Twitching, eyes flicking everywhere but your face, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful.

He lights one, doesn’t say a word.

Then holds it out to you.

You take it. You almost fucking cry.

Your lips touch the filter where his lips touched, so careful not to mess his bite mark on the filter. The taste of him, of nicotine and ash and heat, burns into your lungs like incense.

You tell yourself it means something.

And god help him—he lets you sit beside him that day. Not close. Not touching. But enough.

You retreat back to your room and shake through your whole body like you’ve been baptized. You think about it for hours. Days. Replay it. Rewatch it in your head until it’s burned behind your eyes.

And then, you leave something else. Something too personal. Too real. Something that proves how deeply you know him—how intimately.

You thought it was your best idea yet.

You’d waited for the perfect moment—when the mansion was dead quiet, everyone gone or distracted. You crept into his room like a ghost that belonged there. Your hands didn’t even shake. You knew exactly where he kept it—tucked inside the false bottom of a drawer, in an envelope that had been folded so many times it was nearly soft.

A photograph.

Old, bent at the corners. Him—before everything. Sitting at some cracked skatepark bench, legs sprawled, hoodie too big, grin just barely visible. His cheek barely chewed through at that point. No blood. No weight under his eyes, not as heavy as it was now anyway. It was the kind of photo you’d press to your lips at night if it were yours. The kind of photo you’d keep safe under your pillow, like a secret that made your chest hurt to remember.

But it wasn’t yours.

It was his.

And you ruined it.

You glued your own picture—cut out carefully, a selfie you once thought he might like—on top of it. Not fully covering him, of course. Just enough that you were beside him now, nestled into the same moment. Like you belonged there.

On the back, you wrote:

“we’ve always been meant to be together. you just didn’t know it yet.”

You sprayed it with your perfume. Folded it tight. Left it sitting on the windowsill next to his cigarettes like it was just another gift.

You waited.

You waited and waited.

And when it happened—when he finally came back and found it—you felt it like a siren going off in your blood.

The sound was unreal.

Glass breaking. Something crashing. Then heavy, pounding footsteps in the hall. You barely had time to turn before he was there, eyes wild, shoulders trembling with every breath.

“Toby—” you started, smiling, voice soft like you could soothe him.

But his scream cut through you.

“W-What the FUCK is wrong with y-you?!”

Your smile faltered.

He was in front of you in two strides, fists clenched like he didn’t know what else to do with them. His whole body was twitching, spasming, like his rage was trying to crawl out of his skin.

“Th-this is— Y-you're fucking s-sick—fuckin’ moron! You t-took that—you TOOK that photo, th-that wasn’t yours—fuck!”

“I—I thought it would be sweet—”

“Sweet?!” he barked, spit flying. His laugh was humorless. Ferocious. Neck jerking to the side so hard it cracked.

“You don’t k-know me, you d-don’t know shit!” His eyes were glassy, his voice rising with every word. “Y-You sneak into my r-room, you—you f-follow me, l-leave this perfumed trash—wh-what the fuck is wrong with you, huh?!”

Your mouth moved but nothing came out.

“You t-took the one fucking thing I had l-left,” he seethed, voice breaking. “Y-You ruined it. Just like everything e-else. You j-j-just keep fucking—FUCKING TAKING—”

He shoved the photo against your chest so hard it crumpled. “I h-hate you. I h-hate that you m-made me start looking forward to this shit, th-thinking m-maybe it’d stop, maybe you’d fuck off—but no. No, you j-just keep digging. You just keep—fucking—taking.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “But I love you—”

“LOVE?!”

His voice cracked—high, raw. Something inside him split. You saw it happen in real time—the exact second the anger flipped into something crueler, uglier, more dangerous.

He stepped closer.

You stepped back, but he caught you by the hair—fingers twisted so tight at your scalp that your knees almost gave out. Your breath hitched in a strangled gasp, heart slamming.

“Y-You want me th-that—THAT f-fucking badly??” he spat, face inches from yours, eyes bloodshot and manic.

His other hand moved fast—unbuckling his belt with shaky, furious fingers, yanking the waistband down enough to bare himself to the cold air between you.

“H-Have it, b-bitch.” His voice was venom. “F-Fucking suck it.”

He shoved you down hard, your knees hitting the floor, the pain shooting up your legs like an electric jolt.

You looked up at him, dizzy from the violence of it. From the rage. From the realization that this was finally real.

This was love.

It was twisted. Broken. Boiling. But it was his. It was his.

Your scalp screamed under his grip, but your mouth dropped open the second his hand clamped around your jaw. There wasn’t time to breathe, wasn’t time to beg—not that you would’ve dared. Not when he was finally touching you like this. Not when he was finally looking at you like this.

Half-hard, his cock slapped against your lips as he forced his way past them, teeth scraping his skin before your jaw stretched wide. His hips stuttered forward, shallow at first, but fast—angry—as if your mouth had insulted him.

“Th-this wh-what you wanted? Huh?” he snarled through his teeth, twitch rolling through his shoulders, “F-Fucking whore—s-so goddamn desperate you had to steal from me—h-had to crawl into my skin like a fucking parasite—”

He thrust deeper, and you gagged around him, the back of your throat constricting tight as spit poured down your chin. He didn’t let up. Didn’t slow. His hand stayed in your hair, twisting harder until your eyes watered.

“You l-like this?” he hissed, hips snapping forward. “Y-You like me like this?”

You couldn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Not when your lips were suctioned tight around the base of his cock, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, throat spasming around him as he fucked deeper, rougher, like he could pound the sickness out of you through sheer force.

He groaned—sharp, guttural—and yanked you off by the hair so hard your neck cracked, a thick rope of spit trailing from your lips to the head of his cock.

You gasped, lungs burning, tongue out as you panted like a dog at his feet. Your nails dug so deeply into his hip bones that his skin scraped off under them like dirt, not that he could feel it anyway.

“F-Fuckin’ pathetic,” he spat, literally—right in your face, his saliva mixing with yours, dripping down to your chest. “L-Look at yourself, b-bitch. You're f-fucking d-disgusting."

Your eyes—glossy, blown wide—stared up at him like he was God.

He hated it. He fucking hated how it made his dick throb.

“You’re sick,” he muttered. “Y-You need help.”

You only opened your mouth wider.

“F-Fucking freak—”

He shoved himself back in without warning. You choked, sputtered, spit flying as he drove himself deep into your throat again. His thighs trembled against your face. His rhythm faltered, just for a second, hips jerking like his body betrayed him.

You felt it—felt the way his cock twitched, the way his knees buckled when your throat tightened just right.

And you latched on harder.

Your lips sealed, suctioned, like you could pull his soul out through his cock. You moaned around him with every loud, obnoxious slurp, vibrations rippling up his spine. He growled, a raw, broken animal sound that rumbled from his chest.

“St-Stop—s-stop enjoying this, fuck,” he snapped, voice cracking, panicked almost.

But it only made you suck harder.

It only made you hungrier.

And that only made him meaner.

He slammed his cock into your throat again, until your nose was crushed into his pelvis and his balls hit your chin. Until you could barely breathe.

“Y-You’re n-not getting sh-shit else from me,” he hissed. “Y-You’re not special. You’re n-not loved. You’re just a hole.”

You whimpered around him, ashamed and deliriously turned on. Your cheeks were burning, soaked in spit and tears and humiliation. But your hands stayed behind your back, obedient, like you were grateful just to be on your knees for him.

He twitched again.

God, you tasted him.

Because no matter how hard he hated you, his body wanted you. And that was enough.

You could feel his cock throb in your mouth—so fucking close. So fucking perfect. You were dizzy with it, soaked in spit, eyes rolling, heart pounding, waiting, so fucking eager to swallow every drop of his cum—

—and then he ripped himself out of you.

You gasped, air slicing through your raw throat, but he didn’t even give you a second. His hand cracked across your face with a wet smack, jerking your head sideways, and the sting lit your skin up like fire.

“F-Fuckin’ look at you,” Toby growled, yanking your head back again, spit glistening on your chin, his cock still wet and twitching just inches from your face. “Y-You’re disgusting. A d-deranged, fucked-up psycho s-stalker bitch. You think this means anything? You think this—this—” he slapped your other cheek, open-palmed, sharp enough to make spit fly from your mouth, “is love?”

You blinked up at him, smears of red in the shape of his hands on your cheeks, a hot trail of spit connecting your lip to your chin, breath hiccuping like a kicked dog. And still—you smiled.

He fucking despised the face that looked back at him, your eyes blown out, glassy and still obsessed. He spat at you again, hard, mean, disgusted, right between them.

“You think this is love? You th-think you know me? You d-don’t know SHIT. You'll NEVER b-be n-nothin' more than a f-fuckin' cumrag. NEVER. Y-You deserve to be p-put down like a f-fucking rabid animal.”

You didn’t even flinch. You could barely even hear the filth thrown your way.

You just licked your lips—slowly. Deliberately. Dry tongue swiping up the spit, the precum, everything he'd left behind like it was holy. Like it was proof he touched you.

Toby froze, tics seizing out of pure shock, chest heaving, eyes wide with something like hate and horror and disbelief all at once.

You were wrecked—utterly—mascara melting in grey streaks down your clammy cheeks, nose red and swollen, hair stuck to your wet mouth, knees bleeding underneath you. And you still looked at him like he hung the fucking stars.

Something inside him snapped all over again.

He lunged—grabbed your shoulder and threw you down, face-first into the floor. You yelped, arms scrambling to catch yourself, the skin on your knees scraped off by the floorboards, but he didn’t wait. Didn’t ask.

“Y-You want to be used so bad?” he growled, yanking your pants down and baring you to the air, “F-Fine. I’ll ruin you, you f-fucking c-cunt."

His belt hit the floor. He spat again, right between your shoulder blades, thick and hateful.

“B-Bet this is what y-you wanted all along. T-T-Take it, freak.”

He knelt behind you, one hand braced on your lower back, the other lining himself up, skipping your pussy without as much as grazing it with the tip—and shoved inside past the tight muscle rim of your ass, merciless.

Your eyes flew wide as white-hot pain shot up your spine. Your scream cracked in your throat as his cock split you in two, raw and soaked in spit but no less brutal.

You arched into it.

Toby growled something feral and shoved deeper. You were clenching so tight, your muscles spasming, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t care.

“Y-You feel that?” he panted, slamming into you, each thrust brutal, punishing. “Th-this isn’t yours. Y-You don’t own me. T-this dick will never b-be fucking yours."

Your face was pressed into the floor, spit pooled beneath your cheek, mouth open in a dazed, wet moan as he fucked you like garbage—like nothing, cock ramming in your ass with single-minded violence. Your body jolted with every slam of his hips, ass meat rippling like angry tidal waves, every punishing thrust shoving his cock deeper, harder, until it felt like your brain would melt out of your ears. You stayed silent.

Silent and fucking grateful.

He slapped your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Stupid f-fucking bimbo—l-living in some wet d-dream where you matter. You don’t. Y-You’re just a—f-fuckin’ hole.”

Another slap—across your back this time.

You whimpered, and your fingers dug into the floorboards like you could crawl inside them, but you didn’t stop him. You wouldn’t. This was your heaven.

“C-Crying now?” he sneered, voice cracking. “Wh-What happened to the whore who l-liked sucking dick so much, huh? G-Got what you wanted, and now you c-can’t even take it?”

He spit again—right on the back of your head.

And you came, so hard that you could see stars bursting behind your eyes.

No warning. No build. Just humiliation, pain, and his voice melting your brain into static.

Toby didn’t even notice. Too lost in his rage, too gone to feel anything but fire and shame and loathing at how good you felt around him.

He didn’t slow.

Didn’t give a single fuck about the sobs clawing out of your throat, the raw, ugly sounds echoing in the room like music to his rage.

“F-Fuckin’ disgusting whore,” he snarled, his breath ragged, lip curling like the sight of you made him sick. “B-Betting you like this shit. L-Like being split open like a f-fuckin’ animal.”

You nodded.

God help you—you nodded.

He barked a laugh. It wasn’t humor. It was disbelief. Pure, furious, exhausted disbelief.

He yanked you back by the hair again, your bloody knees slipping out from under you as he pulled you upright against him. Your arms hung limp, your ass and thighs flushed red from the impact, and his cock popped free from your ass with a slick, humiliating noise.

You didn’t even have time to catch your breath before he shoved you down again, spine hitting the floor with a painful thud.

"F-Fuckin' look at me."

You blinked up through tears, your lashes clumped, black streaks down your cheeks like a doll left out in the rain.

"You l-like this? Th-That I’m using you like a fleshlight? You g-get off on being a d-dumpster, huh?"

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he slapped your face again, then straddled your chest, cock dripping with spit and slick, flushed and angry red.

"Open."

Your jaw trembled, but you obeyed, and he shoved it in.

Ass straight to mouth. Thick and filthy. The taste was obscene.

You gagged instantly, throat constricting around him—but he held your head in place with both hands now, his fingers bruising your cheeks, palms cradling you like a goddamn trophy as he fucked your throat, teeth gritted, low snarls bubbling out of his chest.

"F-Fuck you— I'll f-fucking kill you, I'll— I fuck-fucking HATE you—"

Your eyes rolled. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t feel anything but him.

And then—he tensed. Not a warning. Not a pause.

Just a growl, a violent yank of your hair, and a final, punishing thrust so deep it made your vision go white.

He ripped out of your throat with a wet pop—and came.

Everywhere.

Hot spurts splashed across your cheek, your mouth, your eyelids, your lashes. He pumped another streak into your hair, and one more shot down over your chin, his spit joining the mess as he leaned in close to snarl.

"Y-You can choke on that. It's all you're ever f-fuckin’ getting from m-me."

You didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just laid there. Face covered in cum, spit, tears. Mouth open, tongue out, lips twitching as you tried to taste every drop.

Toby stood there for a second, staring, just enough to squeeze the leftover drool and slick and cum from his softening cock, and flick it at your face.

And you smiled. Tired. Broken. Elated.

His stomach turned.

“You’re fucked in the h-head,” he said, barely a whisper now. “S-So fucked it’s pathetic.”

He turned without another word, without another glance. He buckled his belt with trembling hands, eyes locked anywhere but your wrecked face, and walked out, door slamming behind him so violently that the doorknob rattled and fell to the floor with a loud clang.

Toby left you there—raw, soaked, ruined, smiling through the mess like you’d just lived a dream.

And maybe you had.

[heartfullofleeches]

Host and a "rival" omnipotent being darling who plays a different type of game with their victims- Board games that is. While Host typically monitors his contestants from afar, Gamemaster Darling prefers a hands on approach simply because it's more fun that way. From chess to tic-tac-toe to an easy game of thumb wars, Darling adores it all.

What they don't like is Host stealing all of their playmates. Since Darling loves games so much, the mortals they have their eyes on can be pawns in the greatest past time of them all.

The game of love.

-

"Host! My dearest friend- A game of rock paper scissors for that lovely person you picked to be one of your little stage puppets?"

"Y/n! Honey!- Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Before we begin, a token of my affection for my beloved guest host."

Snatching your palm held firmly at your side, Host wills your clenched fist towards his faux lips as he leans, mimicking a kiss.

"Why, you!"

Raising your hand to smack that awful grin clear, your straightened palm is caught between two fingers - that nauseating smirk glaring ever prouder at your unknowing defeat.

"Paper! You really should think about choosing something else if you ever plan on beating me~ Now, how shall we celebrate my win? The options are limitless."

"You.. Y-you... CHEATER! I want a rematch! That didn't count!"

"Now, now- We both have played our fair share of tricks. There aren't any rules when it comes to obtaining what you truly yearn for. You should know that by now.'

[grumpymiika]

♡ TW: Yandere, stalker

Toby enters a convenience store on a rainy night, his shoulders tense and his eyes dulled with exhaustion. His hands tremble slightly as he grabs a few bottles of water and a chocolate bar, his focus drifting to the ambient sounds around him. Approaching the counter, he finds a smiling attendant, her eyes warm and gentle. You make a casual remark—a joke about the weather or a comment on how endless the night feels.

Your voice, soft and inviting, catches Toby off guard, reaching a dormant part of him he hadn't known was there. He tries to keep a neutral expression, but something in his stance betrays his intrigue. You continue speaking, asking if he needs anything else or mentioning a discount. For that fleeting moment, Toby forgets the shadows that shroud his world, losing himself in a brief, grounding instant of kindness.

In the days that follow, he starts returning to the store solely to see you, increasingly captivated by the warmth and lightness you bring. Unwittingly, he begins memorizing every small detail about you: the curve of your smile, the way you brush your hair back, the sound of your soft laughter. Even in his darkest nights, thoughts of you persist, weaving an unsettling desire to protect you—and to possess you entirely.

For Toby, the concept of love is warped and intensely possessive. Over time, this obsession deepens, driving him to extremes to ensure that he is not only noticed by you but that no one else can bask in your gentle charm.

Being an unstable, haunted figure, Toby begins exhibiting peculiar, obsessive behaviors in his imagined “relationship” with you.

Frequent Visits and Stealthy Observation: Toby begins to appear at odd hours, especially during your night shifts. Even when he has no intention of buying anything, he lingers in the aisles, discreetly watching you as you work.

Veiled Curiosity: He slyly asks personal questions, using any casual comments you make as an opening. For instance, if you mention a movie, he inquires where you like to watch films or if you often go to the cinema, trying to glean details of your routine.

Protective Gestures: If he senses that anyone is treating you poorly or disrespectfully, Toby intervenes with a dark, silent stare. His intense, intimidating expression is often enough to deter anyone who might bother you. To you, this may come across as the actions of a slightly strange customer, but nothing more.

Secret Following After Work: In his furtive manner, he begins to follow you from afar after your shifts, ensuring you get home safely. He always keeps his distance to avoid being noticed, yet this "protection" is purely an expression of his obsession and need for control.

Mystifying Small Gifts: On some days, Toby leaves mysterious gifts at the store or near your door. He places small tokens like a pretty stone, a wildflower, or a note with cryptic words and unsettling phrases that only he understands.

Mental Record of Movements: Toby memorizes your habits and shift patterns, down to the days and hours when you are likely to be alone in the store. He favors these moments to visit, relishing the chance to watch you without interruption.

Attempts at Normalcy: He tries to act like any other customer when speaking with you, but his nervous tics and occasional, uncontrollable laugh reveal his unease. To you, this might come off as vaguely unsettling, but for Toby, these interactions are precious “connections” that reinforce his delusions.

While Toby believes he's caring for you, his behavior grows increasingly intrusive. He sees you as a point of light in his darkness, yet his distorted perceptions push him beyond any boundary.

Until the day he can no longer endure the jealousy and anguish of keeping his distance, and then, he will take you for himself.

[otaku553]

The way you described sarie in the tags of your Sabo au reminds me a lot about boa and my favorite interpretation of her love for luffy: that boa isn’t really in love w luffy, she’s just so traumatized that she thinks she’s in love the first time she meets a guy that sees her for the person she is and doesn’t judge her for her past. Sarie seems like she’s the same way, with Sabo treating her well and making her believe that she’s in love when she’s rlly just experiencing decency for the first time

Heheheh yeah! I agree strongly on that for Boa and Luffy, I think that Boa does not actually feel romantic attraction to luffy but is just so alienated from this feeling of platonic friendship as a result of being the object of other people’s attraction and having been exposed to that for so long, what she has with luffy is unique and she comes to perceive it as “love,” just not necessarily the kind of love she thinks it is.

That said, with Sarie, I do feel that it is a bit different! It’s not so much “decency” that she is experiencing for the first time from Sabo, but rather honesty. The problem with being a princess is that everyone tells her that they love her, and at some point, she must realize that these are shallow words that people use to endear themselves to her for ulterior motives. I’ve been turning around this phrase in my head: ‘the realm of nobility is not one in which truths are said.’ Sarie herself is such a strong example of this in canon with her verbal tic of triple negations which make it very difficult to understand her, so playing on that, I think she would also have an intimate understanding of the ways nobles twist words and never say things straight out.

Now take Sabo, who has been one of her suitors for the better part of their teenage years, who she knows his parents have been trying to get with her to get an in to the royal family for ages, and he talks to her the night before she makes the decision on who to marry as the princess, who to choose as the third heir to the throne, and he says: “look. We both know that this is something my parents have always wanted more than me. You don’t have to choose me.” And she asks what he would do if he were king, and he answers about all the people he would help and all the ideas he has to better Goa for the masses, and. She’s charmed. I think Sabo is, if nothing else, capable of being extremely extremely genuine about the good he wants to do in the world, and he makes clear to her, in no uncertain terms, that he would be a good king, but doesn’t want to be king because he both respects her choice and knows that he is doing this for ulterior motives.

That honesty, in his moment of vulnerability, is what wins her over. But not quite just that— it is the way that he is so determined to save others, when she has been thinking for the past years about how miserable he looks and how she wants to save him somehow.

Now also, imagine that Sarie has been told for all her life the words “I love you.” And not a single time has those words been said in truth, in full genuine affection and care for her as a person rather than her as a princess, her as a vehicle to the throne, her as a political token for the royal family, her as a mascot and mouthpiece. I think this honesty that Sabo shows is a lifeline she clings onto, because she knows after his confession that he is capable, in moments of vulnerability, of being honest. And I think she truly wants to hear Sabo say to her, honestly, the words “I love you.” I think she wants to know that there is at least someone in the world that truly loves her, and she just thinks it will be easiest with Sabo because she can give Sabo everything he wants: means to help the people through political authority. She just gives it in what she hopes will be an exchange for his honest love.

I have very many thoughts about Sarie haha :) I don’t think she’s a good person, but I do think she has the potential to be a very complex character. This au is largely my way of examining the ways growing up with nobility might have affected the characters that are most closely associated with nobility. I think they must be very fucked up but in different ways from the main one piece cast and its usual supporting characters.

[marlynnofmany]

Indirect followup to homonculus' post. Thoughts on...lessened toxicity.

Garlic in bulb form is toxic to fantasyland creatures. Garlic in food can also be a no-go. Garlic that's processed? Not only charred but powderized?...will burn a far tongue like raw chili pepper, maybe even a Carolina Reaper, but not...be fatally toxic. Especially if used gently. (Except with vampires, or a wolf or animal that sniffs it straight.)

Cold iron, by a similar token. BAD news for fairies. Steel? Introduces carbon. Less dangerous except that it builds better weaponry. What of alloys? Less dangerous to touch? Is the element the problem? Is rust safe to the touch?

Is there a way to process out the mythic toxicity so that, quote me on this, fantasy creatures can enjoy the "good stuff?"

All of which hinges on it not being biological. In which event, we already know that you CAN boil away some toxins or work around them. Look at cashews; those motherhecklers are nasty. But not everything is still safe, look at nightshade.

Some fae pop them like tic tacs, maybe even some gnomes or whatever.

That's a fascinating idea! What can be done to make the dangerous things less dangerous? I'll bet the fae who experiments with steel and rust is seen as the most touched-in-the-head risk-taker out there.

And just imagine an elf who's built up a resistance to garlic or whatever, possibly with a homebrew mixture of other herbs to make it tolerable, who regularly terrified their friends by eating it, trying to pull that on a human.

"Oh hey, is that garlic bread? Nice, but it needs more garlic. And what else did you put on this? Bleah, it tastes like soap. Here, try some of mine instead."

[theink-stainedfolk]

New WIP!!!

Crimson Nocturne

---

In the neon-drenched streets of Vael Noctis, a city teetering between towering skyscrapers and cursed ruins, the rogue task force Vireo hunts the darkness others fear. Bound by their own haunted pasts and wielding powers from ancient Relics, this eclectic crew—led by the icy strategist Zeiha Tirimzi and grounded by the commanding Omizan—tackles supernatural threats that threaten to unravel reality.

From the impulsive heart of Raze to the enigmatic Lalea Rigon, each member carries a curse that fuels their strength and threatens their humanity. As whispers of a catastrophic prophecy known as “The First Night” surface, Vireo faces off against the sinister Pale Choir, a syndicate with designs on forbidden power. With every Relic they destroy, the line between hero and monster blurs, forcing the team to confront their own demons to save a city that doesn’t even know they exist.

---

Character Introduction

ZEIHA TIRIMZI

Age: 28

Birthday: November 12

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by a blend of East Asian and Eastern European heritage, adapted to Vael Noctis’s world)

Height: 5’8” (173 cm)

Build: Lean and statuesque, with a dancer’s grace and a swordsman’s strength.

Eyes: Piercing amber, glowing faintly when she channels cursed energy.

Hair: Long, silver, tied in a tight braid with a single red ribbon.

Skin Tone: Pale, almost luminescent under neon lights.

Dominant Hand: Right

Style: High-collared black coat with silver filigree, fitted trousers, heeled boots, and a crimson scarf that flows like blood. Her cursed katana is sheathed in a lacquered scabbard with forbidden runes.

Moodboard: Black silk, shattered mirrors, crimson roses, ancient calligraphy, a lone sword in the rain, neon-lit shrines, and a cold, starry night.

Appearance: Zeiha carries an air of untouchable elegance, her sharp features softened only by the faintest hint of weariness in her eyes. Her movements are precise, like a predator stalking prey, and her braid sways like a metronome. A single silver hairpin shaped like a crescent moon keeps stray strands in check.

Past: Once a prodigy in a secretive order of Relic hunters, Zeiha’s life changed when a mission went wrong, costing her mentor’s life and binding her to a cursed blade that erases her memories. She founded Vireo to atone, but her past haunts her in fleeting, forgotten faces.

Personality & Traits

✔ Strategic and calculating, always three steps ahead.

✔ fiercely loyal to her team, though she rarely shows it.

✔ Emotionally guarded, hiding her fears behind a cold facade.

✔ Relentless in pursuit of her goals, even at personal cost.

✔ Dryly witty, delivering sharp one-liners in tense moments.

✔ Secretly sentimental, cherishing small tokens from her team.

✔ Haunted by the gaps in her memory, driving her to journal obsessively.

Hobbies:

Journaling in elegant script.Practicing sword forms at dawn.

Studying ancient Relic lore.

Drinking black tea in silence.

Quirks:

Adjusts her gloves before drawing her blade, a ritualistic tic.

Never re-reads her journals, fearing what she’s lost.

Taps her sword hilt when deep in thought.

Always stands slightly apart from the group, observing.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Quiet moments at dawn.

The scent of rain.

Tactical puzzles and riddles.

Her team’s banter (secretly).

Well-crafted weapons.

Bitter tea with no sugar.

❌ Dislikes:

Chaos without purpose.

Being touched without permission.

Loud, crowded places.

Betrayal or disloyalty.

Forgetting names or faces.

Sweet foods.

Favorite Food:

Black tea with jasmine.

Soba noodles with scallions.

Dark chocolate (rarely indulged).

A Line That Defines Her:

“Memories are a luxury. I gave mine up for power.”

~~~

RAZE

Age: 19

Birthday: June 25

Zodiac Sign: Cancer

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by a blend of Southeast Asian and urban street culture, adapted to Vael Noctis)

Height: 5’7” (170 cm)

Build: Wiry and athletic, built for speed and agility.

Eyes: Mismatched green and blue, bright and expressive.

Hair: Messy black with a streak of red dye.

Skin Tone: Warm tan, scarred from street fights.

Dominant Hand: Left

Style: Patched-up hoodie over lightweight armor plating, cargo pants with tech gadgets strapped to the thighs, fingerless gloves, and a gear-shaped earring.

Moodboard: Graffiti-covered walls, glowing circuit boards, red sneakers, a busted radio, urban sunsets, and a fist raised in defiance.

Appearance: Raze’s boyish charm hides a scrappy edge. His mismatched eyes sparkle with defiance, and his hoodie is a patchwork of repairs, each stitch a story. He moves like he’s always ready to dodge or strike.

Past: Raised in Vael Noctis’s slums, Raze survived by scavenging tech and dodging Relic Abusers. A chance encounter with Vireo gave him purpose, but his reckless need to prove himself stems from losing his family to a Relic rift.

Personality & Traits

✔ Impulsive and brave, often acting before thinking.

✔ Fiercely protective of his found family.

✔ Quick to laugh, even in danger.

✔ Stubbornly optimistic, refusing to give up.

✔ Easily flustered by praise or affection.

✔ Prone to guilt over past failures.

✔ Street-smart, with a knack for improvisation.

Hobbies:

Tinkering with broken gadgets.

Street racing on modified bikes.

Collecting rare coins.

Sparring with Saeji.

Quirks:

Talks to his gadgets like they’re friends.

Cracks his knuckles before a fight.

Always carries a small wrench in his pocket.

Blushes when Lalea smiles at him.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Fast bikes.

Spicy street food.

Helping others.

Lalea’s quiet encouragement.

Loud music with heavy beats.

Fixing things.

❌ Dislikes:

Being underestimated.

Cold weather.

Zeiha’s lectures.

Losing control of his powers.

Quiet, awkward silences.

Traitors.

Favorite Food:

Spicy ramen with extra chili.

Mango sticky rice.

Energy bars (for missions).

A Line That Defines Him:

“If you’re scared, then I’ll be brave for the both of us.”

~~~

ZAOSE KESHAR

Age: 26

Birthday: February 8

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by South Asian and Mediterranean influences, adapted to Vael Noctis)

Height: 5’10” (178 cm)

Build: Lean and lithe, with a dancer’s poise.

Eyes: Violet, sharp and calculating.

Hair: Long, midnight-blue with violet-pink streaks, tied loosely with a silk cord.

Skin Tone: Olive, smooth and unscarred.

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous

Style: Fitted waistcoat over a sleeveless black shirt, tailored pants, polished boots, rings on every finger, and a choker with a single gem.

Moodboard: Velvet curtains, flickering neon signs, a silver coin spinning, violet smoke, a sly smirk, and a dimly lit lounge.

Appearance: Zaose is dangerously magnetic, with a predator’s grace and a smile that cuts. His hair flows like liquid night, and his rings glint with every gesture. He moves like he owns every room.

Past: A former black market dealer, Zaose traded in Relic fragments until a deal went south, cursing him with his illusionary voice. Joining Vireo was his way out, but his old ties to the underworld linger.

Personality & Traits

✔ Charismatic and manipulative, always playing an angle.

✔ Sarcastic, with a sharp tongue.

✔ Secretly insecure about his past.

✔ Thrives on chaos but controls it masterfully.

✔ Loyal only when it suits him.

✔ Enjoys pushing others’ buttons.

✔ Surprisingly protective in rare moments.

Hobbies:

Collecting rare gemstones.

Playing high-stakes card games.

Mixing custom perfumes.

Eavesdropping for secrets.

Quirks:

Flips a silver coin before every mission.

Hums softly to test his voice’s power.

Adjusts his rings when nervous.

Winks at inappropriate times.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Outsmarting others.

Expensive liquor.

Flirting (with anyone).

Saeji’s chaos (from a distance).

Rare artifacts.

Velvet textures.

❌ Dislikes:

Being outmaneuvered.

Peran’s judgment.

Cheap imitations.

Predictable people.

Cold food.

Vulnerability.

Favorite Food:

Saffron risotto.

Pomegranate sorbet.

Spiced chai.

A Line That Defines Him:

“Control is an art. I paint with your weaknesses.”

~~~

SAEJI

Age: 22

Birthday: August 3 (he shares my bday yall!!!!)

Zodiac Sign: Leo

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by Central Asian and punk influences, adapted to Vael Noctis)

Height: 5’9” (175 cm)

Build: Lean and wiry, with a feral edge.

Eyes: Gold, with a manic glint.

Hair: platinum-blond, slightly singed at the tips.

Skin Tone: Light, covered in faint scars.

Dominant Hand: Right

Style: Torn, asymmetrical robes with chain belts, exposing tattooed arms with glowing spirit seals. Barefoot, with jingling anklets.

Moodboard: Broken chains, lightning storms, glowing tattoos, a cracked mirror, punk graffiti, and a wild laugh in the dark.

Appearance: Saeji looks like he’s one step from exploding into action. His wild hair and scarred arms scream rebellion, and his gold eyes burn with unhinged energy. His barefoot stance adds to his unpredictable aura.

Past: Saeji was raised in a cult that worshipped Relics, but he broke free after his powers awakened, shattering his sanity. Vireo gave him a home, but his fractured mind makes him a loose cannon.

Personality & Traits

✔ Chaotic and unpredictable, thriving in disorder.

✔ Fiercely loyal to Raze, his anchor.

✔ Prone to manic laughter in fights.

✔ Surprisingly poetic when calm.

✔ Distrustful of authority.

✔ Haunted by voices only he hears.

✔ Protective in his own strange way.

Hobbies:

Carving symbols into walls.

Talking to spirits.

Street dancing.

Collecting broken glass.

Quirks:

Twirls a broken chain link like a toy.

Laughs at inappropriate moments.

Whispers to unseen spirits.

Runs barefoot even in snow.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Chaos and destruction.

Raze’s optimism.

Lalea’s riddles.

Loud music.

Breaking things.

Night markets.

❌ Dislikes:

Rules and restrictions.

Zeiha’s control.

Silence.

Being ignored.

Confinement.

Bland food.

Favorite Food:

Fiery curry.

Sour candy.

Grilled street meat.

A Line That Defines Him:

“The afterlife is overrated. Let me show you the preview.”

~~~

PERAN

Age: 24

Birthday: October 31

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by Japanese and gothic influences, adapted to Vael Noctis)

Height: 5’6” (168 cm)

Build: Lean and graceful, with a dancer’s poise.

Eyes: Crimson, glowing faintly through her mask.

Hair: Short raven hair with a single white streak.

Skin Tone: Pale, almost ghostly.

Dominant Hand: Left

Style: Red ceremonial robe over lightweight black armor, cracked porcelain mask covering half her face, white bandages on one hand.

Moodboard: Burning incense, blood-red silk, cracked porcelain, a lone candle, cherry blossoms in the rain, and a silent graveyard.

Appearance: Peran is hauntingly beautiful, her cracked mask and crimson eyes giving her a ghostly presence. Her movements are deliberate, like a ritual, and her bandages hint at a wound that never heals.

Past: Peran was an assassin bound to a Relic that reanimated her after death. She joined Vireo to seek redemption, but her cursed flames burn her lifeforce with every use, tying her to a cycle of vengeance.

Personality & Traits

✔ Quiet and introspective, speaking only when necessary.

✔ Morally rigid, judging even her allies.

✔ Graceful under pressure.

✔ Secretly fears her own power.

✔ Loyal to the team’s mission.

✔ Haunted by her past kills.

✔ Compassionate in rare, private moments.

Hobbies:

Lighting incense for rituals.

Studying ancient prayers.

Practicing calligraphy.

Watching the stars.

Quirks:

Lights incense before every fight.

Touches her mask when uneasy.

Whispers prayers for her enemies.

Stands perfectly still when thinking.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Silence and solitude.

Zeiha’s leadership.

The smell of incense.

Lalea’s quiet wisdom.

Order and purpose.

Cherry blossoms.

❌ Dislikes:

Zaose’s manipulations.

Unnecessary violence.

Dishonesty.

Crowded places.

Her own reflection.

Bitter foods.

Favorite Food:

Red bean mochi.

Miso soup.

Persimmon slices.

A Line That Defines Her:

“Ashes are honest. They do not pretend to be whole.”

~~~

OMIZAN

Age: 30

Birthday: April 15

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by Pacific Islander and urban military influences, adapted to Vael Noctis)

Height: 6’0” (183 cm)

Build: Lean and muscular, built for endurance.

Eyes: Deep brown, steady and commanding.

Hair: Short, spiky black, no facial hair.

Skin Tone: Warm bronze.

Dominant Hand: Right

Style: Tattered military-style cloak over a sleeveless black shirt, cargo pants, barefoot with ankle wraps, matchstick in his mouth.

Moodboard: Urban battlefields, cracked pavement, glowing embers, a lone matchstick, steel chains, and a stormy horizon.

Appearance: Omizan exudes quiet strength, his lean frame moving with a soldier’s precision. His tattered cloak billows like a war banner, and his barefoot stance is both grounded and defiant.

Past: A former soldier who deserted after a Relic-related massacre, Omizan joined Zeiha to form Vireo. His gravity powers come from a Relic he stole, but its weight haunts his dreams.

Personality & Traits

✔ Calm and grounded, a natural leader.

✔ Protective, treating the team like family.

✔ Laid-back but terrifying when serious.

✔ Quick to defuse tension with humor.

✔ Carries guilt from his past.

✔ Strategic but trusts his instincts.

✔ Respects strength and loyalty.

Hobbies:

Whittling small wooden figures.

Training in martial arts.

Cooking for the team.

Stargazing.

Quirks:

Spins a matchstick between his fingers.

Goes barefoot everywhere.

Calls Raze “kid” affectionately.

Hums old war songs.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Team camaraderie.

Zeiha’s resolve.

Home-cooked meals.

Open skies.

Honest fights.

Raze’s enthusiasm.

❌ Dislikes:

Betrayal.

Zaose’s schemes.

Unnecessary rules.

Cold feet.

Arrogance.

Wasted food.

Favorite Food:

Grilled fish with rice.

Coconut curry.

Fresh bread.

A Line That Defines Him:

“I only kneel to rest. Never to beg.”

~~~

LALEA RIGON

Age: 20

Birthday: January 20

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Ethnicity: Mixed (inspired by Northern European and ethereal influences, adapted to Vael Noctis)

Height: 5’5” (165 cm)

Build: Wiry and delicate, with hidden strength.

Eyes: Shifting colors, like a kaleidoscope.

Hair: Cropped silvery-blue, slightly tousled.

Skin Tone: Pale, almost translucent.

Dominant Hand: Left

Style: Oversized coat with fur trim over a fitted bodysuit, layered with soft scarves, a feather pendant at her neck.

Moodboard: Feathers falling, misty forests, glowing prisms, soft lavender light, a cracked crystal, and a distant, dreamy gaze.

Appearance: Lalea seems fragile but moves with quiet confidence. Her shifting eyes and feather pendant give her an otherworldly aura, and her scarves flutter like wings.

Past: Lalea was found wandering Vael Noctis’s ruins, her memories fragmented by a Relic experiment. Her powers make her a target, but Vireo protects her—though she might know more than she lets on.

Personality & Traits

✔ Dreamy and cryptic, speaking in riddles.

✔ Empathic, sensing others’ emotions.

✔ Fierce when pushed to fight.

✔ Secretly fears her own power.

✔ Gentle but unyielding in her beliefs.

✔ Observant, noticing what others miss.

✔ Haunted by visions of the future.

Hobbies:

Collecting feathers.

Writing poetry in code.

Meditating in quiet places.

Sketching abstract symbols.

Quirks:

Names feathers after emotions.

Hums softly when nervous.

Stares into the distance mid-conversation.

Touches her pendant when scared.

Likes & Dislikes

✅ Likes:

Raze’s kindness.

Saeji’s chaos.

Soft fabrics.

Starry nights.

Riddles and puzzles.

Gentle music.

❌ Dislikes:

Loud noises.

Zaose’s manipulations.

Being underestimated.

Crowded spaces.

Her own visions.

Bitter drinks.

Favorite Food:

Honey-drizzled pastries.

Mint tea.

Fresh berries.

A Line That Defines Her:

“You call it a curse. I call it clarity.”

---

My ♡s: @paeliae-occasionally @willtheweaver @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @corinneglass @seastarblue @keeping-writing-frosty @oliolioxenfreewrites @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi @oros-ash3s @pheonix358 @ominous-faechild @loveyouloatheyou @write-with-will

[prokopetz]

Hey! So I ran a one-shot of Eat God and we had a blast. I have some feedback to offer from both myself and my players (This was actually a while ago but I’ve been busy as hell so I’m only writing it up now, so I might have forgotten some things). 

First off, character creation was just as fun as advertised. My player’s all loved getting to choose their character’s traits and appearance and designing their deicidal muppets. The game’s mechanics also made it extremely easy to create looney-tunes style shenanigans, which both I and the character’s took full advantage of. 

At one point a character with the roving limbs trait was running away with a barrel containing another character (I put the character in the barrel) balanced on their legs while their top half distracted the town guards, a completely different character slipped into the sewers I hadn’t thought about and I had a chance to throw a surprise alligator at them, and a theocratic pastor said that he “carried God with him in his heart” (which ended exactly as anthropophagically as I had expected it too). I also got the great quote from one of my players “I swear to the god I want to eat.” 

I have a few critiques, a few suggestions for things to develop for future editions, and a few questions. My first critique is that I think that having tokens for obstinacy is a little distracting, since you keep track of everything else about your character on paper (we ended up using Sprite flavored tic-tacs that one of the player’s had in their bag) and would be better done on the character sheet. I also think the game could use a formal turn structure for high-pressure situations. It’s a game that promotes chaotic play, and with people popcorning in it got a bit loud and overwhelming. 

For future developments, I think that having more specific action types like attack, help, investigate, etc. would be helpful. Specifying the mechanical effects tied to some of the abilities, like being able to “stun” someone with Primordial Power and Dizzying Display, having a general movement speed that would be doubled by Fast Feet, being difficult to harm with Defensive Dermis, etc., would be useful for the GM. And more examples of NPC abilities would be useful, if only to have something to base homebrew on. 

There are also a few questions I had. First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat? 

Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity? Because I don’t believe any roll over a character’s facet would have no chance of triggering calamity, and similarly don’t believe that positive modifiers would increase the chance of calamity. 

Lastly, a general lesson I learned as a GM that I do not hold against your game: be careful how far you let your characters stretch the limits of their abilities in low pressure situations if you’re too socially anxious to retcon in high pressure ones. 

Ultimately I think it’s a great game and everyone had a great time. I meant to run another session but didn’t find the time, so I might have more feedback when I finally get around to that. For credits sake I’m Kendall R., my players wanted to be credited as Noc, Ladybug, and Brynne.

(With reference to this post here.)

I appreciate the feedback. With respect to your questions:

First, is there a specific time scale for actions taken in a high-pressure situation like combat?

There is not. Defining a more formal conflict framework with a specific round length is a potential addition to a future revision, albeit not one I'm committing to adding at this time.

Second, I assume that you count the unmodified roll for calculating calamity?

Dice rolls in Eat God are generally not modified in any way; the value of a particular die is the number you rolled on that die. Effect modifiers (which I assume are what you're referring to here) apply to the roll's Result, which is the number you get from carrying out the procedure described in "Rolling and Reading Your Result"; any comparison which does not explicitly refer to a roll's Result is referring to the values the dice are physically showing.

[wronggalaxy]

The urge to cut off like 99% of my friends is constantly growing.

1) They keep calling me slurs(I'm literally OK with being called a faggot and tranny by the ones who also fall under those slurs, but somehow not wanting to be called a cripple, by able-bodied people no less, is somehow toxic???)

2) They make fun of me for having to have my phone on 'light mode' even though I've explained a billion times I literally CAN NOT SEE THE TEXT OR PICTURES OTHERWISE

3) They constantly mix up my lazy eye and strabismus and say it makes me look like a token idiot from movies(I wonder fucking why?! Could the answer maybe, possibly, be ableism in the film industry?!)

4) They take my cane without asking which I don't really mind when I'm sitting down but they'll literally take it while I'm standing and leaning against it, knowing I'm a severe fall risk and that falling is extremely dangerous for me, which they also make fun of

5) They treat me like I'm being ridiculous because I'm upset that after 13 years of modern, contemporary, and classical ballet and 2 of tap and hip hop I can no longer dance at all(not even with my arms as they tire easily or my head cause moving it too much triggers tic attacks)

6) They refuse to slow down for me when walking to class, even on staircases, but also get mad when I don't walk with them(not to mention walking alone is dangerous for me for multiple reasons)

7) They treat my absence seizures as if they're not serious because they don't involve shaking on the ground and said it's basically just dissociation(which they also get mad at me for doing)

8) They call me dramatic for having trauma responses to things like cars back firing and plastic water bottles popping even though they know I have untreated PTSD from my house being shot up by my neighbor when I was 11

9) One of them gets angry at me if I'm upset about being called a slur because "they're just telling the truth"

10) I told them that I want to go by Nora-Zachary and They/Them this year instead of my old 'preferred name'(it was never my preferred name I just had to pick the first name that came to my head the first day freshman year so I wouldn't be called my deadname) and He/They, but only one has complied on pronouns and no one has on my name

11) They laugh and call it 'cute' on days where my rhotacism, struggle to verbalize, and/or accent(both regional and autism accent)are more prominent

12) A couple have said I don't have a lisp, which is true, but what they actually meant is that I don't have a speech impediment(literally why do able-bodied people think only lisps and stutters exist, I'm pretty sure rhotacism is one the most common articulation impairments along with lisps and lambdacism, yet not even my parents know what it's called)

And like a billion other things too. Being around them is quite literally making me more suicidal. But IDK. Do I just need to suck it up? Is this as good as it gets? Before literally a year ago I only had 3 friends, and before 2 years ago I had 0, so I don't know what's acceptable.

[36crypto]

Stability for ETH, Slippage for FIL—But Qubetics’ $17.8M Breakthrough Fuels Talk of the Next Big Crypto

Could the real breakthrough in blockchain not be another token, but a solution to daily digital limitations? That’s the question shaking conversations this June. As Ethereum struggles under bearish weight and Filecoin’s market activity cools, Qubetics ($TICS) has introduced an infrastructure model that addresses what blockchain has long promised but rarely delivered—real-world utility that…

[shatteredsvn]

link to screen-reader safe version of our intro

[⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊] intro post [⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊]

⁺₊⋆ we are Shattered Sun, some info about us below! ⋆⁺₊

☀︎ Sun or Halo, they/them/themselves or it/its/itselves collectively ☀︎ bodily 18, intersex, white ☀︎ mixed origins fleirgenic, polyplural w/ a very large headcount, non-human heavy, flux between polycon and cephacon ☀︎ collectively nonbinary, arospec and queer ☀︎ we have ADHD, autism, NPD [+ other cluster B traits], HC-DID, OCD, PNES, pica, schizophrenia, kleptomania, depression, anxiety and chronic motor tics. we also have a limb difference [our left leg is 2 inches longer than our right] and some chronic illness stuff that we haven't really figured out yet. ☀︎ we also run @alterdrivethru !!

[⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊] before you interact/follow [⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊]

☀︎ if we are in your DNI don't interact, DNIs go both ways ☀︎ we don't have a DNI but we block very freely ☀︎ if you're here to fakeclaim us or something, just know we deadass do not care if you think we're a faker or whatever, we will probably just laugh at you ☀︎ we're photosensitive so we have all cws for flashing lights blocked, this is also why we don't have media asks enabled ☀︎ we're pro mogai, pro endo, anti ship and anti radqueer. do with this what you will ☀︎ we reclaim slurs, mainly faggot and schizo ☀︎ we don't like being referred to as human

interests + frequent fronters below the cut

[⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊] spintrests/hyperfixs [⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊]

☀︎ regretevator ☀︎ block tales ☀︎ forsaken ☀︎ corru.observer ☀︎ MOGAI ☀︎ plurality ☀︎ journalism ☀︎ mental disorders

[⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊] frequent fronters [⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊]

☀︎ Tobias - xey/he/it - #🍋

fallen angel freak of a nonbinary man [also bisexual]

☀︎ Sage - she/her - #🌺

bisexual cis woman, very proud tulpa, also a demon

☀︎ Mara - they/she - #🌿

demigirl + bisexual, the token human

☀︎ Astraea - cae/fae/daze/fog/it/she - #✨

elf-coded angel of the stars that vaguely resembles a woman if you squint really really hard

☀︎ Marshmallow/Honey/Vanilla - he/bun/they - #🍨

bnnuy!! male but in a girl way, i luv men

☀︎ Moss - they/them - #🥡

octive, nonbinary catgender + unlabeled sexually. chronically eepy and hungry cat

☀︎ Gubby - she/they - #🐇

gub. i like saying gub a lot. oc introject, i have 3 genders and all of them are gub. gub.

☀︎ Two Time - they/it/spawn - #🗡

Nonbinary and queer. I'm what you would call a silly little guy 🙂

☀︎ Amoura - he/they - #🔪

ayano aishi if he was actually cool and had tboy swag. demon disguised as a human. despite my source, i find the idea of romance repulsive <3

☀︎ Chorus/Enderwalk - end/xey/it/they - #🔮

nonbinary, bi, the remnants of a 2-year long DSMP hyperfixation [c!Ranboo fictive]. married to Pest ❤️❤️

☀︎ Pest - any/all - #🪲

transfemneumasc, bi gay, Regretevator fictive, happily married to Chorus 💜💜

☀︎ Evilie/Evil Alter - he/him - #😈

token cishet [if you ignore the aromanticism], being made up of pure evil /silly

☀︎ Vixen - any/all - #🐏

pan lesboy, pangender, weird ram demon guy

☀︎ Anthony - he/him - #🥀

fictive with a source i'd rather not talk about. tired as shit. male and probably gay

[oatsdemeeps]

Hi! This is Meeples blog! Meeples is a little in our system. He has expressed he still wants to use the regression tags because he likes the community it brings in.

Quick facts

Name: Meeples (I named myself! :D)

Nicknames; (anyone can use) kiddo, Meeps, buddy

Age: 6-12 years (often he says he's in 3rd grade for his age)

Pronouns: he/they (because sometimes he doesn't feel like a boy)

Games/toys/activities I like to do/play with (i love talking about them too!!!)

Crinkly toys!

Wiggly toys (no "mochis" or squish toys)

Tea party

Momma/Daddy and baby! (I like being dada sumtimes!)

CUTEITOS (here a link for dem) (plz talk to me about them I have 30+)

FUGGLERS

Watching scary Moives!!!

Cooking/baking!

Playing school!

Making blanket nests!

Coloring!

Making potions!

Fandoms I talk a lot about

Hazbin hotel

Sleep token

Bring me the horizon

Kim Dracula

Good Omens (Do not talk about neil gaiman)

My little pony! (I LOVE I LOVE SURVIVAL IN HOPE FANFIC)

Sam and Colby

Jake Webber and Johnnie Gilbert

Hollywood Undead

Bungo Stray Dogs ( I LOVE CHUUYA)

Deadpool

Basic Intrests/ favorites

My fav color is pink!

I like blue!

Trucks

Dogs

Cats

Animals

DINOSUARS

Horror Movies

City buses

Guinea pigs (I have one!!!) (He calls him the "small doggie")

Birds (I have six!!!)

Sharks

BUGS BUGS BUGS BUGS INSECTS INSECTS INSECTS INSECTS

Other Blogs the system runs

@smspikyhampster :Main blog, likes and asks come from this blog. Our irl friends are on here.

@hamptersadness : Ay(the host) blog.

@bouwithabonus: Bou's (adult alter) blog.

@littleoneshideoutofficial : The agere server I'm a mod of (Please check it out!)

@ay-system : the system this little is apart of. PLEASE CONTACT ADUKT ALTERS ON THIS BLOG

Warnings/Boundaries Regarding the Blog

I allow 18+ blogs to interact NO SEXUAL BLOGS THOUGH

This little cusses!!!!

I might talk about poop and pee

Do not mention sewerslide and sh!!!

Reblogs, replies, and asks are more than welcome!!

I block freely

No transphobia, anti agere, anti petre, racism, aphobia, slurs of ANY KIND, ageplay, petplay, syscourse

I will talk about tics, ocd, adhd, intrus1v3 thoughts, depression

TAGS

#i reblogged this: All my reblogs

#sad little or #baby vent: my vents

#funnies : anything I find funny

System info

Traumagenic system: Suspected osdd

SYSTEM AS A WHOLE IS ENDO-NUETRAL (Meeples is pro-endo tho, despite what the others think)

Ay(host) 18

Bou(protector) 18

Cora(Caregiver) 18

Jani 18

Ivy(gatekeeper) 18

Danny & Francis 15-18

Credits

Most dividers are made by me on ibis paint, user boxes made by @puppyuserboxes, dino and beetle divider made by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Important links!

Being little with mental health issues!

[gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot]

@jamesrifftapes ❤️

3. What would their song to each other be?

Soap/Riot: Always, Bon Jovi, they yell it during road trips and karaokes (among others)

GhostxRiot: Ufff plenty. Ghost IS Rain (Sleep Token), The War (SYML), and Hurt (Johnny Cash's cover), Riot is Little Girl Gone (Chinchilla), The Wolf (Phildel), Alive or Unstoppable (Sia). Together? Without You (Breaking Benjamin), On My Own (Ashes Remain), Animal I Have Become (Three Days Grace), Until I Found You (Stephen Sanchez), Take My Breath Away (Berlin), We Belong (Pat Benatar), ...

6. What small quirks do they love about each other?

Soap/Riot: Johnny loves how she EXPLODES at the drop of a hat, no matter how much she tries to control her temper. He finds it hilarious (when he's not in the receiving end) how she ends yelling in Spanish. Christine loves when Johnny starts rambling loudly about chemicals, quantities, formulae, components, etc... She understands half, but likes listening to him.

GhostxRiot:

Ghost likes that even when they're side by side in silence, she's constantly tapping her fingers to some rythm in her head, or moving her foot, or plainly humming. Far from irritating, he finds endearing that he is surrounded (and soothed) by her sounds: her breathing, her humming, her hand brushing her hair back all the time with one of her tics. That she's there.

Riot's heart swells with each of his brief touches. How he hooks a finger on her belt, either leaving it there or to drag her closer when he considers she's too far. Or how he needs his fingers and/or face buried in her hair so he can fall asleep faster (and she does too). How, if nobody is looking, his hand finds hers, and if it doesn't, brushes against whatever part of her body is closer.

9. How did they know they were right for each other?

Soap/Riot: They got along since day 1, became friends bonding over their 'foreign-ness', but knew they were platonic soulmates after being sent to different training camps in Belize for a month, and it fucking hurt not being able to talk to each other.

GhostxRiot: Theirs is a case of they both fell, and fell fucking hard, but are too fearful/stunted/traumatised to rush it. By the time of the op in Belarus (chapters 6-9), they already knew it was a matter of when, not if. Both have similar pasts (dead family, captured/abused/tortured/escaped/murdered their abusers) and the same job, so not having to explain anything because the other understands completely was a big part of it.

11. Who's adorable when they're sleepy, and who gets grumpy and irritable?

Soap/Riot: Adorable? Soap, will lay with his head on her lap if she allows it. Ungodly grumpy and irritable? Riot. Riot is not a person before her morning coffee/cocoa. You don't speak to Riot before breakfast unless you have a death wish.

GhostxRiot: Riot keeps being the grumpy one, I think Ghost is just his usual self but rubbing his eyes lol. Although I'm sure he'd murder with his eyes if bothered when sleepy. But, he finds her adorable in her grumpy state.

[catcas22]

could you explain how you would entertain children on the fringes of the Lands Between, using only Rainbow Stones

The responsible answer: Plenty of games involving tokens or small irregular objects could easily substitute rainbow stones. Jacks, knuckle bones, tic-tac-toe, etc.

How would kids actually use them?

They seem to light up when you crack them (a bit like a glowstick?), so I could see them used like lowkey fireworks. Just throw them at people and watch them jump. Also dropping them off of increasingly high places to make cool sounds.

[lemon-sugarcoats-nothing]

In the spirit of Disability pride month...

**For those who dont know, July is disability pride month. This includes mental, neurological, and physical disabilities, as well as both visible and invisible disabilities, and as far as im aware? Undiagnosed disabilities. This is similar to LGBTQ+/Queer pride month in June, in that it's to 1. Learn about the history, 2. celebrate how far we've come and the people in this community and 3. educate ourselves and others about the group.**

With that out of the way, hi! This is Mod Bee, and if you don't already know, almost all of the characters I've shared on this blog have some kind of disability. If you're curious, they are as follows~

Mod Bee, the artist: Not a character but shh

Diagnosed: A general "change resistant disorder" diagnosis/me Waiting for diagnosis: I'm on a long waitlist for an ADHD screening Undiagnosed and/or strongly suspected:

a tic disorder (Since around or before mid-late 2020, Undiagnosed)

Reynaud's syndrome (Highly suspected and as far as I'm aware undiagnosed)

ADHD (suspected, waitlisted)

Anxiety (Suspected, undiagnosed)

Autism spectrum disorder/ASD (Suspected, undiagnosed)

Lemon Sugarcoat, the namesake of this blog: and token gremlin

More or less the same as me, Bee.

Kodiak Darkstone, Dad: Younger than you probably think

Diagnosed: Anxiety, Depression, and ASD

Kai Darkstone, local nerd: We all thought he was the eldest before Sadi happened

Diagnosed: ASD

Nightshade Darkstone, Shade: Also a nerd but will never admit it bc thats g a y

Diagnosed: ADHD, Dyslexia and/or Dyscalculia

Alistor Sky, specializes in dark magic: The only one not in the Darkstone family in some way

Undiagnosed: Depression and Anxiety, and PTSD

Sadi(e), the true eldest: And also the one no one knew about for a while

Undiagnosed: Unspecified developmental disorder(s), dissociative episodes, and Sensory processing disorder.

[veilkeeper]

Stillness, canvas and change for Roz my beloved from the OC asks?

(questions here)

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

they're definitely not fidgety, and just because of the nature of their background they're pretty used to staying still for long periods of time, but due to their extensive scars and their chronic pain, they'll sometimes subtly stretch and shift their weight around to get more comfortable. as for common gestures... i like the little idle pose they do in game with their hands behind their back, so i'll keep that as canon for them ^_^

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

very extensive burn scars all over their back and right side. they usually keep them covered, mostly because they don't like how other people react to them - usually pity.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

they do their best to fit in where they are. the times in their life they've lived among the githyanki, they wore gith clothes. the times they've lived among faerunians, they've worn more typical faerunian clothes. that said, they keep their own tastes; simple clothes decorated with shiny beads or tokens, a preference for dark colours and red accents. and their hair has basically remained the same, fairly long, with how they style it changing depending on what they're up to.